A RAY OF LIGHT
The late editions of the evening-papers ran riot with this latest
feature of the Morse case. The New York police, by happy chance, had
pounced upon the warm trail as soon as the young Englishman stepped from
the train. What followed was so totally unexpected by the authorities
that it set them into a violent state of agitation. This they at once
communicated to the ever receptive "yellows," and then the public
received more than its due share of the developments as served upon
scores 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 the
hotel 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 do
when he reached the room is in the opinion of this journal a matter that
will prove infinitely more taxing upon the wit of the detective
department."
Fuller read column after column of such comment. The various people who
had figured in the matter were separately interviewed and their ideas
were given much space. The railway porter, who had sprung into fame by
recognizing Warwick and who had had the awesome experience of carrying
the much spoken of leather bag from the day coach to the cab outside,
related his feelings when he later became aware of his patron's
identity, and told of his hunt for the policemen who had given him the
young man's description. The cabman also talked thrillingly, as did the
clerk and the bell-boy who led the detectives to the door of Warwick's
room. As for the police, they appeared to have maintained an attitude of
much wisdom. What utterances they condescended to make were of a
peculiarly Delphic character; and, as is usual, they hinted at
astonishing revelations which limited periods of time would bring forth.
"They are now deep in the case," stated the _Standard_, hopefully, "and
a little time may work wonders. A half dozen experienced man hunters are
running out the various fine threads which stretch away in as many
directions. Each of them has a hopeful outlook and is confident of
ultimate success. And this intelligent force has been recruited by
Osborne, a local man of acknowledged parts, who is handling the parent
stem, so to speak, of this exotic crime growth. Mr. Osborne will
familiarize himself with this new phase of the case and will then be
ready to take up his task here with renewed vigor."
"For experienced people," commented Fuller, as he cast the sheets from
him, "I think the publishers of newspapers are the most gullible in the
world. Day after day they apparently stand for the same old
explanation--day after day they seem to be taken in by the same old
conventional lies."
A short man with a bulging chest and surprisingly broad shoulders sat
opposite 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 to
the public because they think it wants it. They know how the regular
police work; but they say nothing because they don't think their readers
are interested in hearing about it. The fellow who takes an evening
paper home to read after business would much rather believe that Osborne
is a remarkable detective than just a fair mechanic who was dragged
away, by ward politics, from his natural job of gas fitting."
"I suppose you are right, Burgess," replied Fuller. "There is more
interest in the first, I admit. But between you and me, I don't think
Osborne ever cleared up a case yet that he didn't get the rights of just
by sheer luck."
"And he knows it," said Burgess. "And what's more, he is firmly
convinced that that is the only way a case _can_ be cleared. He trusts
to luck in every instance."
"I expected that you would be sent to New York to look up this hotel
matter," said Fuller, as he sat back in Ashton-Kirk's lounging chair and
stretched his legs out in luxurious comfort.
"Oh, I've been looking up that fellow Karkowsky," said Burgess. "The
boss sent O'Neill over on the Warwick end. O'Neill is pretty smooth, you
know, and is just the fellow to get along with the regular police, and
work 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 and
flies only at night. And now that the police have got so interested in
looking for him, he's apt to get more difficult to out-guess than
before."
"Have they muddled up the trail?"
"In the usual way," with a disgusted wave of the hand. "Brass band
methods, you know. They follow him with drums beating and then wonder
why they don't catch him."
At this moment there was a step at the door, and Ashton-Kirk entered. He
wore evening clothes with an overcoat over them; a silk hat was on his
head, and he carried his gloves and stick as though he had just come
in. There was only one light burning in the room, and it threw his
gigantic 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 one
that I know of."
Ashton-Kirk nodded. He took up the envelope and opened it. There were
several closely typed sheets and his eye ran over them quickly. The
report 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 and
hat 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. "But
it's tough work. He went off without any one seeing him, and I haven't a
thing to dig a claw into."
"Was there nothing left in his room--nothing that would indicate what
his intentions were?"
"Not a shred of anything. You see, he had rented the place ready
furnished. 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. Karkowsky
has been, so it appears, an important figure in this matter, and it
would be just as well to know where we can put our hands upon him when
we want him."
After a brief conversation relating to the details of the work that
Burgess had done, that gentleman departed. Ashton-Kirk rolled a
cigarette and sat down in the big chair which Fuller had vacated. Then
he 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 Church
of the Holy Redeemer. And the information they contain is quaint and
most 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 "Life
of 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 hand
and ran over its pages. "In what way," asked he, "can a biography of
St. Simon Stock help me to save the United States from an international
embarrassment and incidentally give me more information upon the subject
of 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 perfectly
willing to believe it."
The other smiled.
"You have been with me for several years, Fuller," he said, "and your
clerical work is very complete. Your investigations, when you are given
a 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 the
different 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 have
considered me a first-class accountant, and I'm a perfect storehouse for
certain kinds of facts. But it's not your kind of brain; for ages of
effort would pass and not once would I dream of trying to gain
information as to the death of a resident of Eastbury from a parcel of
books like these."
"I suppose you are right, my boy," said Ashton-Kirk; "different types of
mind have different tendencies." He continued fluttering the leaves of
the book, the pale smoke of the cigarette drifting formlessly about
him. Then he went on: "Perhaps it does seem rather an extraordinary
thing to expect a monk of the thirteenth century to aid in solving the
present problem. But let us go further into the matter and we may
possibly get some light."
He laid the burnt end in the shell upon the table and rolled another
cigarette; and while he did so, he talked.
"Simon Stock was an Englishman, and was a native of Kent. At the age of
twelve he is said to have left his home and lived in a hollow tree. The
Oriental idea had penetrated the West, and Europe was filled with
anchorites. Some monks of the Order of Mount Carmel entered England from
the Holy Lands and Simon, now a man of mature years, joined them. There
is a legend that he was directed to do so by a supernatural agency, but
Catholic scholars seem to pay little attention to this. At any rate time
passed and the Kentish man, famous for great piety and virtue, was
finally made general of the White Friars, a name by which the Carmelite
Order was known.
"Again legend plays its part. As he knelt one day in prayer in his
monastery at Cambridge, the Virgin Mary is said to have manifested
herself to him and presented him with the scapular."
"I have a sort of hazy notion as to what that is," said Fuller, "but not
enough to work on."
"It was originally a sort of habit which the monks wore over their other
garments," replied Ashton-Kirk; "but from St. Simon Stock's day it
altered in appearance. It became two squares of cloth fastened by two
pieces of tape, and was worn around the neck by those persons who
desired to benefit by its privileges. When stretched out on a flat
surface its appearance," went on the speaker, as he took up a pencil and
drew a few rapid lines upon the margin of a newspaper, "was something
like this:"
[Illustration]
Fuller's eyes opened in wonder.
"Why," he cried, "that is exactly like the drawing sent so frequently to
Dr. Morse!"
Ashton-Kirk laughed quietly.
"Already," said he, "you are beginning to see the use of Father
O'Leary's books. And, perhaps, as we go on, your vision will become
wider still." There was a moment's pause, then the speaker continued:
"There is another scapular beside that of St. Simon; it is the
Trinitarian, which was brought forward by an order of that name, founded
by John de Matha, and Felix de Valois for the redemption of captives.
These religious wore a white habit with a cross upon the breast. A
Theatine nun named Ursula Benincasa originated still another scapular,
that of the Immaculate Conception, which is of light blue. An Italian
order, called the Servites, introduced another, this time of black; and
the Sisters of Charity of Paris brought forward still another--of
scarlet."
Ashton-Kirk's pencil tapped upon the drawing which he had made upon the
margin of the newspaper.
"Dr. Morse had this design sent to him in all the colors named. First
came the brown, then there was blue, white, black and red. When the
gamut, so to speak, of colors had been run, he received the picture of
the crowned woman, done in brown. This is now very easy to explain. The
sender for some reason had called attention to the various sorts of
scapulars and was beginning all over again. The Carmelite scapular is of
brown and bears a picture of the Virgin Mary--hence the woman wearing
the crown. Then came the cross which I was shown upon my first visit to
the Morse house; its down stroke of blue and cross stroke of red is the
same 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 not
been 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 by
numerous daggers.
"When this caught my eye," he continued, "I could feel the stirring of a
memory--one of those which I spoke of as being ticketed and ready to
hand," with a smile. "Was it the heart which awoke this dim feeling of
familiarity? No. Was it the daggers? Again, no. Then it must be the
general idea--a heart pierced by daggers. At this I felt the memory
struggle desperately in the brain cell; then suddenly it broke out. I
had seen the design upon a bit of laced card in the show window of a
religious goods store, when a boy. I recalled the title, printed at the
bottom of the card, perfectly. It was 'The Seven Dolors.' The memory of
this 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 or
pangs. This all came back like a flash, and instantly I counted the
daggers transfixing the heart in the drawing. They were exactly seven.
"I was now convinced that the whole matter of the drawings had a
religious aspect, and looked at them with a different eye. The cross was
self-evident; the crowned woman could be none other than the Virgin
Mary. However, it was not until I had consulted Father O'Leary that I
got to the bottom of the matter. With the other things made plain to
him, 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 making
some other things plain. But," and he shook his head in a rather
hopeless way, "I confess that I don't see the reason for all these
things being sent to Dr. Morse. In fact, there _doesn't_ seem to be any
sort of reason _in_ it."
Ashton-Kirk arose.
"There is seldom any reason in things which we do not understand," said
he. "But it often happens that when we do come to understand them then
we find the reasons behind them solid and far-reaching enough.