ASHTON-KIRK MAKES ONE VISIT, AND PLANS ANOTHER
Ashton-Kirk sat cross-legged upon a sofa, the amber bit of his Coblentz
pipe between his teeth, and the wreaths of smoke curling above his head.
About him were scattered bound volumes of police papers; and upon his
knees rested a huge book, canvas covered and seeming full of carefully
spaced entries done in a copper plate hand.
"I knew the 'Bounder' had gone along without much friction with the
police," said the investigator; "but I'll admit that I'm a bit surprised
at the completeness of the thing."
A dapper young man who stood at a filing case, going over a thick inset
of cards, laughed a little.
"I'll venture to say that there is not a police blotter in any large
city in the country that holds the name of Tom Burton," said he. "But
there are dozens of other names--poor devils, rounded up in some risky
operation of which the 'Bounder' was the instigator."
Ashton-Kirk nodded.
"One might call that 'dogging it,'" said he, "or it might be viewed as
exceedingly clever work. It altogether depends upon the point of view.
To maintain such an attitude in the background over a long period of
time calls for a rigorous self-repression. Burton was evidently a
criminal of some parts."
"Well, looking at it from that side, I suppose it's so," said the dapper
young man. "But I've been accustomed to seeing Burton and his kind as a
sort of dregs, and I was just a little surprised when you began to look
him up."
Ashton-Kirk smiled and drew a long draft of smoke from the big pipe.
"It is, very likely, time wasted," he said; "for it's a hundred to one
that nothing----"
Here there came a long "blurr-r-r" from the lower part of the house, and
the investigator stopped short.
"I rather think," added he, "that I'll reduce the odds. For, unless I am
much mistaken, that is Bat Scanlon's touch at the door-bell."
A few moments later, Stumph, Ashton-Kirk's man servant, entered the
study, gravely.
"Mr. Scanlon, sir," he said.
The big form of Scanlon filled the doorway and then advanced into the
room.
"Didn't expect to see you again to-day," said he. "But there's a little
matter came up that I thought I'd get your advice on before I went any
further."
"Good," said the investigator, briskly. Then to the grave-faced servant:
"Stumph, get these books away. And Fuller," to the dapper young man,
"I'd like to have transcripts of those Treasury Department papers at
once."
"Very well," said Fuller.
When the investigator and his caller were alone, the former offered the
other some cigarettes.
"These are Porto Ricos of unusual flavor," he said. "Sent me by a
planter for whom I chanced at one time to do a small service."
He put aside the Coblentz, and with Scanlon lighted one of the
cigarettes. The full rich aroma of the island herb drifted through the
room like a heavy incense; and under its influence the troubled look
which Scanlon's face had worn lightened a trifle.
"I guess I'm a little up in the air," admitted he, finally. "It's always
that way with me when things begin to break wrong in anything I'm
interested in. Just when I need all my nerve and judgment, I get as
anxious as an old lady who's been sold the wrong kind of tea."
"You have no monopoly on the condition," smiled Ashton-Kirk. "It comes
to all of us, and in just the way you've described." His singular eyes
were studying the big man's face, and in their depths was a sort of calm
expectancy. "The personal equation has many queer results. But what is
the cause of your present upheaval?"
Bat shook the ash from the cigarette into a pewter bowl at his elbow.
"It's this murder," he said. "You know I went to Stanwick to-day to look
things over as per request."
"Have you made your report to Mrs. Burton?"
"Now, look!" exclaimed the big man. "Don't call her that! She was
Burton's wife for one week, and that's the extent of her use of the
name."
"Very well," nodded Ashton-Kirk. "Cavanaugh is a good old name, and is
sounded just as easily."
"Yes, I called on her after I got back," said Bat. "But I had only a few
minutes to talk to her; it was at the theatre, for she had a rehearsal
to-day, you see."
"Was there anything new to tell her?"
Here Bat related to the investigator the details of what he had seen and
heard at the Burton home; Ashton-Kirk listened attentively; now and then
a pointed question came through the little clouds and rings of smoke
with which he had surrounded himself, but, save for this, he made no
interruption until Bat had finished.
"Dr. Shower, eh?" said he, after a little pause. "I'm rather well
acquainted with his method, and the fact that he's been given charge of
the coroner's examination isn't a very hopeful sign. He's a sort of
pedant, who has come to think that the mixture of medical learning and
knowledge of police conventions which he possesses makes him a paragon
of efficiency."
"I noticed that he had a confident kind of a way with him," said Bat.
"Confidence is an excellent thing," spoke Ashton-Kirk. "A man does not
go far without it. But the sort kept in stock by Dr. Shower is rather a
hindrance. When he has once arrived at a conclusion, he shuts his eyes
and stops his ears to everything else. Osborne, now, is different; while
he's a plodding kind of a fellow with very little imagination, he's
shrewd enough to accept advantages wherever he finds them." The speaker
added another cloud to those already hovering about him. "Miss Cavanaugh
was satisfied with what you told her, I suppose?"
But Bat shook his head, and a good part of the old troubled look
returned.
"She wasn't. As a matter of fact I could see that it worried her. When I
left her she was fidgeting; and if Nora does that, something's wrong.
But the worst didn't happen until about a half hour ago. I was back at
my place, and the 'phone bell rang. When I went to it I found it was
Nora calling. And she was all excited once more."
"Ah!" said Ashton-Kirk, expectantly, "excited!"
"She started off by asking me to forgive her, and saying she must be a
great bother to me. But something had happened--something that had
scared her. As she came home from the theatre she heard the newsboys
calling their papers on the street corners. She couldn't quite make out
what they were saying, so she had the car stop and her driver get one of
the papers. Then she got the facts of the matter. Young Frank Burton has
been arrested for his father's murder."
"So!" said Ashton-Kirk. "I expected to hear that had happened. For, from
what you've told me, the police have a fair tissue of evidence."
"That's about what I told Nora. But it bowled her over completely. Her
voice began to shake and I knew she was crying."
"'But he didn't do it,' she says. 'He didn't do it. He's innocent--I
know he is.'
"I tried to reason with her," proceeded Bat. "But she wouldn't listen.
She kept repeating that he was innocent--that he had suffered enough at
that man's hands while he was alive, and that he mustn't go on suffering
now that the father was dead."
"Well?" asked Ashton-Kirk, as the other paused; "what then?"
"Then," said Scanlon, "she was on my neck to get him out of the thing. I
_must_ do it! I _must_ not let them harm him! And all that kind of
thing. She seems to think that I've got a heavy drag with the police,
and all there is for me to do is to snap my fingers and they'll sit up
and perform. I tried to persuade her that this was a dream; but I
couldn't convince her. And the result was that I had to promise to see
her right away." Bat looked dolefully at his friend. "I'm on my way
there now," he said, "and I thought I'd stop in and ask what I'd better
do."
Ashton-Kirk arose and took a turn up and down the room; then throwing
away the cigarette end, he paused in front of his friend and asked:
"What would you say if I suggested that I go with you?"
"Fine!" Scanlon jumped up, an expression of relief upon his face. "The
very thing! Get your hat. My cab is still at the door. I couldn't have
asked for anything better than that."
Within five minutes the two were on the street--a street lined with fine
wide houses of a bygone time, but which was now a bedlam of throaty
voices, a whirling current of alien people, a miasma of stale smells.
The taxi soon whirled them out of this section and into another,
equally old, but still clinging to its ancient state. The houses were
square fronted and solid looking, built of black-headed brick and
trimmed with white stone; there were marble carriage blocks and
hitching-posts at the curb.
"I wonder how long before this will begin to go," said the investigator,
as they alighted. "There is scarcely an old residential street left
unmarred in the big cities of the east."
"That is Nora's house--there with the scaffolding at the side. Take care
you don't step in that mortar. These fellows seem to slap their stuff
around and don't give a hang."
"I had no idea Miss Cavanaugh lived in this section," said Ashton-Kirk,
after Scanlon had rung the bell, and they stood waiting on the steps.
"Why, you see, she's different. Naturally, she's a housekeeper. The big
hotel or the glittering apartment house doesn't appeal to her. She gets
all that when she's on the road."
A trim maid admitted them and showed them into a room hung with
beautiful tapestry and excellently selected paintings. In a few moments
there came a light hasty step and Nora stood framed in the doorway. She
wore a sort of soft, gauzy robe-like thing which clung to her
magnificently strong, yet completely youthful figure, causing her more
than ever to resemble a young Juno. The gleaming bronze hair was
gathered in a great coil at the back of her head; her wonderfully
modeled arms were bare; the right was clasped about with a heavy
bracelet of what seemed raw, red gold.
"Bat!" she said, gladly, and then stopped short at sight of a stranger.
"This is Mr. Ashton-Kirk," said Scanlon, presenting his companion.
"You've heard me speak of him, I think."
Nora Cavanaugh held out her hand with that frankness which is always so
fascinating in a beautiful woman.
"I am very glad to see you," she said. "And I recall very well what I
heard of you. It was that queer affair of the Campes, and the strange
dangers which haunted the hills about their country place." Her eyes
were fixed steadily upon Ashton-Kirk as she spoke; the smile of welcome
was still in them; but behind this there was something else--a something
which evidently interested Ashton-Kirk intensely.
"I've been telling Kirk of the thing at Stanwick," spoke Scanlon, as
they all three sat down at a west window, through which the lowering sun
was throwing its crimsoning touch. "He's a little interested and thought
he'd like to hear what you had to say."
The smile went completely out of Nora's eyes; the sombre thing at the
back of them came at once to the surface; and Ashton-Kirk saw her hand,
as she lifted it to her face, tremble.
"The police are fools!" she declared. "Frank Burton is innocent. It is
shameful to attribute any crime to him--but to accuse him of the murder
of his father"--here a shudder ran through her--"it's horrible!"
"He'll have to carefully explain a number of things, though, before the
authorities change their minds," said Scanlon. "Not only have they
certain definite facts on him; but they have the notion that he's not
told them everything."
"He is innocent," protested Nora.
"Maybe so!" Bat shrugged his shoulders. "But I had a chance to look him
over to-day, and while I liked his appearance, I agree with the cops
that he was holding back on them."
The girl rose and stood facing them.
"It may be that he is," she said, and there was a break in the rare
voice. "But why fix upon this so readily as a sign of guilt? Consider
the circumstances. He is the son of a man whose life was a continuous
shame; there very likely was not a day that did not bring some fresh
knowledge of wrong-doing to the boy--some mean thing beneath contempt,
which made him shrink and quiver. And now there comes another thing--a
last and horrible one! It may be," and the beautiful arms lifted in a
gesture of despair, "that in this there was additional shame. Can you
wonder, then, that he hesitated?"
Bat Scanlon did not reply, contenting himself with merely nodding his
head. This side of the thing had not occurred to him; but now that she
had pointed it out, it seemed quite reasonable. Ashton-Kirk fixed his
singular dark eyes upon the beautiful woman who stood so appealingly
before them.
"Scanlon mentioned to me a while ago," spoke the investigator, "that you
were interested in doing what you could to help this young man. I make
it a point never to judge the merits of a case until I have examined it
at close range. However, I will say this: From a distance, this matter
begins to show promise; so much, indeed, that I feel I must know more
about it."
She looked at him, her hands twining together, nervously; but she did
not speak, and he went on:
"What you say about the police is largely true. They _are_ superficial,
and the arrest of young Burton may not be at all warranted by the facts.
As it happens, Miss Cavanaugh," easily, "there are no very pressing
matters to engage me just now; and since you are so interested, suppose
I look into it, and see if I can gather up any stray threads missed by
the police."
Bat Scanlon brought his palms together in great satisfaction; but, to
his astonishment, when he looked at Nora he saw hesitancy plainly
written in her beautiful face; indeed, there was more than hesitancy;
refusal of the offer trembled upon her lips. But this was only for an
instant; a sudden rush of excitement seemed to possess her, and she held
out her hand to Ashton-Kirk, warmly.
"This is good of you," she said, "and I thank you a thousand times. If
you can, in any way, make it clear to Frank Burton's friends--to every
one--that he is not guilty, you'll do the best deed of your life; and,"
here the great brown eyes opened widely, "you will be helping me more
than I can say."
"Very well," said the investigator. Going to a window, he stood with his
back to them looking at the sky, now blotched red and gold in the waning
rays of the sun. He was motionless for a moment or two and then he
turned, briskly.
"It's a pity there are not a few hours more of daylight," said he. "For
my experience has shown me that most cases, in which there is any doubt,
do not stand delay. A few hours sometimes dims what otherwise would be
hopeful clues; traces which, had they been taken up in time, might have
led directly to the criminal, are rendered cold and useless."
"Couldn't something be done out at Stanwick to-night?" asked Bat,
anxiously.
But the criminologist shook his head.
"It would be impossible," said he. "Night always puts any sort of
intelligent examination out of the question. But," and he looked at Nora
with an alertness of manner which showed how his keen mind was already
taking hold, "the time between now and daylight need not be altogether
lost."
"What can we do?" she asked, eagerly.
"Sometimes even the smallest scrap of information is of great value,"
said he. "The movements--the conversation of a suspect--or a
victim--immediately before the crime, has more than once provided the
thing necessary to a successful solution."
"Why, yes, that would be true, of course." But the eagerness had gone
out of her manner suddenly; her hands seemed to flutter at her breast.
"Small, seemingly unimportant things, even in my work, add greatly to a
result."
The keen eyes of Ashton-Kirk never left her face.
"About what time was it last night that your husband came here?" he
asked.
"It must have been between eleven-thirty and twelve o'clock," she
replied, slowly. "I had just got home from the theatre."
"He demanded money, I believe?"
"Yes; that was always the cause of his visits."
"Will you tell me, as nearly as you can remember, what passed?"
"When I came in," said Nora, "I went directly to my own rooms. My maid
followed me a few moments later, but just then there was a ring at the
bell. The lateness of the hour gave me a feeling of uneasiness--it were
as though I subconsciously realized who was at the door. When the maid
answered the ring he pushed her aside, and I heard his feet running up
the stairs. The impulse arose in me to lock my door; at any other time I
think I would have done so; but just then I felt aroused--I was bitterly
angry; that he should force himself upon me in such a way made me desire
to face him--to tell him what I thought in very plain words."
"This was not your usual state of mind when he visited you?"
"No." She bent her proud head humbly. "When I first learned his true
character, I left him in just that spirit; but when I had won my way by
hard work, and he began persecuting me, I thought it better to give him
the money he asked and avoid his poisonous falsehoods."
"You were afraid of him?"
"Not of him--but of my public--of the world in general. He threatened me
with the divorce court. Divorce, with its humiliations, its confessions
of failure, its publicity, had always appalled me. The sneer 'another
actress being divorced' made me a coward. He knew that; he had found it
out, somehow; his great talent was in bringing weaknesses to the
surface. He detailed the charges he would bring against me; every one of
them was a lie, but they were so ingenious, so plausible, so unutterably
slimy that I couldn't bear up against them. It was in that way he broke
my spirit."
"There was a hound for you!" said Bat Scanlon. "That is, if I'm not
injuring the hound family by the comparison."
"But last night," said Nora Cavanaugh, "I had lost all this fear of him
and his threats. I don't know why. It wasn't really because he had
forced his way into my room, for he had done that before. It must have
been that this was a sort of culmination--the breaking point. At any
rate, I refused his demands! I answered his sneers in a way which I saw
took him aback; he resumed his old threat of the divorce court, but I
defied him. Then, after about half an hour, he went away."
"That was all?"
"Yes."
The girl stood in such a position that the waning daylight fell full
upon her beautiful face. Ashton-Kirk said, quietly:
"Thank you." Then as she was about to turn toward Scanlon he added:
"Pardon me; you have had a little accident, I notice."
Her hand went to her brow, and her eyes, startled and big, looked at him
swiftly.
"I hadn't noticed it," he went on, quietly, "until you pushed your hair
back a moment ago. It must have been very painful."
"Oh, yes--yes!" She hurriedly drew down some strands of the heavy bronze
hair over an ugly, dark bruise near the temple. "I had forgotten. Yes,
it was very painful, indeed, when it happened. You see," and she laughed
in a breathless, nervous sort of way, "my maid left the door of a
dressing cabinet open in my room at the theatre, and as I bent over I
struck against it."
He murmured something sympathetically; and then looked at Scanlon, who
obediently arose.
"In the morning," said Ashton-Kirk, "we'll take the first train for
Stanwick; and by this time to-morrow evening we may have some news of
importance for you."
"I hope so," she answered, "I sincerely hope so."
The maid entered in reply to a ring, and brought their hats and coats.
"It may be that you or your people, here in the house, can be of help to
us," said Ashton-Kirk, evenly. "I should like to feel that I can count
on that at any time."
"To be sure," Nora turned to the maid. "Anna, Mr. Ashton-Kirk is doing
me a great service. Anything he asks must be done."
"Yes, Miss Cavanaugh," said the maid.
Then the two men bid the charming actress good-bye; when they had
climbed into the cab and rolled away, the investigator lay back against
the hard leather padding and closed his eyes. Scanlon looked at the keen
outline of the face with interest. It was an altogether modern
countenance, in perfect tune with the time; but, for all that, there was
something almost mystic in it. It may have been that the mind which
weighed and valued so many things, unnoticed by the crowd, had given
something of the same touch to the face as the pondering of the secrets
of life is said to give to the oriental anchorites.
But after a little, the investigator sat upright.
"When does Miss Cavanaugh have a matinee?" he asked.
"Not until Saturday," replied Scanlon.
A look of annoyance came into the face of Ashton-Kirk.
"Too bad," said he. "Then we shall have to arrange something." He
reflected for a moment, snapping his fingers impatiently, as though for
an idea. Then his countenance suddenly lighted up. "I have it! Young
Burton is in the county prison awaiting action of the Grand Jury. What
more natural thing than that she should visit him there to offer
sympathy and encouragement--say between two and five to-morrow
afternoon."
"You mean----" and Bat looked at him, only dimly grasping what was
behind the words.
"That I depend upon you to suggest this to her," said the other. "It's
the sort of thing she'll do, once it's in her mind."
"But," asked the astonished big man, "what's it for?"
"I want to pay another visit to her house," said Ashton-Kirk, coolly,
"when she is not there."