THE HOUND AND THE SCENT
The next morning at a trifle past nine, Bat Scanlon once more presented
himself in Ashton-Kirk's study. He found the investigator attired in a
well-fitting suit of rough, gray material; a light stick and a cap lay
upon a table, while their owner, his hands deep in his trousers pockets,
paced the floor.
"I've been through a half dozen newspapers since breakfast," said he.
"The reporters and the city editors have had a great deal to say about
what they call the 'Stanwick Mystery'; but they have unearthed nothing
that's at all suggestive."
"Not a thing," verified Bat. "At least, nothing that I haven't seen or
heard myself--except that the sick girl--Mary Burton--has taken to her
bed."
"That's bad," said his friend. "But, you see, the arrest of her brother
was sure to have some such effect."
"Well, it's turned a little trick for me, anyway," said Bat "The girl
being suddenly taken down has got to Nora; and she called me this
morning to talk about it. She's going down there this afternoon. It was
her own idea. And so I won't have to do any 'under cover' stuff with
her."
"Good," said the investigator. "It's always much better to have a thing
come about naturally, if possible."
A big motor car waited for them at the door; it carried them swiftly out
of the city proper into the suburb of Stanwick, and finally drew up in
front of 620 Duncan Street.
The same policeman stood at the gate who had guarded it the day before.
"Hello, back again!" he saluted at sight of Scanlon.
"Yes; thought another look would do no harm," returned Bat. "Any one
inside?"
"Osborne's there," replied the policeman. "But no one else--outside the
family."
"Were you present when young Burton was arrested?" asked Ashton-Kirk.
"A little," grinned the policeman, "seeing as I was the party who
brought him out to the wagon."
"Did he have anything to say when accused?"
"Not much. He didn't seem surprised, though. Osborne says to him: 'We'll
have to hold you in this case till we get further evidence.' And he
says: 'I didn't do it. If I had thought of it, maybe I would. But I
didn't do it.'"
The investigator and Bat Scanlon walked up the path; as they reached
the door, it was opened for them, and they saw the burly form of Osborne
standing in the hall.
"How are you?" greeted the headquarters man, good-humoredly. "Saw you
from the window, and felt so honored that I'm letting you in myself." He
shook Ashton-Kirk by the hand, warmly enough. "Kind of a surprise to see
you down here."
The two men entered and the door closed behind them; then they made
their way into the sitting-room, following Osborne. The body of the
murdered man was no longer there; the rug stiffened with blood was gone;
the room was now quiet and conventional--a peaceful calm filled it.
Ashton-Kirk's keen glance went about; he talked steadily to Osborne all
the while, but Bat Scanlon observed that not a single detail of the
apartment escaped him. The headquarters man wore a look of frank
curiosity as he, too, watched the investigator, and saw him fixing the
position of things in his mind.
"Just where did the body lie when the policeman arrived on the night of
the crime?" he asked.
"Right here," and Osborne indicated the spot "The head was here. The
wound was made with a candlestick--quite a heavy one; and the blow was
meant to stop the victim for good."
"Any further marks on him besides the one on the head?"
"No," said Osborne. "We looked for something of that kind, but there was
none."
Ashton-Kirk went to a window overlooking the stretch of green sod at the
side of the house.
"I understand you found the candlestick just under this?"
"Yes. The window was a little open; and I guess, after he'd finished the
job, the murderer wanted to get rid of the weapon. So he dropped it
outside."
"Nothing to be had here," said Ashton-Kirk, after a few moments' study
of the sitting-room. "At least not just now."
He threw up the window and stepped out, followed by Scanlon; standing
upon the paved walk the investigator looked about. The Burton house,
like the others on Duncan Street, sat fairly in the center of a plot of
ground perhaps two hundred feet square. Along the division fence between
that and the next house was a stretch of smooth sod, with grass, still
green. At one place upon this was a sort of rose arbor, the browned,
hardy shoots of a perennial twining thickly around it.
"There have been a half dozen policemen walking about here," said
Ashton-Kirk, pointing to the soft earth under the window. "And that is
fatal to any sort of close work, even had there been anything in the
first place."
However, in spite of this, he went over every yard of the space about
the house; at the rose arbor he paused.
"Directly in line with the sitting-room window," he said. "No doubt
young Burton placed it with that in mind; the invalid sister would love
to see the roses in early summer."
He walked behind the structure, and then Bat Scanlon saw him pause
suddenly and bend over, rigid with eagerness.
"What is it?" asked the big man.
For answer the criminologist pointed to the ground; sharply indented in
the sod were the marks of a small, high heeled shoe; and Scanlon stood
staring at them perplexed.
"What do they signify?" asked he. "There are likely to be footprints all
over the place--male and female. I'll venture to say that half the
residents of the street have been prowling about in this space since the
murder was done."
"That is a possibility always to be guarded against," said Ashton-Kirk,
quietly. "But there has been a policeman on guard all the time, so, you
see, the chances are greatly reduced." He studied the narrow imprints
with great care; they were firmly pressed into the damp sod, the high
heels making a decided puncture. "The night before last was a bright
one," he added, finally, as he straightened up and looked at Scanlon.
"At about the time the murder was committed the moon hung about there,
full and unobstructed, if you remember. Now, suppose you, for some
secret reason, entered the grounds at that time. The whole space on this
side was flooded with light; and yet you desired to get a view of what
was going on in the sitting-room; at the same time you were most anxious
not to be seen. What would you be most likely to do?"
Scanlon looked around and considered.
"About the only thing to do in a case like that," said he, "would be to
take cover behind this rose arbor."
"Right!" approved the investigator. "And now, consider: once behind it,
the only place from which you could fully overlook the window desired
would be here," indicating a certain spot; "the vine has 'made wood' too
heavily at all the other points to permit of uninterrupted vision. And
right here, you will notice these footprints are the most often
repeated; they are also deeper, showing that the woman, whoever she was,
stood here for some little time."
Scanlon was impressed; but at the same time there was a dubious look in
his eye.
"A woman _did_ stand there," he agreed; "and maybe she was looking in at
the window. But what do you draw from that?"
Ashton-Kirk smiled.
"Nothing--as yet. We'll just note the fact, old chap, and pass on to the
next. Later we'll put the two together, and see if any meaning is to be
had from the combination."
He was silent after that, moving here and there over the ground, his
head bent and his attention fixed. Scanlon chuckled as he watched him,
and marveled at the similarity between the movements of his friend and
those of a thoroughbred hound.
"And almost with his nose to the ground," observed Bat. "He's so fixed
in what he's doing that the European war could move into the next
county, and he'd never know it."
Once more the investigator came to a stop; from beneath the division
fence where the grass was rather long, he picked a shining object which
at once brought Bat Scanlon to his side.
"A revolver!" exclaimed the big man, amazed.
[Illustration: "EVERY CHAMBER LOADED"]
"With every chamber loaded," said the investigator. "It's a Smith and
Wesson; it's of a small calibre, commonly called a 'ladies' revolver.'"
"Funny how it got there, ain't it?" said Bat. "For it couldn't have had
anything to do with the killing of the 'Bounder,' seeing that he passed
out through being bumped with a candlestick."
"Nevertheless," said Ashton-Kirk, as he slipped the weapon into his
pocket, "the thing being here, and at this time, is rather
interesting."
He proceeded with his inspection of the ground, striking off toward the
front of the house as though following a trail. Bat lost sight of him
for a few moments; then, as he, too, reached the front of the house, he
saw the other standing, his hands in his pockets, a puzzled look on his
face.
"Well," said Scanlon, "what now?"
"Suppose we have a look at the other side of the building," replied the
other.
Here the police had also done some going to and fro; the broad foot of
Osborne was distinctly marked everywhere.
"And here is the sergeant's," said Ashton-Kirk, pointing. "The
policeman's shoe is not to be mistaken, and Sergeant Nailor always wears
soles that have been pegged."
Under one of the windows the investigator came to a halt. It was a
window smaller than any of the others and much higher in the wall.
Beneath it was a cellar opening with an iron grating.
"Look there," said the investigator, as he pointed to this latter.
Bat Scanlon looked, and saw a little ridge of mud upon one of the bars.
"From some one's foot," declared he. "It scraped off on the grating when
they climbed up on it, maybe to reach the window."
Ashton-Kirk studied the particles clinging to the bar with much
interest, an eager look in his eyes.
"It may be a coincidence," said he, "but I'm inclined to think not."
"What may be a coincidence?" asked Scanlon, as the other carefully
scraped the particles from the grading into a compartment of a paper
fold. But Ashton-Kirk made no reply except:
"Give me a 'boost' up to that window."
The big man obediently did so; on the ledge were the marks of fingers in
the dust which damp had caused to stick there.
"And newly done," said Ashton-Kirk, as he dropped to the ground, a glint
in his eye. "Very little dust has attached itself since they were made."
He began searching the surface of the ground under the window; finally
he took a strong lens from his pocket and with increased interest
resumed the inspection.
"Very likely one of the cops did this," said Scanlon. "Wanted to see if
the window was fast."
Ashton-Kirk got up from his stooping position and slipped the lens back
into his pocket.
"They would have tried the window from the inside in that case," said
he. "It would have been easier to get at." He stood for a moment,
reflecting; then he continued: "There seems to be very little more to be
hoped for. Let us speak to Osborne before we go."
The big headquarters man was in the room across the hall from the one
in which the crime had been committed.
"Well, all through?" he asked, genially, and with the manner of one
whose position is assured.
"Yes, I think so," said Ashton-Kirk.
"We covered it all pretty well outside there," nodded Osborne,
complacently, "and we got nothing from it. Depend on it, this thing was
an inside job. The party that did it belonged right here in the house."
"Too bad," mused Ashton-Kirk, as he looked about the comfortable,
homelike room. "Too bad! That will mean that another home is wrecked;
and this one seems decidedly worth keeping together--nice etching and
rugs and some very good bits of old brass." He took up a candlestick
from the end of a shelf. "Here is a real old Colonial candlestick which
must weigh at least five pounds."
Osborne looked at the piece, grimly.
"If Tom Burton were alive," said he, "he might be able to tell you
something about the weight of such things. It was with just such another
he was killed."
"Oh, indeed!" Ashton-Kirk replaced the candlestick upon the shelf and
dusted his fingers with a handkerchief. "Well, we'll be running along,
Osborne." They shook hands with the detective. "Sorry we hadn't any
better luck."
"So am I," said Osborne, still complacently. "But it breaks that way
sometimes. We can't turn up new stuff where it doesn't exist."
"True," said Ashton-Kirk, as he descended from the porch to the paved
walk. "That's very true. But thank you just the same. And good-bye."
And so with Scanlon at his side, he set off at a smart pace toward the
railroad station.