SOME NEW DEVELOPMENTS
Ashton-Kirk filled a finely colored meerschaum from the jar of Greek
tobacco on the table; the pipe was a large one; upon the stem was a
charging boar, exceptionally well done; and the curving bit was hard,
gray bone.
"That combination always struck me as an exciting smoke," observed Bat
Scanlon, from the opposite side of the table. "The tobacco, like most
things from the Balkans, is a little unsettled; and the wild porker
means battle with every bristle."
"It was no ordinary carver who gave this old chap his warlike look,"
said Ashton-Kirk, as he tapped the boar's bristling back with one
finger. "No less a person than Pasquale Guiccioli is responsible for
him."
"That so?" said Scanlon. "It seems like small work for a sculptor of his
displacement."
"It was merely curiosity. He wanted to test this sort of clay as a
medium, I suppose. And with a man like Guiccioli, even a whim must
result in something like a masterpiece. It was just about the time of
that turmoil about the Florentine bronzes; and a bad light was thrown on
the old man by persons interested in spoiling his career. I had the good
fortune to come at the truth of the matter; and the sculptor, in an
outburst of Italian fervor, declared that I might name any of his
possessions as a reward."
"And you picked the pipe, eh?" Scanlon drew at his cigar, and nodded
approval. But his eyes went from the meerschaum to a sheet of white
letter paper upon the table which contained some fragments of hardened
mortar gathered in two little heaps. "If you are ready," added he, "I'd
like to hear why you are so interested in this stuff, and what it has to
do with the Stanwick murder."
The investigator paced up and down the room; the smoke from the pipe
lifted about him in small eddies as he moved.
"Two places may be associated mentally," said Ashton-Kirk, "and yet,
physically, they may be as far apart as the poles. At the beginning of
this affair, Nora Cavanaugh's house and 620 Duncan Street were brought
together in my mind only because the murdered man had visited both on
the night of his death. But," and Ashton-Kirk laughed, "mortar is a most
adhesive substance; and it is holding them together quite firmly."
"I don't get you," affirmed Bat, a line of doubt across his forehead.
"Make it a little plainer, will you?"
"At Stanwick you did not follow me over the ground very closely, except
a few times when I specially claimed your attention. Just before I found
the revolver under the fence, I saw a second footprint in the sod--a
cautious footprint--or perhaps 'toeprint' would be better. It was that
of a man, and he had gone tiptoeing lightly around with long steps and
in a most erratic manner."
"Why didn't you mention it?" asked Bat Scanlon, somewhat hurt.
"The prints were few; they were also light and dim; and I was not at all
sure that they meant anything. However, at the other side of the house I
saw them again, but after a few yards I lost them."
"Huh!" said Bat Scanlon.
"But just in the neighborhood of the spot in which they disappeared,"
continued the investigator, "I noted something else. My lens showed me
the impress in the sod of something like a woven fabric. My first
thought was that some one had been walking about in his stockings. But a
closer inspection told me that the outline was much too rigid for that.
And then I realized what had happened. The man who had been tiptoeing so
quietly about had stopped at that point and drawn a pair of woolen
'creepers' over his shoes."
"No!" Bat started up in sudden excitement. "That's a good point. It
shows that this fellow, whatever else he was, was no amateur. The
creeper thing is a regular burglar stunt."
Ashton-Kirk nodded.
"I think you are right," said he. "At any rate it was this gentleman who
tried to lift himself up to the window, and in so doing left that
interesting little ridge of earth on the cellar grating."
"Yes, of course," said Scanlon. "That _would_ be him, sure."
"To the unaided eye," proceeded Ashton-Kirk, "the scrapings seemed but
fragments of soil; but the lens showed me something more. Mixed with the
earth were some whitish particles--these," and he indicated one of the
little heaps of crumbled lime. "Association," and the investigator
looked at his friend steadily, "is one of the commonest faculties of the
mind. And as soon as I realized what the particles were, an idea took
shape."
"An idea," said Bat, with a feeling of uneasiness growing upon him.
"What sort of an idea?"
"True coincidence," said Ashton-Kirk, "is so infrequent an occurrence
that I seldom consider it. The presence of the lime upon the cellar
grating had no value, of course; but, as you know, a poker player will
sometimes retain cards in his hand which are worth nothing in
themselves, on the chance that he may draw certain others. And, once
these _are_ drawn, the heretofore valueless cards become of superlative
importance."
There was a pause; Bat Scanlon knew the weight of this illustration, and
sat in nervous expectation of what was to follow. "I had this idea in
mind when I stepped on the scaffolding outside Miss Cavanaugh's window,"
proceeded Ashton-Kirk. "The maid said the workmen had not been on the
job for some days, and so my search was not difficult. There were a
great many footprints, unquestionably of the mechanics; but on top of
these, plain and undisturbed, were the impressions of the 'creepers'
which I had seen in the sod at 620 Duncan Street."
"You are sure?" said Bat Scanlon, in a flat, throaty voice. "There's no
mistake?"
"Not any," replied the investigator, quietly.
Scanlon dropped the end of his cigar into a pewter bowl upon the table;
then he lighted another and lay back in his chair, his brows drawn
together in a heavy frown.
"All right," said he. "We'll let it go at that. There was a yegg of some
kind scouting around Nora's house; and the same lad also took some
observations of the place at Stanwick. We have that all settled. And now
what does it mean?"
Ashton-Kirk smiled.
"I don't know," said he. "But suppose we try to find out." He took the
telephone receiver from the hook and asked for police headquarters. In a
few moments he had the person required.
"Hello, Devlin," said he; "this is Ashton-Kirk."
"Oh, how are you?" came the big voice of Captain Devlin, of the
detective staff. "Osborne was just talking about you. Said you'd got
kind of a rap across the knuckles on that Stanwick job."
"We must all expect setbacks now and then," replied the investigator,
smoothly. "I get mine with more or less regularity."
The captain of detectives laughed loudly; his mirth came over the wire
in booming flares of pleasure.
"That's so," said he, "we all get it." There was an instant's pause,
then he added: "Anything I can do for you?"
"I wanted to ask about any cracksmen who might be in town at this time,"
said the investigator.
"There's a few," replied Devlin. "What's the name of the party you
want?"
"I have no name. But I can give you some details of description. He's
cautious in his habits--goes about his work carefully. He's small and
has large feet."
"That won't fit any one I know," said the other. "There is no regular
burglar hereabouts just now who is what you'd call small. But the other
two counts--being cautious and having big feet--would fit Big Slim."
"Ah!" Scanlon saw Ashton-Kirk's eyes snap. "Big Slim! I take it that he
is a tall man, lightly built."
"That's right," answered Devlin. "A regular slat."
"Have you any idea where he could be found?"
"He's often seen at Duke Sheehan's, on Claridge Street. That's a kind of
hang-up for him." Then, with a note of interest in his voice, the
captain of detectives added: "Got anything on him?"
"I don't know," replied Ashton-Kirk. "I'll be able to tell better in a
day or two."
After a few general remarks he hung up the receiver, turned toward
Scanlon and told him of what Devlin had said.
But Bat continued to look puzzled.
"You asked for a cautious crook who was small and had big feet. Where
did you get all that?"
"The fact that he wore 'creepers' showed that he wasn't a man to take
unnecessary chances. The impressions on the sod at Stanwick were quite
faint; that indicated a light man, and so I thought of him as being
small. However, a tall man of frail build would make about the same sort
of a footprint; and in his case the large size of the feet is more
easily accounted for."
"I get you," said Bat. He arose to his feet, the fresh cigar held
between his teeth, and walked up and down the room. Ashton-Kirk leaned
against a corner of the table, and watched him with observant eyes. And,
finally, as the big man continued to tramp up and down in silence, the
investigator said, quietly:
"There are some things in this whole matter which make you uneasy. I've
seen that from the first. You've even feared to uncover little things
which might be truths because you did not know just where they would
lead."
Scanlon paused and regarded his friend with troubled eyes.
"You are right," said he. "From the very first I've been as nervous as a
roomful of old maids with dinner ten minutes late. It had a queer look,
somehow; and as I've seen more of it, the queerness don't get any less."
"Just at this point," spoke the investigator, "we reach a sort of
crisis. Certain things must be faced. What you have been fearing and
what I have been realizing with increasing clearness with every step we
took must now be considered openly and freely."
Bat cleared his throat, huskily.
"You mean Nora Cavanaugh," he said.
"I mean Nora Cavanaugh," replied the other, evenly.
Scanlon resumed his pacing.
"I can't deny it," said he. "She's keeping something back. I saw
that--or rather, I felt it--from the start. I don't understand why she's
doing it, and I can't imagine what it is. But she ain't told all she
knows; and she don't mean to tell it." At Ashton-Kirk's side the man
paused and laid a hand upon his arm. "And now that we're on this
subject," said he, "and talking plain, what did you get from the marks
on her temple?"
"She said it was an accident, due to her maid's carelessness. The maid,
when questioned, showed clearly that she knew nothing of it. That
convinced me that Miss Cavanaugh desired to hide the cause of the
bruise. Her refusal to permit the girl to touch her hair on the morning
after the murder makes it plain that she had some reason for desiring
the mark to remain unseen."
"I'm on that she didn't get the mark as she said," said Scanlon. "But
how _did_ she get it?"
"That is another thing which it is impossible to make sure of at this
time," replied Ashton-Kirk. "But, merely as a suggestion, mind you, I
recall that the' Bounder' visited her on the night it happened."
"He struck her, you mean!" Bat's hands clenched and his great shoulders
heaved. "The infernal cur! that would be just like him!"
"Another suggestion which I'd like to make," spoke Ashton-Kirk, "is one
which may or may not be significant. The maid said Miss Cavanaugh put
her jewels in a bank vault the morning after his visit."
Bat Scanlon stiffened up; an exclamation upon his lips; one fist smacked
into an open palm as he cried:
"You've hit it! She just came in from the theatre, and she was wearing
the diamonds. When she refused him money he grabbed them; she resisted
and he struck her!"
"You may be correct," said the investigator. He was keen, calm,
impersonal; it was as though the entire matter were a game, the
intricate possibilities of which were just being uncovered. But Scanlon
was much excited; the more the thing grew and took shape in his mind,
the more agitated he became. "And if you are right," proceeded
Ashton-Kirk, "we can perhaps guess as to what followed."
Something like a shudder ran through Scanlon's big frame.
"I know what you mean," he said. "That thing has been lying like a
shadow across my mind from the beginning. Nora Cavanaugh is a woman of
spirit; the man who struck her would risk----"
But the other interrupted him.
"We'll not think of shadows," said he, quietly. "They will land us
nowhere. What we are going to do is light the lamps along the road this
thing leads us; in that way only can we get a good look at the facts."
"Facts!" Bat put one strong hand on Ashton-Kirk's shoulder. "As I feel
now, facts are about the last things I want to deal with. Suppose the
police found this out--that the rascal of a husband had visited Nora to
get money from her, that he had struck her and taken her jewels, and
that she had----"
But Ashton-Kirk slapped him upon the back.
"Don't wear out your nerves conjuring up things which maybe never have,
or never will, happen," said he. "You'll have use for them, and at once.
For there is some snappy work to be done, and I want your help."
"Right," responded Scanlon, with an instinctive grasping at his old
habit of manner and thought. "What can I do?"
"I'll be engaged in another phase of the thing for a couple of days, and
in the meantime I'd like to have you go to Duke Sheehan's place and
look out for the gentleman Devlin calls Big Slim. If possible, get
acquainted with him, and find out anything of value he may have."
"Good enough," said Bat. "An acquaintance with that guy is one of the
things I'd framed up for the near future. I'm interested in why he was
promenading around on the scaffold at Nora's window, and why he shifted
his attention to Stanwick in such a hurry." Bat looked at his hat which
lay upon the table, and then to Ashton-Kirk once more. "Any particular
time you'd like me to take up this job?" inquired he.
"The sooner the better," was the prompt reply.
"That means now," said the big man, as he took up the hat. "First I'll
go back to my shop and dress for the occasion, then I'll drift into
Sheehan's just as natural as you please and see what's to be seen."