MR. QUIGLEY IS INTERVIEWED
For a moment there was a halt; Ashton-Kirk, Hutchinson and Scanlon
looked at the broken-nosed man without speaking, and the heart of the
big athlete turned sick at what he had heard.
"You saw her strike the blow?" asked the investigator.
"Yes--with a big brass thing. I thought it was a poker; but the papers
said afterward it was a candlestick, and I guess it was."
"What did you do after seeing this?"
"It got into my head that Duncan Street was no healthy place for me, and
I'd have jumped out of sight, only for seeing the woman take the
diamonds."
"She took them, then?"
"It was the first thing she did. I hung to the outside door waiting for
her. But she fooled me. She must have gone out some other way, for I
heard the gate click, and saw something in the shadow of the trees on
the sidewalk. I hurried out there, but she was gone; I didn't get
another peep at her."
Ashton-Kirk smiled.
"That is," said he, quietly, "not until to-day, at Quigley's."
Fenton's lower jaw dropped, and he stared at the investigator vacantly.
"At Quigley's!" said he.
"You saw her come down the hall while you were at the broker's door,"
said Ashton-Kirk. "And while she bargained with Quigley for a price on a
diamond necklace, you were looking in once more. She wore a veil, but
veils are not always dependable disguises."
"I don't know how you got that," said Fenton, at last, "but it's true,
all right. I spotted her as soon as I saw her; the veil might as well
not been there."
Ashton-Kirk drew on his gloves.
"Perhaps to-morrow you'll be called upon to repeat what you've said
to-night. So hold yourself ready."
"All right," said the broken-nosed man, sullenly. "You know where to
find me, I guess."
"Oh, yes." The investigator turned to Hutchinson, and continued: "I'm
obliged to you: you have facilitated matters greatly, and perhaps saved
Mr. Fenton from something rather serious. Good-night."
Followed by Scanlon, Ashton-Kirk left the place; a score of yards away
the investigator gave a low whistle and a shadow flitted across the
street to his side.
"There's a man inside there I want you to keep in sight, Fuller," said
the investigator. "The name is Fenton, and he has a broken nose."
"Oh, yes, I know him," said Fuller, readily. "Used to be a tout in the
old Sheepshead Bay days."
"Good!" said Ashton-Kirk. "Don't let him slip you. It's important."
Fuller at once started toward Gaffney's; and the investigator and
Scanlon made their way out of the back-water into the swirling,
high-colored avenue. At a druggist's Ashton-Kirk paused, and the two
went in. A telephone book was flipped over until the letter Q was
reached.
"Ah, yes," said the investigator. "Mr. Quigley lives at the Doric
Apartments." Then as he closed the book: "I trust we shall find him at
home."
Scanlon said nothing while the other called a taxi, and when the vehicle
arrived, they got in, Ashton-Kirk giving the driver the address wanted.
The Doric Apartments was a new and pretentious place upon a wide street
and directly opposite a small, green park. There was a great deal of
brass and marble and show about the entrance, and a uniformed attendant
announced them by means of a telephone. In a few moments the man
turned.
"Mr. Quigley says he does not recognize your names," said he. "And will
you kindly state your business."
"Tell him it is very important. That we must see him at once. That it
will be to his interest to do so."
The hall porter repeated these words almost as they were given to him,
but apparently the man above was not convinced.
"He says that he cannot be seen to-night; that he has retired," spoke
the hall man, turning once more. "Can you not call at his office in the
morning?"
Ashton-Kirk stepped inside the brass rail.
"If you please," said he to the man as he took possession of the
instrument. Then in a sharp, decisive tone he spoke into the
transmitter. "Mr. Quigley, I am very sorry to inconvenience you
to-night. To put off the matter of which I have to speak until morning
would perhaps place you in a rather hard light. The police always make
such a muddle of these things."
There was a pause, then came a shrill piping over the wire, startled and
inquiring. Scanlon saw the investigator smile.
"Very well," said Ashton-Kirk. "We will come up immediately." Turning to
the hall man, he asked: "Where is Mr. Quigley's apartment?"
"Twelfth floor, sir. Take the elevator. Number 1203."
The glittering cage swept smoothly up through the shaft, and at the
twelfth floor stopped.
"Third door to your right, suh," said the black man in charge.
Ashton-Kirk was about to knock at the door indicated when it opened, and
they saw a man in a dressing gown, a long side growth of hair brushed
over a bald head and a white, puffy face.
"Sir," said he, agitatedly, "I really must protest against this sort of
thing; it is very late. And I have had a trying day."
"I repeat, Mr. Quigley, I am sorry to disturb you; but, as I have also
said, the matter is very pressing. The police----"
"Come in, come in," said Quigley, hastily. "This way, gentlemen. I
suppose a man in my way of business must expect certain unforeseen
contingencies."
They passed into a room which seemed packed tightly with glittering
things; everything gleamed; not a foot of the wall but had a painting,
and each held within a gilded frame; small marbles shone as though they
had been polished; each piece of furniture had been rubbed to the
ultimate; the rugs were of the brightest and the floor threw off a sheen
of varnish that was appalling.
"Take chairs," said Mr. Quigley. "Be comfortable, now that you are
here." And when he saw them seated, he stood before them, an injured
look upon his puffy white face. "The police, you said, sir. Now, just
what of the police?"
"About a week ago," said Ashton-Kirk, quietly, "there was a murder done
at Stanwick. Perhaps you recall it; the victim was a man of the name of
Burton."
"Burton!" Quigley nodded and pursed his lips to hide a tremble that was
there. "Yes, I recall that deplorable affair. The son was taken for the
crime, I think." He looked at the investigator with uncertainty in his
eyes. "But why do you speak of that matter in connection, as it were,
with me?"
"By an odd train of circumstances," spoke Ashton-Kirk; "there was a
robbery committed at the time of the murder. Some diamonds were taken."
"Diamonds!" Quigley's mouth dropped open, and his pale face became
positively ghastly. "Why, in my reading of the newspaper accounts of the
case, I saw no mention of a robbery."
Ashton-Kirk nodded.
"That is true, because this phase of the matter is one of which neither
the newspapers nor the police know anything as yet." He leaned forward
in his chair and continued in his smoothest tones: "Among the things
taken was a diamond necklace. And this was sold to you to-day."
"No, no!" protested the man. "It is not true, sir! No, no! I am very
careful. I never purchase or lend money on things of which I am not
altogether sure."
"The necklace was brought to you to-day between twelve and one o'clock,"
said the investigator. "It was brought by a woman who wore a veil and
you haggled with her as to the money she was to get for it."
"Sir," said Quigley, lifting one hand, "I must insist that you are
mistaken; I must insist that this is a----"
But Ashton-Kirk stopped him.
"When I had the man send up my name a while ago," said the investigator,
"you replied that you did not know me. Surely, Mr. Quigley, your memory
is much better than that. I would hesitate to accuse a man in your line
of effort of being so forgetful. Only three years ago I transacted a
little business with you--the matter of Senator Donaldson's collection
of Revolutionary autographs. They had been taken by his younger
son--since dead--and sold to you. If it had not been that the Senator
was anxious to hush the matter up, you would have had some trouble on
your hands, Mr. Quigley."
The broker choked and gasped, and when he came out of this his whole
manner had undergone a change.
"Mr. Ashton-Kirk," said he, "I beg your pardon. I do recognize you now.
But, sir, you had entirely slipped my memory; if you had not mentioned
that unfortunate Donaldson episode I would not have recalled you. That
was one of those things in which even a very honest man might become
involved. I was deceived in that case, and----"
"Let us agree, then, that you were deceived. And that being so, is it
not possible that it might have happened again?"
Reluctantly, Quigley agreed that this was so.
"However," said he, "I take all precautions. I ask questions; I delve
into the history of every valuable thing offered me. But I admit that I
have been misled once or twice, in spite of all I could do."
"Suppose," said Ashton-Kirk, "you allow us a look at the necklace
and----"
"But it is not here!" exclaimed Quigley. "It is at my office, locked
away in the safe."
"Very well," said Ashton-Kirk. "We have a cab outside. Let us go to your
office."
"It is late," expostulated the broker. "I had retired for the night. Why
not morning, sir? The morning will find us fresh and wakeful, and we can
talk things over at our leisure."
"The morning has one drawback," said Ashton-Kirk. "The police may, in
the interim, learn something; and if you are not arrayed on the side of
the law by the time they reach you, you may be decidedly inconvenienced,
not only in this matter, but in others as well."
This seemed powerfully to impress Mr. Quigley.
"I shall do as you request, Mr. Ashton-Kirk," said he. "I put myself
entirely in your hands. If you will give me a few moments to dress I
will go with you to my place of business, and permit you to examine the
necklace. I am always ready to demonstrate my integrity; no one has ever
found me unwilling to comply with every requirement of a reputable
business man."
With that Mr. Quigley disappeared, and within fifteen minutes he emerged
from the rooms beyond fully dressed, including a most respectable top
hat; they descended and got into a cab, and in a little while brought up
at the Chandler Building, where the broker had his office.
A night man sleepily ran them up to the required floor, and Quigley
unlocked his office door.
"Now, gentlemen," said he, "it is fortunate that I still have what you
desire to see here in the office. I have a very good safe, but never
trust anything to it of extreme value unless I am compelled to do so.
This necklace came too late for me to place it in the vault I use for
such things, so I had to keep it here overnight."
[Illustration: THEN THE DOOR SWUNG OPEN]
He turned the knob of a formidable looking safe until he had effected
the proper combination; then the door swung open. The inner door was
then unlocked and Quigley pulled out a drawer; from this he took a
magnificent necklace of diamonds which gleamed resplendently under the
lights.
"This is the article you spoke of," said he. "Quite handsome. But I feel
sure that it is in no way connected with the unhappy affair at
Stanwick."
Ashton-Kirk took the jewels in his hand and examined them keenly. Then
he held them out to Scanlon.
"What do you think?" he asked. "I have only a description to go by, but
you must have seen the stones frequently at close hand. Are they the
same?"
Scanlon needed only one glance.
"They are," returned he; "I'd know this necklace among a thousand."
"The lady who left them with me," said Quigley, still hopeful, "was
quite respectable. I'd vouch for that at any time. She is a widow and
was once in good circumstances."
"You know her, then?" said Ashton-Kirk.
"Oh, yes; we have had a number of small----" But here the man paused
abruptly; then he began a fit of coughing which was unquestionably
intended to cover the break. "Oh, yes," he resumed, "I know her quite
well."
"You were about to say," spoke Ashton-Kirk, coolly, "that you have had a
number of small transactions with her. How recent were these?"
Quigley blew his nose violently and cleared his throat, as though the
coughing spell had left him in an obstructed condition.
"Why," he gasped, trying to assume a most confidential manner, "that
would be rather difficult to say. You see, I keep a very neglectful run
of these people, and my memory is really very poor."
"The necklace was not the only jewel stolen at Stanwick," said
Ashton-Kirk, quietly. "There were a number of other pieces, and I must
really insist that you cudgel your mind for the facts. You must have
entries somewhere in your books. I am asking this as a favor; of course,
if the police were requested to appear in the matter they would use
methods entirely different from----"
"It is barely possible that my clerk has some record of these things,"
said Quigley, hastily. "Just one moment, please, and I will ascertain."
He went into an inner office, took a book from a desk drawer and began
turning the leaves with a moistened thumb. Scanlon, catching the eye of
the investigator, winked knowingly.
"Why, to be sure," said Quigley. "Of course! Here it is, fortunately.
She has been in the office three times in the past week."
Ashton-Kirk stepped behind the counter and into the inner office, and
coolly looked over the broker's shoulder.
"Do you see?" asked Quigley. "Right here. There are three rings in one
item; and there is a brooch in another. And then, of course, the
necklace."
Ashton-Kirk examined the entries and made some memoranda in a small
book; then he began asking some questions in a voice so low that Scanlon
caught only a word here and there. He recognized "woman," also "veil,"
and in another place "this afternoon." It were as though Ashton-Kirk
were urging the man to accompany him somewhere, which Quigley seemed
loth to do. Then the investigator took something from his pocket and
showed it to the other. Bat caught a flash of it; it was a
photograph--of Nora Cavanaugh, and the broker was now nodding his head
eagerly as he gazed at it.
"They're going to Nora's," was what flashed through Bat's brain. "This
hound of a pawn-broker'll try and put something on her whether it's true
or not." His mind seethed with this for a moment, and then came another
idea. "But they'll not take her by surprise; I'll get there before them,
and tell her."
And silently Mr. Scanlon slipped through the hall door and was gone.