MISS VALE UNEXPECTEDLY APPEARS
Edouard, Ashton-Kirk's cook, was astonished and somewhat grieved that
day to receive orders that dinner was to be served an hour earlier
than usual. And Stumph, grave and immobile, was betrayed into an
expression of astonishment when his master and guest sat down to the
same dinner in their work-a-day attire.
And at best Edouard's delicate art that day received but scant
attention. Stumph could hardly conceive of a more important thing than
the proper and gentlemanly eating of one's dinner. Nevertheless other
things engaged the attention of the two young men; they talked
earnestly and in incomprehensible terms; mysterious allusions were
sprinkled thickly through it all.
"I do not think," Stumph told the mortified Edouard in the kitchen,
"that Mr. Pendleton has tasted the flavor of a single thing he has
eaten. He listens to Mr. Ashton-Kirk talk; he is surprised at
everything that he is told; there is a trembling in his hands, he is
so eager. No, I don't know what it's about. But then, I never know
what Mr. Ashton-Kirk is about. He is a very remarkable gentleman."
And no sooner was the dinner completed than Ashton-Kirk's big French
car was brought to the door and both young men got into it.
"You've looked up the road to Cordova?" inquired Ashton-Kirk of the
chauffeur.
"Yes, sir," answered the man. "Very good road and almost parallel with
the railroad. No trouble getting there by dark."
"All right. Get there as soon as you can."
They cut into a broad asphalted avenue, which eventually led them
through the north suburbs into the country. The April dusk was
settling upon the fields as they raced along; in the isolated houses,
lights were beginning to twinkle; there was a swaying among the trees
and roadside bush; the hum of the flying car must have been borne long
distances; for far away people raised their heads from the finishing
tasks of the day to look at it as it flashed by.
Pendleton lay back comfortably digesting his dinner, and ticking off
in his mind the case which engrossed him so much.
"It all tapers down to this," he said to himself. "Hume was murdered
by Locke and a confederate in order that they might gain possession of
something, the nature of which is unknown. Kirk is confident of Locke;
I think he'd even go so far as to give him into custody, if he had
the tangible proofs that the police require.
"But he lacks enthusiasm in the matter of the confederate. To my mind,
it's Spatola or Morris, or both. Both bore Hume no good will. Morris
has been spending at least part of his time with Spatola under an
assumed name; they are known to have been very much engaged in some
secret matter. Both visited Hume's on the night of the murder. An
Italian purchased the weapon with which the deed was done. A German
sentence was written in shorthand by Locke for his confederate.
Spatola admits he knows German; he grows suspicious when shorthand is
mentioned. And to wind it up, Morris has not been seen at his
apartments, his office, or by his friends, since the murder was
committed."
At a little unpainted railroad station, the investigator broke in on
Pendleton's thoughts by calling on the chauffeur to stop. There were
the usual signboards on each side of the structure, announcing that
the place was Cordova; and there was the usual knot of loungers that
are always to be found about such places watching with interest the
incoming trains.
Ashton-Kirk called to one of these. He was a lanky fellow in a
wide-brimmed hat and with a sheep-like look of complacency.
"What's the best way to Dr. Mercer's place?" asked Ashton-Kirk.
The lanky man reflected.
"There's three or four ways of getting there," he stated. "You can go
up the pike and turn at Harbison's store; or you can turn down the
lane along there a piece and go along until you come to--"
"Which is the nearest?"
"I ain't never passed no judgment on that; but I think the clay road
down toward Plattville would get you there the quickest--if you didn't
get stuck in the ruts."
"I think we'd better stick to the pike," suggested Pendleton.
"The pike's the best road," said the lanky man. "All the people from
Mercer's place use it when they drive here to the station."
Once more the big French car, now with its lamps lighted, sped along
the road; about a mile further on they came to the store referred to
by the man as Harbison's. Here they received instructions as to how to
proceed, by the store-keeper; and after running about four miles along
an indifferent wagon road, they caught the twinkle of many lights off
in the middle of a wide clearing.
"That must be it," said the investigator. "We'll leave the car here;
to flash up to the door in the quiet of the evening would attract more
attention than would be good for us, perhaps."
It was now quite dark, but they found a gate a trifle farther on which
opened readily; and so they proceeded along a walk toward a building
which lay blinking at them with its yellow eyes. A deep-throated dog
scented them from off in the distance and gave tongue. As they drew
near to the institution they heard a man calling to the brute to be
still. A little further on the man himself suddenly appeared from
around the corner of a building with a lantern; he flashed this in
their faces as he said:
"Well, sirs, this is against the rules. We have no visitors except on
Saturdays; and then only within reasonable hours."
"We would like to speak to Dr. Mercer," said Ashton-Kirk.
"Dr. Mercer is at dinner," explained the man with the lantern. "He
don't like it much if he's disturbed at such times."
"We will wait until he has finished; we are in no great hurry."
The man seemed puzzled as to how to act. With the light held aloft so
that not a feature escaped him, he examined them closely. Apparently
he could see nothing with which to find fault; and so he sighed in a
perplexed fashion.
"He does not care to have people wait for him," complained the man.
"He gets very angry if he is worried by such things while dining."
"You need not announce us until he is through," said Ashton-Kirk,
composedly.
The man hesitated; but finally resolved upon a course and led them up
a flight of stone steps and into a wide hall. The night was raw and a
brisk fire of pine knots burning in an old-fashioned hall fireplace,
made the place very comfortable.
"If you will be seated, gentlemen," requested their guide, "I will
tell Dr. Mercer of your presence as soon as he has finished."
They seated themselves obligingly in a couple of low, heavy chairs
near the fire; and then the man left them. The hall was high and
rather bare: the hardwood floor shone brilliantly under the lights;
save for the faint murmur of voices from a near-by room, everything
was still.
"I should imagine that a place of this sort wouldn't be at all noisy,"
observed Pendleton, in a heavy attempt at jocularity.
Except for a word now and then, they waited in silence for a half
hour; then a door opened and steps were heard in the hall. Both turned
and saw a remarkably small man, perhaps well under five feet, dressed
with great care and walking with a quick nervous step. His head was
very large and partly bald, rearing above his small frame like a
great, bare dome; he carried a silk hat in his hand, and peered
abstractedly through spectacles of remarkable thickness.
"Locke," breathed Pendleton, as his heart paused for a moment and then
went on with a leap.
The little man apparently did not see them until he was almost beside
them; then he paused with a start, and his eyes grew owlish behind the
magnifying lenses as he strove to make them out. That he did not
recognize them seemed to worry him; his thin, gray face seemed to grow
grayer and thinner; with a diffident little bow he passed on and out
at the front door.
"Not a very formidable looking criminal," commented Ashton-Kirk,
quietly. "However, you can seldom judge by appearances. The most
astonishing crime that ever came to my notice was perpetrated by the
meekest and most conventional man I had ever seen."
They waited for still another space, and then the man who had shown
them in presented himself. He was now without the lantern, but wore a
melancholy look.
"Dr. Mercer will see you," said he in a low voice. "He is very much
vexed at being disturbed. He'll remember it against me for weeks." He
appeared very much disturbed.
Ashton-Kirk placed a coin in the speaker's hand; this seemed to have
a bracing effect, for he led them into his employer's presence in a
brighter frame of mind. Dr. Mercer was seated at the table in his
dining-room. A napkin was tucked in his collar, his fat hands were
folded across his stomach, and he was breathing heavily.
"Gentlemen," spoke he, rolling his eyes around to them, "I trust you
will pardon my not rising. But to exert myself after dining has a most
injurious result sometimes. My digestion is painfully impaired; the
slightest excitement causes me the utmost suffering."
"I appreciate the fact that we are intruding at a most inconvenient
time," said Ashton-Kirk. "And I beg of you to accept our apologies."
The eyes of Dr. Mercer, which had the appearance of swimming in fat,
were removed from his visitors, and fixed themselves longingly upon a
great dish filled with a steaming, heavy-looking pudding. His breath
labored in his chest as he replied:
"The hour _is_ somewhat unusual; but as it happens I have about
finished my dinner, and if your errand is not of a stirring nature, I
should be pleased to have you state it."
The man placed chairs in such a position that the doctor would not
have to stir to fully observe his visitors. This done he was about to
withdraw; but his employer stopped him at the door.
"Haines," complained he, "you have not taken my order for breakfast."
The man paused and seemed much abashed at his neglect.
"I really beg your pardon, sir," said he. And with that he produced a
pencil and a small book and stood ready.
"I will have one of those trout that I purchased to-day," directed the
doctor. "Let it be that large, fine one that I was so pleased with,"
his swimming eyes ready to float out of his head with anticipation.
"Then I would like some new-laid eggs, some hot cakes, and perhaps a
small piece of steak, if there is any that is tender and tasty. And
mind you," in an nervous afterthought, "tell Mrs. Crane to have it but
rarely done. I will not tolerate it dry and without flavor." He
pondered awhile, apparently much moved by this painful possibility;
then he added: "I may as well have a cereal to begin with, I suppose.
And that will be all with the exception of a few slices from the cold
roast and some white rolls."
Carefully Haines had taken this down; and after he had read it over at
his employer's order and noted a few alterations and additions, he
departed. For a few moments the doctor's eyes were closed in expectant
rapture; his breathing grew so stertorous that his callers were
becoming alarmed; but he spoke at last, reluctantly, resentfully.
"I am now ready to hear you, gentlemen, if you please. And kindly
remember that I prohibit anything of an exciting nature at this time."
"We have heard your school highly spoken of," said Ashton-Kirk. "And
have come to make some inquiries before making up our minds."
"Ah," breathed Dr. Mercer, solemnly, "you have an afflicted one. Too
bad! Tut, tut, tut, too bad!"
"There are many institutions of the sort," proceeded the investigator.
"But for the most part they stop at the threshold, so to speak, of
knowledge."
Dr. Mercer roused himself so far as to unclasp his hands and point
with one finger at the speaker.
"Sir," said he, in a voice full of grave significance, "they seldom
reach the threshold. A large majority of them are conducted by
dishonest persons. Afflicted youth left in their charge are rarely
properly directed--they rarely acquire that digital dexterity so
necessary to success in their limited lives. The isolated brain, so to
call it, is seldom more than half awakened. Unless it is intelligently
approached, the shadows are never thoroughly dispelled."
Here he paused, panting distressedly; his eyes were filled with
reproach as he relapsed into his first attitude; and his manner was
that of one who mutely begged that no further tasks be thrust upon
him.
"The difference in institutions of this type lies mainly in the
methods employed, I believe," said Ashton-Kirk.
"In the methods--and in the persons who apply them," replied Dr.
Mercer in a smothered tone.
"To be sure. I have heard something of your teaching staff. It is a
very excellent one, is it not?"
"The best in the world." The soft, fat, white hands of the doctor
again unclasped themselves; and this time both of them were employed
in a faintly traced gesture. "We employ scientists. We do not stop at
what you have correctly called the threshold. We explore the entire
structure of the intellect. Our Professor Locke, himself an afflicted
one, is a man of vast erudition--a scholar of an advanced type, a
philosopher whose adventures into the field of psychology and natural
science is widely known. He has charge of the practical work of the
Mercer Institute, and under him its results are positive and unique."
"We have heard of Professor Locke," and, drily, "have seen some of his
work."
"If you had stated your business before--ah--coming in to me," spoke
the doctor, "you might have had an opportunity of consulting him. He
left for his cottage immediately after dining."
"He does not live here, then?"
"Not in this building--no. There is a detached cottage at the far end
of the grounds which he occupies. If you'd like to see him," and the
heavy jowls of the speaker trembled with eagerness, "Haines will show
you there at once."
"If it is no trouble," said Ashton-Kirk, smoothly.
"Not in the least." The doctor rang for his man, and when he entered,
said: "These gentlemen would like to speak to Professor Locke. Show
them the way to his house. And, gentlemen," to the callers, with
anxiety, "the professor can arrange everything with you. It is my
habit to nod for a half hour after dinner. My system has grown to
expect it, and if I am deprived of it, I suffer considerably in
consequence."
"We will not trouble you again, doctor," Ashton-Kirk assured him.
"Thank you, and good-night."
Once more outside, the man led them along a foot-path that seemed to
cut the institution grounds in two. The rays of his lantern danced
along the carefully kept lawn; the shadowy trees seemed to move
backward and forward, as the thin beams wavered among them.
"The professor lives a good piece away," the man informed them. "Away
over on the county road."
"Prefers to be alone, eh?"
"I suppose so, sir. And then he has his laboratory and work-shop
there, well away from interruption. He don't like to be much disturbed
while he is engaged in his studies."
"Few of us do," said Pendleton.
"Quite right, sir."
They walked along in silence for a time; then they caught a clear
humming noise from some distance ahead.
"A motor car," said Pendleton.
"It's on the county road," said the man with the light. "We always
hear them when the wind blows from that direction."
After some fifteen minutes' steady walking they saw a long twinkling
shaft of light coming from among the trees.
"That's the house," said Haines. "I hope the professor ain't busy; you
wouldn't believe what a blowing up he can give a body with his fingers
when he's vexed. I'd almost rather have the doctor himself; though, as
a rule, the professor is a very nice gentleman."
The house was a brick structure of two stories and dimly lighted on
the lower floor. Near by was a long, shed-like building, the windows
of which were brilliantly lighted.
"He's at work," said Haines, in a troubled tone. "And in the shop too!
If it was even the laboratory, it wouldn't be so bad. But he _does_
get so interested in the shop. That machine means more to him,
whatever it is, than anything else about the place."
There came a harsh burring sound from within both the shop and the
house. Haines seemed surprised.
"Visitors," he said. "He seldom has one; and I never knew any to come
at night before."
They saw the figure of Locke cross one of the shed windows toward a
door. And just then Ashton-Kirk stumbled rather heavily against
Haines; the lantern dropped to the ground and was extinguished.
"I beg your pardon," said the investigator in a rueful tone; then he
began to rub his shins. "That was rather hard, whatever it was."
The door of the building opened and Locke appeared; his great bald
head shone in the light that streamed after him; and it was thrust
forward as he strove to penetrate the darkness ahead.
"He feels the vibrations of those buzzers," Haines told them, "and
knows right away when anyone wants to get in."
He began fumbling with the lantern as Locke disappeared; but
Ashton-Kirk said to him:
"You need not light that. We can see very well. And, on second
thought, you need not wait, either. We can introduce ourselves to
Professor Locke without troubling you further."
"Thank you, sir," said the man, vastly relieved. "They all have queer
dispositions, you see, and I don't like to trouble them."
At once Haines made his way back along the path by which they had
approached; some distance away they saw him kindle his lantern, and
then watched the yellow spark as it glanced fitfully away across the
grounds.
The cottage and work-shop of Professor Locke appeared to be set back
some little distance from what Haines had called the county road; a
grove of tall trees thickened the shadows all about, and it was into
these trees that the professor had gone.
"The buzzer must have the button that sounds it attached to a gate
opening upon the road," said Pendleton.
They stood for a short time in silence; then Pendleton nudged his
friend with an elbow.
"Look," he whispered. "There at the door of the shed."
Ashton-Kirk did so. And he was just in time to see a large, iron-gray
head, a craggy, powerful face, and a pair of thick shoulders; the
expression and attitude were those of a man listening intently. Almost
instantly, as Ashton-Kirk's gaze fell upon him, the man withdrew.
"Humph," exclaimed Pendleton under his breath. "Who's that, I wonder?"
They waited for some time longer in silence. But the little man did
not return, nor did the head appear again at the shop door.
Ashton-Kirk appeared puzzled.
"Locke intended returning at once," he said to Pendleton. "Otherwise
he would have closed his work-shop door." Then his eyes wandered
toward the house, and his grip closed tightly upon his companion's
arm. "Look," whispered he, in his turn.
Pendleton's gaze flew toward the house. The lower windows had been
dimly lighted when they approached; but now the glow from them was
high and brilliant. In one of the rooms they saw Locke; he was
striding up and down, his hands clinched and gesturing, his face
upturned, writhing hideously. Seated at a table, calmly engaged in
examining something traced upon a sheet of paper, and apparently not
paying the slightest attention to the gesticulating man, was a young
woman. And Pendleton felt himself grow suddenly faint and sick as he
recognized Edyth Vale.