ASHTON-KIRK TELLS WHY
It was about four in the afternoon, and young Pendleton sat in
Ashton-Kirk's big chair, reading the newspapers and waiting. Finally
he rang a bell and Stumph gravely appeared.
"Are you sure that he said three?" asked Pendleton.
"_About_ three, sir," replied the man.
"Oh! I suppose he's been detained then. That will be all, Stumph!"
When the man disappeared, Pendleton lighted a cigar and resumed his
reading. The Hume case was still holding its place as the news feature
of the day. Nothing had occurred to equal it in sensation; and the
huge headings flared across the front pages, undiminished and
undismayed.
"Why," screamed the _Standard_, in a perfect frenzy of letter press,
"did Miss Edyth Vale visit Hume on the night of the murder?"
The girl's name had crept into the paper on the day before; with each
edition it appeared in larger type; and that afternoon the _Standard_
was printing it in red ink. Allan Morris was not neglected; on the
contrary, he figured a very close second to his betrothed in the
types.
"_Where is Allan Morris?_"
One paper asked this question perhaps fifty times on each page. It
peered at one in square, heavy-faced type from the bottoms of columns
and between articles. There were interviews with his clerks; the
opinions of his stenographer were given in full, together with her
portrait; and what his man servant had to say was treated as being of
great consequence.
Another sheet, which made a point of appealing to the tastes of the
vast foreign element of the city, grew very indignant as to the arrest
of Antonio Spatola.
"Why," it inquired, "is this man detained and no attempt made to take
those higher up into custody? If the Police Department is so ready to
incarcerate a poor musician, why should it hesitate upon the threshold
of the rich man's mansion?--or the rich woman's, for the matter of
that?"
This item incensed Pendleton beyond measure; he threw the paper aside
and stormed up and down the room.
"Of all the blatant wretched twaddle I ever did read," he exclaimed,
"this is positively the worst. Why, the rag would have the police
arrest Edyth--arrest her for--"
"Well," demanded a sharp, aggressively pitched voice, "what for you
make-a da blame, eh? Da cops pinch-a Spatola, and for why, eh? Because
he's da wop, da Ginney, da Dago and got-a no friends."
At the first word Pendleton had whirled about in astonishment, and
faced the speaker, who stood in the doorway, pointing with one hand in
the attitude of melodrama.
"Well," asked the young man, "who the deuce are you?"
By way of an answer the other burst into a laugh that showed his
brilliant teeth; then he threw off his battered soft hat and gayly
colored handkerchief, after which he sank into the chair which
Pendleton had lately vacated.
"Pen," said he, in an altered voice, "if you appreciate my friendship
at all, give me one of the blackest cigars in the case over there."
Pendleton stared for a moment; then a grin crept over his face and he
said:
"Oh, it's you, is it?" He went to the cabinet and took out a box.
"Here's a brand that looks like black Havana," he said. "And now, what
the dickens are you doing in that rig?"
"I've been taking a long ride in the country--on a motor cycle,"
answered Ashton-Kirk, crossing his shabbily clothed legs and striking
a match. "Any time you feel disinclined to face your meals, Pen, I
recommend you heartily to do the same. It is a greater bracer. At this
moment I really believe I could do complete justice to even the very
best culinary thoughts of our friend, Dr. Mercer."
Pendleton sat down and regarded his friend with questioning eyes.
"It wasn't to acquire an appetite that you made up this way. You've
been working."
Ashton-Kirk comfortably blew one smoke-ring through another before he
answered.
"Will you be surprised to hear that I have been following Miss Edyth
Vale on a little voyage to the neighborhood of Cordova?"
"Again!"
"But this time she did not pay a visit to Professor Locke. To-day the
favored one was Allan Morris."
"Morris! Then she knows where he is?"
"So it would seem."
"But she told you the other day that she did not."
Ashton-Kirk shrugged his shoulders.
"Things happen swiftly and unexpectedly," said he. "Perhaps she did
_not_ know it then."
"And perhaps she did not know Locke or his whereabouts, either," said
Pendleton, with bitter irony.
"Who knows?" replied Ashton-Kirk, composedly. "At any rate, it was
just a supposition that led to my labors of to-day."
"I don't think I understand," said Pendleton, after a moment.
"Last night," said the investigator, "you asked me if I had learned
anything from Professor Locke. And I replied to the effect that I
thought I had. Now," after a pause, devoted to the grateful smoke,
"when one sees a girl circumstanced as Miss Vale assuredly is in this
case, paying a secret visit to a man who is rather more than suspected
of the murder, what does one suppose?"
"That she is leagued with him, somehow," replied Pendleton,
reluctantly.
"Exactly. But on the other hand, when the same girl, upon sight of us,
rushes off and leaves the man to face us without giving him a hint as
to who we are, what does one suppose?"
But Pendleton rose gloomily and strode over to the window.
"I don't know," said he.
"One supposes," proceeded Ashton-Kirk, "that she has not much interest
in him." Here Pendleton faced about again. "If she had been leagued
with him, as you put it, you may be sure that she would have managed
to warn him in some way as to our identity. But that she had not done
so, the mute's manner told me as plainly as words could have done.
Seeing this, I began figuring what it meant. If she was not associated
with Locke in the crime, why was she there? Immediately came the
answer--through Morris. But, when I saw her last, she denied any
knowledge of Morris's whereabouts. Then I reasoned, she had seen him
in the interim."
"That's it," cried Pendleton, as he stepped forward and slapped the
table with his palm; "that's it, beyond a doubt! He's managed to get
word to her; she's seen him; he's told her all or part of the truth;
and once more she's trying to help him. Why, Kirk, I'll venture to
say," hot with indignation, "that she was led to visit this little
scoundrel Locke, last night, much as she was led to visit Hume's place
on the night of the murder--completely in the dark, and merely with
some sort of a vague notion of protecting Morris."
"Perhaps you are right, but I can't exactly say. But that she has seen
Morris I have made quite sure."
"How?"
"Last night when I appeared at Locke's window, I established a reason
for calling upon her this morning, also I laid a foundation for what
followed. Before the call I made certain preparations for a quick
change of front," with a gesture that called attention to his costume;
"in our conversation, I managed to tell her that Morris's hiding
place was discovered. Then I left. As I expected, she at once called
her car and set off to warn him; and I followed close behind upon the
motor cycle."
"I see, I see. And did you get sight of him?"
Ashton-Kirk nodded. Then he proceeded to relate the story of the
noon-day run to the country house which Morris had selected as a
hiding place. When he had finished, Pendleton sat frowning blackly.
"Secret signals," said he. "He fears discovery so much that he has
forbidden her approaching the house. A regular code has been arranged,
eh? And the gloves were dropped in the road purposely; he slipped his
answer into one of them; on her way back she discovers her supposed
loss, looks for the gloves, and finds them. It is quite ornate," with
a bitter sneer.
Then he took from the investigator's hand the card upon which he had
copied the message of Allan Morris.
"Tobin Rangnow," he read. Then looking up he inquired with a wan
smile. "More secret writing, eh? Or is it a man's name?"
"There is a decided Irish flavor to Tobin," answered Ashton-Kirk. "But
Rangnow is unfamiliar to me; and if it is a name at all, it is of
Eastern European origin. In that case," laughing, "it could scarcely
be expected to share the honors with Tobin."
He took the card from Pendleton and looked at it thoughtfully. Then he
glanced up in a satisfied sort of way:
"As you suggested, Miss Vale no doubt returned, recovered her gloves
and read the message," said he. "As she had just warned him that his
hiding place was discovered, it is only natural to suppose that his
answer would have something to do with his future movements."
"That seems likely enough," said Pendleton.
"Look here; if we put a comma between the two words," went on the
investigator, taking out a pencil and doing so, "the thing takes on
the appearance of a name and address."
Once more he gave the card to Pendleton; then rising he went to the
telephone stand and took up the directory. Skimming rapidly through
this he paused at a page and went down its columns carefully. Then
with a laugh he slapped it shut.
"We have it," declared he. "When we so desire, we can call at an
apartment house known as the 'Rangnow' and inquire for Mr. Tobin. And
when we see that gentleman we shall be looking upon one in the
confidence of Allan Morris."
There was a long pause on the part of Pendleton. Ashton-Kirk rang for
Stumph and directed him to turn the water into his bath, and get him
out some fresh linen. It was after the man had gone that Pendleton
spoke.
"When you came in, Kirk," he said, "you said something which conveyed
the notion that you would not be much astonished if the police took up
the Hume matter with Edyth Vale."
"It is only the fact that the newspapers were first in discovering her
apparent connection with it, that has kept Osborne and his fellows
from visiting her before this. Jealousy, you know, does many strange
things."
Pendleton did not reply; he bent his head and covered his face with
his hands. Ashton-Kirk went on:
"The reasonable thing for her to do would be to come forward and tell
the plain truth."
Pendleton roused himself.
"But don't you see that that is the very thing that her brave nature
will not do? She's protecting Morris; and she'll go on protecting him,
no matter what the consequence to herself."
"In that event," said the investigator slowly, "we can not be in too
great a hurry in removing the cause that keeps Morris in hiding."
"You'll have a task in that," said Pendleton. "As far as I can see,
the man is up to his eyes in the crime; and that's why he is lying
low."
"I have warned you before now against jumping at conclusions," said
the other, quietly. "Allan Morris may be a confederate of Locke's, or
he may not. We have yet to establish the fact either way. And now,
pardon me while I take a plunge and get into something presentable."