THE SECRET OF THE PORTRAIT
The morning papers had all announced the fact that the detail of
police would that day be withdrawn from the scene of the murder in
Christie Place. With them it had been a mere matter-of-fact news item,
but with the evening sheets it was different. They had had time to
digest the matter, and their view of the order was one of surprise.
Two or three allowed this feeling to expand itself into headlines of
some size; a few also commented on the situation editorially.
Superintendent Weagle had been interviewed. He stated that he could
not be expected to maintain a detail at 478 indefinitely; even with
the police withdrawn from within, so he maintained, the place would be
as effectually guarded as were other buildings. What more was
required?
Ashton-Kirk read all this with some satisfaction in the late
afternoon.
"They have given the thing even more publicity than I had hoped for,"
he said, as he helped Pendleton in the details of a rough-looking
costume which that worthy was donning. "It must be a bad day for
news, and they have plenty of space. At any rate, anyone who is at all
interested in the fact, is now aware that after six o'clock this
evening, 478 Christie Place will be unguarded, except for the regular
patrolman. Of course," with a glance at Pendleton and another in a
mirror at himself, "if a brace of rough-looking characters are hidden
away within, there will only be a few who know it."
He opened a drawer and took out two black shining objects; the short
barrels and blocky shapes told Pendleton that they were automatic
revolvers.
"They will throw ten slugs as thick as your little finger while you're
winking your eye as many times," said Ashton-Kirk.
They each slipped one of the squat, formidable weapons into a hip
pocket; then they made their way out at the rear of the house. With
the collars of their sack coats turned up and their long visored cloth
caps pulled down, they hurried along among the dull-eyed throngs that
bartered and quarreled and sought their own advantage.
And when, in the uncertain dusk, a wagon drew up at 478 and two
sack-coated, cloth-capped men began carrying parcels up the stairs, is
it any wonder that Berg, watching from the window of his delicatessen
store, said to his clerk:
"Dot furrier that rents der rooms by der third floor is putting some
more things in storage over the summer, yet."
And when the wagon finally drove away, neglectfully leaving the two
men behind, it is not surprising that the fancy grocer did not notice
it. And, then, when the two policemen who had been on duty during the
afternoon, came out, carelessly left the door unlocked, looked up to
make sure that they had left none of the windows open, and then strode
away with a satisfied air that follows a duty well done, who so keenly
watched as to suspect?
The shadows on the second floor lengthened and grew grayer; they
thickened in the corners; pieces of furniture grew vague and monstrous
as the darkness began to cling to them and their outlines became lost;
suits of armor loomed menacingly out of the gloom, the last rays of
light striking palely upon helm or gorget; hideous gods of wood and
stone smiled evilly at the two watchers.
"There was food in the bundles which we carried up, then," commented
Pendleton, as he lay back on the old claw-footed sofa.
"Yes," answered his friend. "The person or persons whom we expect will
hardly come to-night, though we, of course, don't know; if they fail
to appear we shall be forced to stick close to these rooms during the
whole of to-morrow and also to-morrow night. Perhaps it will even be
longer."
"In that case," said Pendleton, a little disconsolately, "the eatables
will be very welcome. But I hope we won't have to stay long enough to
finish them."
"Perhaps," said Ashton-Kirk, "I've let you in for too hard a task in
this, Pen?"
The other rose up instantly.
"You couldn't give me too much to do in this matter," declared he,
earnestly. "I would do it alone if you were not here, and I had brains
enough, Kirk. The thing must _end_. If it goes on much longer and I
keep seeing those infernal insinuations in the papers, I'll go
completely off my chump."
There was a little silence; then Ashton-Kirk said:
"I never knew that you were--ah--this way, old chap, until the other
day. How long has it been going on?"
"Why, for years, I think," answered Pendleton. "Being very distantly
related, Edyth and I saw quite a deal of each other when she was a
slip of a girl. And she was a stunner, Kirk, even then. Kid-like, I
fancied I'd get it all over with when the proper time came; but
somehow I never got around to it. She turned out to be a dickens of a
strong character, you see; and she expected so much of life that I
got the notion that perhaps I wasn't just the right sort of fellow to
realize her ideals.
"You know, old boy, there are times when a man thinks quite a bit of
himself. This is more especially so before he's twenty-five. But then
again there are times when he sees his bad points only, and then of
all the unutterable dolts in the universe, he gets the notion that he
is the worst. When we were at college and I held down that third base
position and hit 320 in the first season, I was chesty enough. I
suppose you remember it. And when I came into my money and began to
make collections of motor cars, yachts and such things, I thought I
had taken life by the ears and was making it say 'uncle.'
"Well, we're only grown-up boys, after all. I recall that I thought
I'd dazzle Edyth with my magnificence, just as Tom Sawyer did the
little girl with the two long braids of yellow hair--do you remember?
And it was after I discovered that she was not to be dazzled that I
sort of gave up. I wasn't anybody--I never would be anybody; and Edyth
would be the sort of woman who would expect her husband to take the
front at a jump. And no sensible person could imagine me at the front
of anything, unless it was a procession on its way to the bow-wows."
"I think," said Ashton-Kirk, "that you began to prostrate yourself
before your idol; and when a man takes to that, he always gets to
thinking meanly of himself. The attitude has much to do with the state
of mind, I imagine. Miss Vale is a courageous, capable girl; but you
can never tell what sort of a man a woman will select for a husband.
Girls have fancies upon the subject, and give voice to them sometimes;
but it is the man they choose and not the one they picture to whom you
must give your attention."
"I suppose that is true enough," said Pendleton.
"Miss Vale's evident strength awed you," went on the other. "And then
your timidity began to magnify her qualities. No woman is what she
seems to be to the man who loves her. Miss Vale is not so difficult to
please as you thought. I fancy that her engagement to young Morris
proves that."
"There you have it," cried Pendleton. "That's it, Kirk! I've stood
aside, considering myself unworthy, and allowed a fellow to slip by me
who is as colorless as water. Allan Morris is no more fit to be her
husband than--" at loss for a simile he halted for a moment, and then
burst out: "Oh, he's impossible!"
"So far as we have tested him, certainly," agreed Ashton-Kirk, "he has
shown no great strength of character."
"He's acted like a frightened child all through this affair. He's
mixed up in it, and through his weakness allowed Edyth to also
entangle herself. Again and again he's run to her, or called to her,
to tell her of some fresh complication that he'd gotten his frightened
self into; and to protect him, she has dared and done what would have
frightened an ordinary woman into fits."
"I think," observed Ashton-Kirk, "that she has realized his position,
to some extent, at least. The fact that he is weak has, I think,
dawned upon her already; she may also see his evident selfishness
before long. If she does--why, might there not still be some hope for
you, Pen?"
Pendleton shook his head in the gloom.
"I'm afraid not," said he, hopelessly. "Somehow a weak man makes a
great appeal to the woman who has grown to care for him. He arouses
her mother instinct. And Edyth is so strong that her pity--"
"May induce her to do her utmost to see him through this trouble,"
interrupted Ashton-Kirk. "But it may not carry her much further. When
once the thing is over, a reaction may set in. Who knows?"
But Pendleton refused to be comforted. For a long time they talked of
Edyth Vale, Morris, and the killing of Hume. Finally Pendleton said:
"I suppose we can't smoke here to-night, can we?"
"No; the lights might be seen; and we can't tell what sharp eyes are
watching the place."
Pendleton sighed drearily.
There were many clocks in the rooms; the policemen must have amused
themselves by winding and setting them; for at the end of each hour
they began to strike, singly and in pairs. The brisk strokes of the
nervous little modern clock mingled with the solemn sonorous beat of
an old New England timepiece whose wooden works creaked and labored
complainingly. Elaborate Swiss chimes pealed from others; through the
darkness, a persistent cuckoo could be heard throwing open a small
shutter and stridently announcing his version of the time.
It was some time after midnight that Pendleton began to yawn. Then
Ashton-Kirk said:
"Open some of those blankets, Pen, and lie down. There is no need of
two of us watching to-night; I scarcely expect anything to happen."
Pendleton did not expect anything, either, but he said:
"All right, I will, if you'll wake me in a few hours and let me take a
turn at it."
Ashton-Kirk agreed. Pendleton stretched himself upon the sofa, and
soon his deep breathing told that he was asleep. As the night drew on,
the solitary watcher grew chilled in the unheated rooms and huddled
himself into another blanket; but he sat near the door leading to the
hall, which was slightly ajar; and though his eyes closed sometimes in
weariness, he never lost a sound in the street or a tick of one of the
clocks. Through the entire night he watched and waited almost without
moving; it was not until the dawn of a gray, dirty day began to
somewhat lighten the room that he aroused Pendleton. The latter
expostulated sleepily when he noted the time; but with scarcely a word
the investigator took his place upon the sofa and dropped off to
sleep.
About nine o'clock he awoke and found his friend arranging their
breakfast upon a small table.
"I say, Kirk," said Pendleton, admiringly, "you did this thing rather
thoroughly. There's quite a tasty little snack here; and the thermos
bottles have kept the coffee steaming."
At the water tap in the rear the investigator bathed his hands and
face; then he sat down with his friend and did complete justice to the
breakfast. Afterwards, with their cigars going nicely and a feeling of
comfort stealing over them in spite of the rather uncomfortable night,
Pendleton said:
"You promised the other night to tell me what made you think that the
murderers had failed to secure the thing they sought. The words that
the promise was couched in made me think that you had also something
to show me, and as we could not light up last night, I've waited
patiently until to-day. Now you must ease my curiosity. Come, tell me
a few things."
Ashton-Kirk took his cigar from his mouth.
"I told you," said he, "that the reports of Burgess and Fuller,
together with the conversation we had with Tobin, had enlightened me
upon these points." As he enumerated them, he checked them off with
his fingers:
"_Why the murder was done._
"_The identity of the confederate of Locke._
"_That the man would return to the scene of the crime._"
"Yes," said Pendleton, "those, I think, were the points."
"The first two," went on the investigator, "I will allow to stand for
a while. But I promised to illustrate for you, and I think I can do
so."
Ashton-Kirk here arose and passed through the storeroom and kitchen
into the bedroom.
"The writing upon the step in the hall," said he, facing his friend,
"directed Locke's confederate to look for something behind Wayne's
portrait. As all the pictures of Wayne in the place were broken or
otherwise showed traces of rough handling, it seemed that the thing
desired must have been found. However, I was not sure about that, as
I have told you.
"If you will recall Tobin's remarks of the other night, you will note
that the only thing he could admire in the man's character was his
fighting spirit. Then it developed that Hume made a boast of having
come by this naturally enough. He claimed descent from one of
Washington's officers. Tobin could not recall the officer's name; but
he related an anecdote of him that was unmistakable. The officer was
General Wayne!"
"By George!" cried Pendleton.
"The collection of Wayne portraits was in this way explained. It was
also suggested to me that Hume might be an assumed name--that the
numismatist might have once been known as Wayne, and that Locke had
known him by that name. Of course, it's quite likely that he was not
really a descendant of Wayne. But he probably called himself Wayne
nevertheless.
"I see," said Pendleton, his hands waving with excitement. "And in the
stress of the moment, Locke wrote the name 'Wayne' upon the step in
candle grease, forgetting that his confederate only knew their
proposed victim as Hume." His eyes rested upon the walls and upon the
sneering, unpleasant portrait of the murdered man. "He meant that the
thing he desired was _there_," indicating the portrait with an
exultant sweep of the arm. "And by George, it must be there still."
He sprang forward with the evident intention of wrenching the picture
from the wall; but Ashton-Kirk restrained him.
"Don't," said he. "We'll leave that for our expected visitor."
"Surely," protested the excited Pendleton, "you don't propose to leave
the thing there! Think of the risk! You might lose it in the end; for,
you know, one never foresees what is to turn up."
"A fisherman must always risk losing his lure," answered the
investigator composedly.
They spent the long hours of the day in smoking and talking; and at
intervals they ate the sandwiches and other things which had been
smuggled in in the guise of packages of furs. And finally the shadows
gathered and thickened once again in Christie Place.