THE FINISH
"For the first time," said Pendleton, as the door closed upon Allan
Morris, "I can feel sorry for him. To lose a girl like Edyth Vale is
indeed a calamity. Think of the courage she's shown--of what she was
willing to do. Why, Kirk, she's one in ten thousand."
But Ashton-Kirk only nodded; he had arisen upon the departure of
Morris, and was now drawing on a pair of gloves. The splendid
qualities of Miss Vale apparently had little appeal for him at that
moment.
"Are you ready?" he asked, in a business-like way.
"Ready?" repeated Pendleton, surprised.
"To be sure. We can scarcely call this case complete until something
has been done in the matter of Locke."
"That's so. But, somehow, I had the notion that your men had already
attended to him."
"I always prefer to finish my work in my own way," said the
investigator. "Osborne, as soon as he heard of Locke, through Sagon,
wanted to take up the trail. But I convinced him that he'd better
leave it to me."
Pendleton clapped on his hat.
"I'm with you," said he, "but where do you expect to find him?"
Ashton-Kirk rang for Stumph and ordered the car; then he replied:
"We'll more than likely find him at home. Burgess followed him back to
Cordova, last night."
They went down and climbed into the car, and were soon on the road.
A little distance from the Mercer Institute they came upon a compact
looking man seated upon the top rail of a fence, chewing at a straw.
He wore heavy, much-splashed boots and a sun-scorched suit of clothes.
"Ah," said Ashton-Kirk, "I see Burgess is still on the job."
"Burgess," echoed Pendleton. He looked at the man upon the fence in
surprise; except for the very broad shoulders there was no
resemblance.
However, Burgess grinned amiably through a rather neglected growth of
beard.
"I expected you along about this time," said he, to the investigator.
"Is everything all right?" asked Ashton-Kirk.
"He's still there," answered Burgess, and he nodded toward a house
with a peaked and slated roof which stood some little distance up an
intersecting road. It was the same house through the window of which
Pendleton had seen Edyth Vale some nights previously, but, somehow, it
seemed strange and unfamiliar in daylight.
"I can see three sides of it from here," went on Burgess. "And if he
dropped out of one of the windows on the fourth side I could sight him
before he'd gone fifty yards. You may be sure he's there, all right."
"You've heard of what took place last night, I suppose?"
Burgess tapped a folded newspaper at his breast pocket.
"So has Locke," said he. "Apparently his orders are to furnish him
with the papers as soon as they arrive. A man from the Institute
building brought one to him more than an hour ago."
Just then Ashton-Kirk noted far up the road upon which Locke's house
stood, a very small buggy, drawn by an equally small horse. In the
buggy sat a man whose huge bulk seemed to bulge out beyond its sides.
Arriving before Locke's house, the small horse stopped, as though from
habit. Then with a mighty effort, the fat man rolled out and waddled
to the gate. He pressed and re-pressed the button; but no one
answered.
Ashton-Kirk looked at his assistant.
"Are you quite sure that our man is there," asked he.
Burgess chewed his straw calmly.
"I'm positive of it," said he.
The fat man now entered at the gate and going to the front door, tried
it. But it was evidently fast, and he turned away. Hesitating for a
moment, he laboriously approached the work shop, the roof of which
could be seen through the trees. Apparently the result was the same
here, for in a very few minutes he was seen to waddle back to his
buggy and climb in with much effort. Then the small horse ambled
forward while the fat man leaned back in great distress.
"You recognize him, do you not?" smiled Ashton-Kirk.
"I do, now," returned Pendleton. "It's our friend Dr. Mercer."
When the buggy arrived at the spot where the motor-car stood, the
doctor regarded its occupants with some surprise.
"Good-morning," greeted Ashton-Kirk.
Painfully, gaspingly the other answered this in kind. The round white
face wore an expression of martyrdom.
"I am pleased to see you once more," said he.
"You like driving in the morning, then?" said the investigator.
The principal's flesh quivered with repulsion.
"It is an exercise ordered by my physician," he answered. "I protested
against it strongly, but he was obdurate. And I am compelled to do it
before I have had my breakfast," hollowly. "It is scarcely short of
barbarous."
Here the small horse stretched its neck and shook itself until the
harness rattled. Pendleton looking from master to beast thought they
might exchange places much to the master's ultimate well-being.
There was a short pause; then Dr. Mercer bent his head toward them.
"When you visited the institute a few nights ago," said he, "you also,
at my request, visited Professor Locke."
Ashton-Kirk nodded.
"For some time," proceeded the other, "I have fancied that there
was something wrong with him. Not of a physical nature, as is,
unfortunately the case with myself, but more in a mental way. But
since that night I have been _sure_ that some sort of a derangement
had fixed itself upon him, or is in progress. He can scarcely be
called the same person. More than once I have been afraid," and here
the speaker lowered his voice to a husky whisper, "that he is
unbalanced."
"That is very grave," said Ashton-Kirk.
"It has occurred to me," went on the doctor, not without shrewdness,
"that something happened that night which unsettled him." The eyes
seemingly floating in fat, turned themselves first to Pendleton, then
to Ashton-Kirk. "I suppose, though, you know nothing of it?"
"We noticed that he seemed greatly agitated," replied the
investigator. "And we are alarmed to hear that he seems disturbed."
"It is our rule that no one leave the institute grounds after
nightfall," said Dr. Mercer, in a troubled voice. "Last night I had
occasion to send for him, but he was gone. This morning I stopped to
reproach him for his absence; but apparently he has not returned."
"You're mistaken there," put in Burgess. "Look!"
He indicated the house as he spoke. The small figure of Locke was seen
emerging at the front door; he paused for a moment, peering this way
and that in his near-sighted fashion, then hastily made his way toward
the work-shop. Evidently he had not seen them.
With great labor and much catching of breath Dr. Mercer had turned
sufficiently to see these things. He seemed greatly astonished.
"He was there all the time," said he. "It is not possible that he did
not feel the vibrations of the buzzer, for he is very sensitive to
such things."
His indignation appeared to swell him to even greater proportions
than before.
"It is an affront," he stated in a choked tone. "It is a deliberate
affront. He felt the buzzer, and he knew it was I. But he did not
consider me of enough importance to trouble himself about."
Panting he sought to turn the small horse, but in a moment Ashton-Kirk
was out in the road and had the animal by the head.
"I beg your pardon," said the investigator, "but it would probably be
more beneficial to yourself and others, if you continued your drive
and left Professor Locke to us."
Amazed beyond ability to stir, the doctor sat and stared. But finally
he found his tongue.
"Bless my soul and body," exclaimed he with a great wheezing
exhalation. "I scarcely understand this, sir."
"My dear doctor," said Ashton-Kirk soothingly, "it is not at all
necessary that you do so. The fact is, to state it briefly, there is
a trifling matter for adjustment between Professor Locke and the
commonwealth."
"The commonwealth!" cried the doctor, and he shook like a great mass
of gelatine.
"Nothing less. So, you see, it will be as well for you to do as I
suggest." Then turning to Pendleton, Ashton-Kirk continued: "I think
we had better walk the remainder of the way; otherwise we might get
Locke's attention before it is advisable."
Pendleton jumped down, and without another word to Dr. Mercer, they
set off toward the slate-roofed house by the roadside. However, after
they had gone about fifty yards, Pendleton turned and looked back. He
saw the small horse jogging away, while behind it, helplessly fat and
hopelessly befogged, sat Dr. Mercer, swaying dispiritedly from side to
side.
As Ashton-Kirk and Pendleton advanced upon the house, they bore in
mind the possibility of Locke being on the watch; so they kept out of
sight as much as possible.
"It's rather odd, I think, that he hangs on here, knowing that his
part in the murder of Hume must now be known," said Pendleton. "I
rather expected an attempt at escape."
"That may come later," said the investigator, grimly. "The finish of
a thing of this sort is always a matter for speculation. I have seen
desperate criminals who surrendered like lambs; and I've seen the
other sort give a platoon of police a good day's work in their
taking."
"Do you think it possible that Locke is one of this latter type?"
"There is no knowing. But I am inclined to believe that he is."
Pendleton shook his head. It seemed impossible that this dapper
little man with his peering, short-sighted eyes could be capable of
any determined effort to escape the police when once driven into a
corner. However, Pendleton had ample reason to respect Ashton-Kirk's
judgment; and so when the latter deemed it necessary to approach with
caution, he acted accordingly.
They paused in front of the house.
It was now past ten o'clock and the sun was shining brightly; a little
patch of garden, filled with early flowering plants lay between the
house and the wood; all about the work-shop were the tall trees which
they had noticed upon their previous visit.
"We had better not use the gate," suggested the investigator. "There
might be an attachment of some sort that will give him warning."
So under cover of the trees they scaled the fence; then they carefully
made their way toward the shop. The windows and door of this were
closed, nothing was stirring. Near the door was scattered some rubbish
and loose paper. The place had an utterly deserted look.
"Do you think he is there?" asked Pendleton.
"I will know in a few moments," replied the other. "Wait here."
Pendleton expected Ashton-Kirk to continue his cautious approach. But
to his surprise the investigator with cool assurance stepped out from
behind a tree and advanced toward the outbuilding; when he reached
the door he opened it and calmly stepped inside.
The building was in one great room. It had some windows at the side,
but the greater part of its illumination came from a huge skylight. As
he closed the door behind him, Ashton-Kirk had a vague impression of
something huge, made of steel rods and with far-stretching wing-like
projections at the sides. But he had no time to give the mechanism
even a glance; of greater interest was the small figure which sat at a
wide work-table upon which a litter of drawings was scattered.
It was Locke; and as the slight jar of the closing door reached him he
lifted his eyes and saw the intruder. If Ashton-Kirk expected any
display of fear or other emotion, he was disappointed; upon each of
his previous meetings with Locke the latter had shown great
trepidation; but now he simply nodded quietly and seemed not at all
surprised.
But as Ashton-Kirk made a step toward him, he rose and raised his hand
in a gesture that was peremptory and unmistakable. The investigator
paused; then Locke pointed to a chair directly before his bench, but
some half dozen yards away; and when Ashton-Kirk smilingly seated
himself, Locke did likewise.
Then in heavy characters he scrawled upon the back of one of the
blue-prints.
"I was expecting a visitor, and fancied that it might be you."
This he held up so that the investigator might read it. Ashton-Kirk
nodded. Again the back of a plan came into service and this time the
investigator read.
"What has occurred is most unfortunate. I had no hand in it, though,
of course, I do not expect anyone to believe me."
Here Ashton-Kirk drew a note book from his pocket and was about to
write, but the other stopped him with a gesture. Then the man once
more wrote; carefully, heavily, in order that the other might have no
difficulty in reading it from the distance.
"Pardon me! But it is not necessary for you to go to any trouble.
Moreover--I beg of you not to think me rude--your opinions in the
matter have no interest for me."
Ashton-Kirk acknowledged this with a grave nod. The pencil was
instantly at work again.
"As I have said, I expected a visitor; but I will now add that I did
not expect to be here to receive him."
Ashton-Kirk looked swiftly into Locke's face as he read this; the
expression was unmistakable, and the investigator leaped to his feet.
But the mute uttered a strange parrot-like cry--evidently the same
that Edyth heard that night in Christie Place--and Ashton-Kirk saw his
hand go swiftly to a button at one side of the work-bench. Instantly
the investigator paused; once more a gesture bade him be seated.
Slowly he obeyed; and once more Locke began to trace bold characters
upon the stiff paper. This message read:
"You are a wise man. I had arranged everything before you came in, and
had sat down to make an end of it. This button at my hand once started
an electric apparatus; but now it is connected with a quantity of an
explosive--my own invention, and a terrible one. Believe me, one touch
and everything in this building is in fragments."
Ashton-Kirk, when he had finished reading, nodded quietly. Again the
mute began to write.
"I have no ill will toward you," the words ran, "you have two minutes
to leave here, and get safely away."
When he saw that this had been read, Locke threw down the paper and
took out his watch. Then he pointed toward the door and sat waiting.
It was strange to see the little man sitting there calmly, with only
the pressure of a finger between him and eternity. But Ashton-Kirk
knew stern resolution too well to mistake the look on the mute's
face. There was nothing to do but to obey. He waved his hand in a
farewell. Locke returned the gesture. Then Ashton-Kirk walked to the
door, opened it and stepped out.
Pendleton, patiently watching among the trees, saw him emerge and at
once moved toward him; to his amazement the investigator took him by
the arm and broke into a run.
"What the deuce is the matter now?" asked Pendleton, after they had
passed the gate and were racing down the road.
"You'll know in a few moments," returned Ashton-Kirk grimly.
He permitted no pause until they reached the car, the engine of which
had not been stopped.
"Quick, for your lives!" he ordered, as he leaped in.
Pendleton and Burgess followed instantly. The car had scarcely begun
its plunge forward when a horrible rending shock staggered them. And
as they sped away the debris of the deaf-mute's work-shop was falling
all about them.
The evening papers were glaring with the news from Cordova by the
time the two friends were once more alone in Ashton-Kirk's library.
Pendleton seemed to be pondering.
"I say," said he, at last, "was it Morris or Spatola who remained at
Hume's the night of the murder?"
"I spoke to Spatola about that," answered Ashton-Kirk. "He said it
was Morris who left first and whom Hume pursued by jeers through the
open window. Morris had, according to his resolve, called at the place
to demand the plans; but Hume was mad with liquor and was even worse
in his manner than usual. Unable to bear it, Morris had rushed out.
Spatola later made his way out by way of the scuttle and across the
roof, as he frequently did.
"The thing which Spatola had carried under his coat that night was a
diploma which he had received from a musical conservatory in Rome. It
was in a frame and so made considerable bulk. Hume had denied that
afternoon that Spatola had ever studied in this particular
conservatory; frantic with rage, but knowing that he was a fool for
doing it, the Italian had brought his diploma as proof.
"Morris, under the name of Crawford, occupied a room on the floor
below Spatola; and as soon as the musician entered through the
scuttle, he descended the stairs and went immediately to his friend's
room to console and encourage him.
"Some time passed, and while they were still talking they heard a step
upon the stairs leading to the attic. As no one lived there but
himself, Spatola looked and in the semi-darkness saw two men
descending. He called and asked who they were, and Sagon's voice
replied that it was he and a friend. They had gone up to have a talk
and smoke a cigar with him; but seeing that he was not in, they had
come down at once. And now, as he was apparently engaged, they would
not trouble him, and with that they disappeared within Sagon's room."
"Then," said Pendleton, "they had gone up through the attic, across
the roofs, committed the deed, and returned while Spatola was with
Morris?"
"It would seem so."
"But suppose that on reaching the attic, upon their return they had
found Spatola there?"
"Sagon had calculated it all very nicely. One night a week Spatola
went to play with two compatriots at their rooms; with piano, harp and
violin, they gave vent to the harmony that was in them. That was the
night for the trio, and Sagon knew it. But in his rage and his desire
to prove his standing to Hume, Spatola had forgotten it. When he
descended to Morris's rooms, the two criminals thought he had gone to
make his usual visit to his friends. Sagon says he almost lost his
nerve when the Italian confronted them on the stairs."
"But here's a thing I've not been able to puzzle out. According to
your notion--and you may have proved it since, for all I know--Locke
was not in the showroom during or after the murder. And yet it should
have been he who dropped the little particle from the railroad ticket
upon the desk."
"It would seem that way," admitted Ashton-Kirk, "but the fact is that
Sagon visited Locke at the Institute and rode to the city with him
that afternoon. The particle may be accounted for in that way."
"Yes," mused the other, "that's so. But, one thing more. I should have
asked this of Morris himself if he had not been in such a confoundedly
miserable way. Why did he take to hiding immediately after the
murder?"
"He spent the night in his lodgings at Christie Place; next day the
papers told him that he was suspected. He knew that if he appeared
he'd be arrested; and as he desired to recover the plans before the
murderers escaped with them, he felt that this would be fatal to his
chances. Of course, I am not sure of this; but I think it more than
likely."
"Speaking of taking chances on the plans," said Pendleton, "you were
willing enough to take pretty long ones on them last night. Why, Sagon
actually had them in his hands."
Ashton-Kirk drew a flat packet from his pocket. Opening it he showed
that it contained nothing but blank paper.
"This is what Sagon found behind the portrait," said he, with a
smile. "The real papers I was very careful to remove two days ago. One
moment--that's the telephone."
Pendleton sat rolling a cigarette and wondering, while Ashton-Kirk
took down the receiver.
"Well?" said he. Then in a moment his expression changed. "Oh, is it
you? Well, how are you after your exciting experience?"
Here Pendleton dropped the completed cigarette and listened.
"You may consider yourself very fortunate to escape with a slight
headache," said Ashton-Kirk. Then there was a pause, and he said,
apparently in answer to a question: "Oh, yes, he's with me now. Will
you speak with him?"
Pendleton arose and took a step toward the stand. But he halted as if
shot when his friend continued in the transmitter:
"No?" Pause. "Oh, very well. Good-by."
Ashton-Kirk hung up the receiver and turned to his friend.
"So," said Pendleton, in a queer sort of voice, "she doesn't wish to
speak to me."
"Not over the wire--no. But she wants you to come to her--at once. She
desires to hear all about what she calls the wonderful way we have
handled this case, and she wants to hear it--from you." Ashton-Kirk
looked at his watch. "It is now 10:45. You can get there by eleven if
you rush."
"Do you call doing that little distance in fifteen minutes rushing?"
The young man's face was radiant and he was making for the door as he
spoke. "If I don't do it in half that time, I'm a duffer."
Then the door slapped behind him, and Ashton-Kirk heard him bounding
down the stairs.
* * * * *
Another story in this series is "ASHTON-KIRK AND THE SCARLET SCAPULAR"
(in press)
End of Project Gutenberg's Ashton-Kirk, Investigator, by John T. McIntyre