SPECIAL DETECTIVE
(ASHTON-KIRK)
THE NEW LONDON LIBRARY
Uniform with this Volume:
ASHTON-KIRK, INVESTIGATOR
By John T. McIntyre.
SECRET AGENT (ASHTON-KIRK)
By John T. McIntyre.
ASHTON-KIRK, CRIMINOLOGIST
By John T. McIntyre.
PENITENTIARY POST
By K. and R. Pinkerton.
THE LONG TRAVERSE
By K. and R. Pinkerton.
THE LURE OF THE HONEY BIRD
By J. Weedon Birch.
AT THE KRAAL OF THE KING
By J. Weedon Birch.
THE RIGHT TO LIVE
By Ermine Allingham and A. E. Coleby.
THE CALL OF THE ROAD
By Herbert Allingham and A. E. Coleby.
THE SHADOW OF THE YAMEN
By Ben Bolt.
DIANA OF THE ISLANDS
By Ben Bolt.
THE DIAMOND-BUCKLED SHOE
By Ben Bolt.
THE PRIDE OF THE RING
By Ben Bolt.
THE IMPOSSIBLE LOVER
By Ben Bolt.
MARRIAGES OF ADVENTURE
By Emile Gaboriau.
AN ADVENTURESS OF FRANCE
By Emile Gaboriau.
THE LEROUGE CASE
By Emile Gaboriau.
PLUCKY POLLY PERKINS
By Herbert Allingham.
SPECIAL
DETECTIVE
(ASHTON-KIRK)
BY
JOHN T. McINTYRE
_Author of “Ashton-Kirk Investigator,”
“Secret Agent (Ashton-Kirk),” etc._
[Illustration]
LONDON:
G. HEATH ROBINSON & J. BIRCH, LTD.
17-18, TOOK’S COURT, CURSITOR STREET, E.C.4
FIRST PUBLISHED AT HALF-A-CROWN - FEBRUARY, 1922.
_All rights reserved._
_Printed in Great Britain by Miller, Son & Compy.,
Fakenham and London_
INTRODUCTION
Ashton-Kirk is a young man of means and position. The unusual has a
sort of fascination for him; his subtle perception, and keen, direct
habit of mind cause him to delight in the investigation of those crimes
which have proved too shadowy for the police.
In “Ashton-Kirk, Investigator,” another book dealing with his
experiences, he was concerned with the strange case of the murder of
the numismatist, Hume. In “Secret Agent,” he was involved in a crisis
between two nations; and a great war was averted by his skill and ready
courage.
In this volume, he is called upon by an ancient friend who has been
plunged into an appalling series of circumstances of which he can make
nothing, except that all concerned are in immediate and deadly peril.
And it is here shown how the special detective’s acute mind, deft
manipulation and resourcefulness warded off a terrible danger.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. MR. SCANLON RELATES SOME PECULIAR CIRCUMSTANCES 9
II. SHOWS HOW MATTERS STOOD AT SCHWARTZBERG 17
III. IN WHICH THE SPECIAL DETECTIVE TAKES UP THE HUNT 28
IV. TELLS SOMETHING OF THE MAN IN THE ROLLING CHAIR 35
V. SPEAKS OF ASHTON-KIRK’S FIRST VISIT TO SCHWARTZBERG 45
VI. IN WHICH ASHTON-KIRK INDICATES MUCH BUT SAYS LITTLE 62
VII. SHOWS HOW MR. SCANLON MET THE MAN WITH THE SOFT VOICE 80
VIII. TELLS HOW THE NIGHT BREEZE BLEW FROM THE NORTHWEST 88
IX. IN WHICH SOME THINGS ARE DONE AND SOME OTHERS ARE SAID 97
X. SHOWS HOW MRS. KRETZ SPOKE HER MIND 103
XI. TELLS SOMETHING OF TWO GENTLEMEN WHO WERE ENCOUNTERED
UNEXPECTEDLY 112
XII. SPEAKS OF THE MANNER IN WHICH THE GATES OF SCHWARTZBERG
WERE OPENED 122
XIII. DEALS WITH SOME HAPPENINGS OF THE NEXT DAY 127
XIV. IN WHICH ASHTON-KIRK HEARS MATTERS OF INTEREST 143
XV. TELLS HOW AMAZEMENT FILLED THE MIND OF MR. SCANLON 151
XVI. SHOWS HOW THE GREAT SWORD WAS MISSED FROM THE WALL 162
XVII. SPEAKS OF A HARP WHICH WAS PLAYED IN SILENCE 174
XVIII. DEALS MAINLY WITH SOME NEWS FROM MEXICO 187
XIX. IN WHICH ASHTON-KIRK PAYS HIS SECOND VISIT TO
SCHWARTZBERG 197
XX. TELLS HOW ASHTON-KIRK POINTED OUT CERTAIN MATTERS
OF INTEREST 205
XXI. SHOWS HOW THE GREAT SWORD SPOKE TO SCANLON 222
XXII. IN WHICH A MATTER OF MUCH INGENUITY IS CONSIDERED 234
XXIII. CONCLUSION 241
SPECIAL DETECTIVE
(ASHTON-KIRK)
CHAPTER I
MR. SCANLON RELATES SOME PECULIAR CIRCUMSTANCES
Ashton-Kirk, student of crime, sat cross-legged upon a rug;
thoughtfully he drew at the big pipe; the wreaths of smoke drifted over
the tottering towers of books with which he was surrounded, and eddied
out at an open window.
“Fuller,” said he, “get me the name Campe.”
The nimble fingered assistant ran through the cards of a filing system.
“Campe--Mexico--financiers?” said he, at length, turning his head.
“Right,” spoke Ashton-Kirk.
“Volume II,” said Fuller, closing the drawer. “Shall I have it sent up?”
“Yes.”
In a few moments, Stumph, gravest of men servants, entered, bearing a
bulky folio which he placed before his employer.
“In a short time,” said Ashton-Kirk, “Mr. Scanlon will call. Bring him
up as soon as he arrives.”
Stumph silently withdrew; the special detective puffed at the
meerschaum and nodded to Fuller.
“Let’s see what we have about the Campes,” requested he.
Fuller took the book, opened it at the index, and then turned over
until he came to a certain page. He read:
“This family came, originally, from Bavaria, their forbears residing
in the city of Munich. The name was then Von Campe. A Frederich Ernest
Von Campe made a fortune as a brewer before the French Revolution. His
three sons trebled this by lending it at a high rate of interest to the
various needy German states during the Napoleonic wars.
“When Maximilian entered Mexico, the Von Campes helped to finance
the venture. When he fell, they very cleverly managed to save their
money by coming to an understanding with the succeeding republican
government. For more than fifty years the family has been in Mexico,
financing government and private enterprises.
“Some twenty-five years ago they dropped the ‘Von,’ becoming simply
known as Campe.”
Fuller then went on to read the doings of the Campes as contained in
the record; it was merely a series of “high spots” such as might be
gathered about a family of the same consequence anywhere. When he had
finished, Ashton-Kirk looked dissatisfied.
“I find, from time to time,” said he, “that this record is badly kept.
It is loaded with the usual, when, as a matter of fact, it is intended
solely for the unusual.” He drew at his pipe for a moment, and then
added: “I want intimate information regarding this family--especially
of their doings during the last few years.”
“Very well,” said Fuller, briskly. “I’ll start with the
Mexican-Pacific Bank. They ought to know a deal about the Campes
because they did a lot of business with them, according to what we have
here.”
As Fuller opened the door to leave the study, Stumph appeared with a
big, fresh-faced man who clutched a hard-rimmed hat in his nervous grip.
“Mr. Scanlon,” said Stumph; and then he followed Fuller out of the room.
“Glad to see you, Kirk,” said Mr. Scanlon, in a voice which suited his
proportions. “I hope I haven’t come butting in.”
“Not a bit of it,” the crime student assured him. “Here, have a chair;
also have a cigar.”
Mr. Scanlon sat in the chair, and pinched the tip off the cigar. He had
blue, good-natured eyes, the sort accustomed to laugh; but now they
were grave enough, and little troubled wrinkles showed at their corners.
“You look up to your ears in work,” said he, his eyes upon the books.
Ashton-Kirk smiled.
“On the contrary, I’ve been resting,” he answered, his gaze also upon
the books, and filled with the mist which comes of deep plunges into
the past, or into the annals of lands that never were. “When I’m
overtaxed or too tightly strung there’s nothing so relaxes me as the
ancient romances; there’s nothing near so quieting as the sayings of
the wise old monks, spoken in the cool of the cloisters.”
Mr. Scanlon nodded appreciatively.
“Personally, I’m very strong for all those old fellows,” said he. “They
had speed, control and change of pace.”
“Their greatest charm is their simplicity,” said Ashton-Kirk, as he
refilled his pipe. “They believed things as children believe them.
Their days were rare with faith; their nights with wonders. But,” and
there was regret in the speaker’s voice, “the world has turned many
times since then. There are no more wonders; and surprise, as they knew
it, has ceased to exist.”
Mr. Bat Scanlon, one time athlete and gambler, but now a handler of
champions, brushed the first short plume of ash from his cigar. He
shook his head.
“Wrong!” stated he, confidently. “Altogether wrong. You get behind the
scenes too much; you see the insides of things too often. Wonder is
as thick as ever it was; and surprise is still on the job. If there’s
any falling off, it’s in ourselves. We’ve grown cross-eyed looking at
fakes; we haven’t the vision to know a wonder when we see it.”
A volume of Burton lay upon the table at his hand. He picked it up.
“Here’s Bagdad,” said he, riffling the pages, sharply. “Bagdad, a
city stuffed with strangeness. But,” and he looked at Ashton-Kirk,
earnestly, “had it really anything on this town of ours? Were its
nights deeper? its silences more mysterious? I think not. Let any
man--with his eyes open--mind you--go out into one of our nights, and
he’ll meet with as many astonishments as Haroun Al Raschid, the best
prowler of them all.”
Ashton-Kirk smiled through the thickening smoke. It were as though he
had convinced himself of something.
“Your defence of present day interests is so keen,” said he, “that I’m
inclined to hope this case you have holds some exceptional features.”
Scanlon nodded.
“And yet,” with a gesture, “I’m not so sure. I can’t put my fingers on
a single thing, or even give it a name.”
“It has something to do with this young fellow Campe, I think you said.”
“It has all to do with him,” stated Mr. Scanlon. “And that’s one of
the things that makes it so queer. He’s the last one I’d expected to
get mixed up with anything of the kind; and he’s a gone youngster if
somebody with more stuff than I have don’t step in and take a swing at
it.”
There was a short silence; the smoke from the cigar mingled with that
of the pipe; eddying in the draught from the window they wove in and
out intricately, finally mingled and drifted out into the big world.
“Suppose you go carefully over the affair as you know it,” suggested
Ashton-Kirk. “I got very little of it over the telephone.”
Scanlon drew at the cigar and gazed at the opposite wall where there
hung that Maxfield Parrish print of the wonder-stricken brown sailors,
peering into the unknown from the bow of their ship.
“If this was my own matter,” said he, “I could take every individual
happening by the neck and shake the information right out of it. But as
it stands, I’ve only got a good straight look at one thing that’s at
all plain to me.”
“What’s that?” asked Ashton-Kirk.
“Fear,” replied Scanlon, in a low-pitched voice, his mouth twisting
wrily as he shaped the word. “Stark, white-faced fear; the kind that
turns a man sick just at the sight of it.”
The big man frowned for a moment at the brown sailors peering out over
their mystic sea. Then he resumed.
“As I said a few moments ago, I was surprised at a young fellow like
Campe indulging in a recreation like being afraid; for in him we have
a wide-awake chap, graduate of one of the big colleges, holder of a
middle distance record and known for his pluck. And for such a one to
lock himself up in a big country house and go to shaking at every sound
he hears is not quite pleasant.”
“Fear, when properly planted, sinks deep and lasts long,” said
Ashton-Kirk. “I’ve seen strong men quite like rabbits, in the grip of
something they didn’t understand.”
“I got acquainted with young Campe a couple of years ago when he sprung
a tendon and they thought a big race was lost for his college. They
sent for me as old Doc. Emergency and I tinkered him up enough to go
the distance. After that he got friendly. When he graduated, every one
expected he’d go back to Mexico. But he didn’t. He went into a German
importing house here--a kind of partner, I think.
“I’d always taken him for a casual kind of chap; he never seemed to
take things very seriously, and had a very frequent laugh. But about a
year ago I noticed a change. He didn’t talk so much; if he laughed at
all it didn’t have the old-time colour; and he got to sitting staring
at the ground. When I’d talk, he’d listen for a while; then he’d sort
of drift away. I could tell by his expression that he wasn’t getting a
thing I was saying. Finally he took to walking the floor, biting his
nails and whispering to himself.”
Ashton-Kirk shook his head.
“Pretty bad,” said he.
“That’s what I thought. And I mentioned the fact to him. But he tried
to laugh--it was a complete failure--and said there was nothing wrong.
He was a little nervous; and even that, so he said, would wear off
after a while.
“The day I spoke to him in this way was the last I saw of him until
about two weeks ago. Then I got a letter, asking me to pack a bag and
run up to Marlowe Furnace for a visit. ‘The shooting’s good,’ says he,
‘and I’ve got a brace of dogs that’ll give you some excitement.’
“‘This,’ says I, to myself, ‘is just about the right thing. Nothing’d
suit me better now than to fuss with a dog and a gun.’
“So I wrote him I’d come at once. Marlowe Furnace, if you don’t know
the place, is about twenty miles out, tucked away among the hills. It
was quite a place in revolutionary times; they beat out sword blades
and bayonets there, and cast cannon, and the round shot to stuff them
with.
“There’s only a few houses, with an inn for summer visitors; and
there’s a little covered bridge crosses the river, just like a
picture on a plate. Campe was holding out at Schwartzberg, or Castle
Schwartzberg, as the people of the town call it. The castle is a
regular robber-baron kind of a place, with a wall around it, towers,
battlements, little windows with heavy bars, and all the rest of the
fixings.”
“I know it,” said Ashton-Kirk. “It was built by a German officer who
came over with Baron Steuben during the Revolution. When peace came,
he decided he liked the section well enough to stay. He was rich, and
built Schwartzberg in the effort to get some of the colour of the old
land into the new.”
“It was something like that,” said Mr. Scanlon, nodding. “And the
builder must have been related, in a way, to the Campes. Anyhow, they
came into the castle some years ago. Well, to be invited to a place
like that was not usual with me; and I felt a little swelled up about
it.
“‘You’ve been asked because of your qualities as a sportsman and boon
companion,’ says I to myself; ‘the discriminating always pick you for
an ace.’
“But twenty-four hours later I had learned my true status,” said
Scanlon, his brows corrugating, and his thick forefinger tapping the
table. “I had been asked to Schwartzberg to act as a body-guard, and
for nothing else in the world.”
“I see,” said Ashton-Kirk.
“Mind you, the situation has never been put into plain words. In fact,
it’s never been even hinted at. But things happened, queer things, with
no meanings attached, and so I gradually understood. A body-guard I
was; and my job was to protect young Campe from something out among the
hills.”