When the constellation, which was not included among the accepted
theories of Copernicus, passed away, Haggerty sat up and rubbed the
swelling over his ear, tenderly yet grimly. Next, he felt about the
floor for his pocket-lamp. A strange spicy dust drifted into his nose
and throat, making him sneeze and cough. A mummy had reposed in the
overturned cartonnage and the brittle bindings had crumbled into
powder. He soon found the lamp, and sent its point of vivid white
light here and there about the large room.
Pursuit of his assailant was out of the question. Haggerty was not
only hard of head but shrewd. So he set about the accomplishment of
the second best course, that of minute and particular investigation.
Some one had entered this deserted house: for what? This, Haggerty
must find out. He was fairly confident that the intruder did not know
who had challenged him; on the other hand, there might be lying around
some clue to the stranger's identity.
Was there light in the house, fluid in the wires? If so he would be
saved the annoyance of exploring the house by the rather futile aid of
the pocket-lamp, which stood in need of a fresh battery. He searched
for the light-button and pressed it, hopefully. The room, with all its
brilliantly decorated antiquities, older than Rome, older than Greece,
blinded Haggerty for a space.
"Ain't that like these book chaps?" Haggerty murmured. "T' go away
without turning off th' meter!"
The first thing Haggerty did was to scrutinize the desk which stood
near the center of the room. A film of dust lay upon it. Not a mark
anywhere. In fact, a quarter of an hour's examination proved to
Haggerty's mind that nothing in this room had been disturbed except the
poor old mummy. He concluded to leave that gruesome object where it
lay. Nobody but Crawford would know how to put him back in his box,
poor devil. Haggerty wondered if, after a thousand years, some one
would dig him up!
Through all the rooms on this floor he prowled, but found nothing. He
then turned his attention to the flight of stairs which led to the
servants' quarters. Upon the newel-post lay the fresh imprint of a
hand. Haggerty went up the stairs in bounds. There were nine rooms on
this floor, two connecting with baths. In one of these latter rooms he
saw a trunk, opened, its contents carelessly scattered about the floor.
One by one he examined the garments, his heart beating quickly. Not a
particle of dust on them; plenty of finger-prints on the trunk. It had
been opened this very night--by one familiar, either at first-hand or
by instruction. He had come for something in that trunk. What?
From garret to cellar, thirty rooms in all; nothing but the hand-print
on the newel-post and the opened trunk. Haggerty returned to the
museum, turned out all the lights except that on the desk, and sat down
on a rug so as not to disturb the dust on the chairs. The man might
return. It was certain that he, Haggerty, would come back on the
morrow. He was anxious to compare the thumb-print with the one he had
in his collection.
For what had the man come? Keep-sakes? Haggerty dearly wanted to
believe that the intruder was the one man he desired in his net; but he
refused to listen to the insidious whisperings; he must have proof,
positive, absolute, incontestable. If it was Crawford's man Mason, it
was almost too good to be true; and he did not care to court ultimate
disappointment.
Proof, proof; but where? Why had the man not returned the clothes to
the trunk and shut it? What had alarmed him? Everything else
indicated the utmost caution. . . . A glint of light flashing and
winking from steel. Haggerty rose and went over to the window. He
picked up a bunch of keys, thirty or forty in all, on a ring, weighing
a good pound. The detective touched the throbbing bump and sensed a
moisture; blood. So this was the weapon? He weighed the keys on his
palm. A long time since he had seen a finer collection of skeleton
keys, thin and flat and thick and short, smooth and notched, each a gem
of its kind. Three or four ordinary keys were sandwiched in between,
and Haggerty inspected these curiously.
"H'm. Mebbe it's a hunch. Anyhow, I'll try it. Can't lose anything
trying."
He turned out the desk light and went down to the lower hall, his
pocket-lamp serving as guide. He unlatched the heavy door-chains,
opened the doors and closed them behind him. He inserted one of the
ordinary keys. It refused to work. He tried another. The door swung
open, easily.
"Now, then, come down out o' that!" growled a voice at the foot of the
steps. "Thought y'd be comin' out by-'n-by. No foolin' now, 'r I blow
a hole through ye!"
Haggerty wheeled quickly. "'S that you, Dorgan? Come up."
"Haggerty?" said the astonished patrolman. "An' Mitchell an' I've been
watchin' these lights fer an hour!"
"Some one's been here, though; so y' weren't wasting your time. I
climbed up th' fire-escape in th' alley an' got a nice biff on th' coco
for me pains. See any one running before y' saw th' lights?"
"Why, yes!"
"Ha! It's hard work t' get it int' your heads that when y' see a man
running at this time o' night, in a quiet side-street it's up t' you t'
ask him questions."
"Thought he was chasin' a cab."
"Well, listen here. Till th' owner comes back, keep your eyes peeled
on this place. An' any one y' see prowling around, nab him an' send
for me. On your way!"
Haggerty departed in a hurry. He had already made up his mind as to
what he was going to do. He hunted up a taxicab and told the chauffeur
where to go, advising him to "hit it up." His destination was the
studio-apartment of J. Mortimer Forbes, the artist. It was late, but
this fact did not trouble Haggerty. Forbes never went to bed until
there was positively nothing else to do.
The elevator-boy informed Haggerty that Mr. Forbes had just returned
from the theater. Alone? Yes. Haggerty pushed the bell-button. A
dog bayed.
"Why, Haggerty, what's up? Come on in. Be still, Fritz!"
The dachel's growl ended in a friendly snuffle, and he began to dance
upon Haggerty's broad-toed shoes.
"Bottle of beer? Cigar? Take that easy chair. What's on your mind
tonight?" Forbes rattled away. "Why, man, there's a cut on the side
of your head!"
"Uhuh. Got any witch-hazel?" The detective sat down, stretched out
his legs, and pulled the dachel's ears.
Forbes ran into the bathroom to fetch the witch-hazel. Haggerty poured
a little into his palm and dabbled the wound with it.
"Now, spin it out; tell me what's happened," said Forbes, filling his
calabash and pushing the cigars across the table.
For a year and a half these two men, the antitheses of each other, had
been intimate friends. This liking was genuine, based on secret
admiration, as yet to be confessed openly. Forbes had always been
drawn toward this man-hunting business; he yearned to rescue the
innocent and punish the guilty. Whenever a great crime was committed
he instantly overflowed with theories as to what the criminal was
likely to do afterward. Haggerty enjoyed listening to his patter; and
often there were illuminating flashes which obtained results for the
detective, who never applied his energies in the direction of logical
deduction. Besides, the chairs in the studio were comfortable, the
imported beer not too cold, and the cigars beyond criticism.
Haggerty accepted a cigar, lighted it, and amusedly watched the eager
handsome face of the artist.
"Any poker lately?"
"No; cut it out for six months. Come on, now; don't keep me waiting
any longer."
"Mum's th' word?"--tantalizingly.
"You ought to know that by this time"--aggrieved.
Haggerty tossed the bunch of keys on the table.
"Ha! Good specimens, these," Forbes declared, handling them. "Here's
a window-opener."
"Good boy!" said Haggerty, as a teacher would have commended a bright
pupil.
"And a door-chain lifter. Nothing lacking. Did he hit you with these?"
"Ye-up."
"What are these regular keys for?"
"One o' them unlocks a door." Haggerty smoked luxuriously.
Forbes eyed the ordinary keys with more interest than the burglarious
ones. Haggerty was presently astonished to see the artist produce his
own key-ring.
"What now?"
"When Crawford went abroad he left a key with me. I am making some
drawings for an Egyptian romance and wanted to get some atmosphere."
"Uhuh."
"Which key is it that unlocks a door?" asked Forbes, his eyes sparkling.
"Never'll get that out o' your head, will you?"
"Which key?"
"Th' round-headed one."
Forbes drew the key aside and laid it evenly against the one Crawford
had left in his keeping.
"By George!"
"What's th' matter?"
"He's come back!"--in a whisper.
"You're a keen one! Ye-up; Crawford's valet Mason is visiting in town."