Part 3 (2/2)
”I haven't heard anything,” replied Kelly. ”Osborne, from headquarters, went in a few minutes ago with the coroner's a.s.sistant. The sergeant and a couple of men have been here all morning.”
Bat opened the gate and went slowly up the path. The house was a bright, cheerful-looking place; the little garden was laid out in walks, the trees were carefully trimmed; and though it was still October, everything had been made ready for the winter season.
”Nice little home,” commented the big man. ”Shows care and thoughtfulness. No place at all for a murder.”
In reply to his ring the door was opened by a second policeman. A few words brought the sergeant in charge to the door; and he shook hands with Scanlon and asked him to step in.
”Any interest in this case?” he asked, and his broad, red face displayed a great deal of that very thing. ”Is your friend Ashton-Kirk along with you?”
”No,” replied Bat, easily, ”he's not. But from what I hear, it's the kind of a thing he'd like.”
The sergeant shook his head.
”Oh, between you and me it's simple enough,” said he. ”The newspapers have played it up some, that's all. To my mind, the party that croaked Burton ain't out of reach by a long shot; and if they'd have left it to me I'd had him at City Hall an hour ago.”
”That so!” Bat looked surprised. ”I thought it was one of those things all bundled up in mystery.”
He went slowly down the hall and turned in at the first door to the left, which stood partly open, and from behind which he heard voices. A burly, good-natured looking man with a derby hat in his hand was talking to a dapper, quick-eyed personage whose carefully trimmed beard and immaculately white waistcoat gave him the conventional ”professional”
look. Near a window was a big chair, among the pillows of which reclined a young girl with a pale, sweet face and that appearance of fragility which comes of long-continued illness; beside her stood an anxious-looking young man whose haggard countenance told of a sleepless night and a hara.s.sed mind.
Scanlon at once recognized in the big man the ”well-known”--as the newspapers always put it--city detective, Osborne; and so calmly advanced and shook his hand.
”Glad to see you,” spoke Osborne, affably. ”Meet Dr. Shower, a.s.sistant to the coroner,” indicating the white waistcoated gentleman.
”These investigations are not exactly the thing I care for,” Dr. Shower told Osborne, after acknowledging the presentation, graciously. ”As a matter of fact I think they are entirely within the duties of the police. We of our office shouldn't be dragged out to view dead bodies in all sorts of places; it consumes a great deal of time, and, as far as I can see, can do no possible good.”
Osborne shrugged his heavy shoulders.
”Well, Doctor,” spoke he, ”maybe you've got it right. But when old Costigan was coroner he always insisted that a body--especially in a case like this--should not be touched until he had looked at it and asked his questions.”
”Costigan was romantic,” stated Dr. Shower, as he stroked his beard with a firm hand; ”he had imbibed a great deal of theoretical detective nonsense, and tried to act up to it. However,” with a lifting of one eyebrow, ”here I am, so I might as well get to work.” He looked about.
”Where is the body?”
”In the room just across the hall,” said Osborne.
”Just so.” Dr. Shower looked at the young man and the young woman. ”And these are--?”
”The son and daughter of the murdered man,” answered the detective.
”To be sure.” Shower smoothed his waistcoat with the same firm gesture.
”Of course.” Then to the young man: ”Am I right in understanding that your father did not reside here?”
The young man laughed suddenly; the sound was unexpected and full of bitterness, and caused Bat Scanlon to look swiftly toward him.
”Yes, you are quite right in that,” said the son. ”Quite right! My father did _not_ live here.”
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