Part 24 (1/2)
”I'm merely pointing out these facts to you,” he said. ”Of course you can do with them what you like.”
With a nod to Scanlon, he was ready to go. Osborne stopped them at the door and asked a half dozen questions, all bearing pointedly upon what the investigator had just told him.
”All right,” said he. ”Thanks. This looks as though it'd be of little use; but then it doesn't do any harm to know all you can about a case.”
Bat Scanlon heard the investigator chuckle as they got into the waiting taxi.
”It would be a safe gamble that he will be out at Stanwick in the morning looking over those places he has neglected heretofore,” laughed Ashton-Kirk, as the driver slammed the door shut after them and started toward the destination given him.
Bat, anxious of eye, and with lips grimly pressed together, was silent for a s.p.a.ce, and then he said:
”What was the idea of telling the 'bulls' those things? You don't give your clues away as a rule.”
Again Ashton-Kirk laughed.
”I don't think headquarters will go very far on what indications they get from the lawn at this stage,” said he, drily. ”So I don't antic.i.p.ate much interference from them. And,” with a nod of the head which told Scanlon everything and nothing, ”I have a little theory which I desire to try out. And I expect an answer within twenty-four hours.”
CHAPTER XV
SCANLON STATES HIS POSITION
It was a fall Sunday, misty and with a fine rain falling; the mean street in which Ashton-Kirk's house stood--once the street of the city's aristocracy, but now crowded with the hordes of East Europe--looked sodden and cheerless. Bat Scanlon, as he mounted the wide stone steps and rang the bell, looked about and philosophized.
”Funny how things have their ups and downs--men as well as streets. And this is one of my days for being down. Down at the bottom, too,”
disconsolately; ”at the bottom, with all my vexations piled up on top of me.”
Stumph, grave of face, and altogether the very model of men-servants, opened the door.
”Yes, sir,” said he, in reply to Scanlon's question. ”Mr. Ashton-Kirk is at home. You are to go up, sir.”
Scanlon made his way up the familiar staircase; from the high walls, the rows of painted faces looked down on him from their dull gilt frame.
”A fellow must feel a kind of a pressure on him to have an a.s.sorted gang of ancestors looking down on him this way all the time,” said the big man, mentally. ”I don't know whether I'd like it or not.”
Stumph knocked at the study door, and when a voice bade them come in, he opened it and stood aside while Scanlon entered. Ashton-Kirk sat upon a deep sofa with his legs wrapped in a steamer-rug, smoking a briar pipe, and going over some closely typed pages.
”How are you?” greeted he. ”Take a comfortable chair, will you? You'll find things to smoke on the table. And pardon me a moment while I finish this.”
Scanlon lighted a cigarette and sat down. The criminologist plunged once more into the typed sheets, and while he was so engaged, Bat's eyes roved about the room. Through the partly open door at one end he had a detail of the laboratory with its s.h.i.+ning retorts and racks of gleaming apparatus; in the study itself were rows of books standing upon everything that would hold them; cases were stuffed with them; they littered the tables and stands, some spotless in their fresh newness, others dingy and old, with warping leather backs and yellowed pages.
Ashton-Kirk put the sheets down at last and sat for a s.p.a.ce smoking in thoughtful silence, the singular eyes half closed. Then he threw aside the rug and arose; pressing a call b.u.t.ton he began pacing the room.
”This little case of ours is gaining in interest,” said he. ”Its scope is widening, too. I put one of my men, Burgess, on a detail which I wanted thoroughly searched, and it led him to New Orleans.”
Scanlon elevated his brows.
”No!” said he. ”Is that a fact?”