Part 3 (2/2)

”To-night.”

Philip Warwick smiled.

”You are prompt,” said he. ”But Miss Corbin will be delighted.”

And with that he took his departure

CHAPTER II

ASHTON-KIRK GOES TO EASTBURY

Ashton-Kirk turned to Fuller.

”Read what you have taken down,” he directed.

Fuller did so, and while he read, the secret agent stood by the window, listening. When the a.s.sistant finished the other did not speak; he remained gazing down at the shabby hordes which eddied and murmured in the street. There was a strange look upon the keen, dark face of the watcher; the eyes were full of singular speculation. At last he spoke.

”Queer things come out of the East,” he said. ”Even these people below, who have merely lived upon the western fringe of the Orient, are tinged with its mystery. Every now and then an Occidental eye gets a flash of something among them for which we have no explanation.”

”I have felt that frequently,” said Fuller; ”but never gave much thought to it. Orientals, somehow, have always impressed me uncomfortably; they seem, so to put it, to have something in reserve. It is as though they had a trick or two up their sleeves which they have never shown us.”

Ashton-Kirk nodded.

”A strange and interesting people,” said he. He crossed to the book shelves and took down a thin folio; placing it upon the table, he began to rapidly turn the leaves; a series of j.a.panese prints fluttered before Fuller's eyes.

”There are numberless things which are held as marking the line of division between the races of the East and West,” remarked Ashton-Kirk.

”But,” with a smile, ”I have an idea that food and the cooking thereof has more to do with it than anything else. The mental and physical differences are the results of this. And in nothing does the j.a.panese, for example, show the result of his nourishment as in the matter of art.

His hand in a drawing is unmistakable.”

He closed the volume of prints; and from a stand took a telephone book and opened it at Eastbury. This was a ”Boom” suburb, and as yet had no great population; down the list of subscribers ran the inquiring finger; at length it paused and a slight hissing intake of the breath told of a discovery.

”Good,” said he.

Tossing the book to Fuller, he added:

”Find Dr. Morse's number in Fordham Road.”

While the deft fingers of his a.s.sistant ran through the pages, Ashton-Kirk turned to a sort of rack; throwing open one of the huge rolls which it contained, he displayed a section of a marvelously complete map of the city and suburbs. It was done by hand and in variously colored inks; every street, avenue, court and alley were clearly traced; each house and number was microscopically set down. This map was the growth of years; each month it was altered in some small way as the city expanded; the care taken with it was the same as that which a business house gave its ledgers. Again the long, inquiring finger began to move.

”Ah! Fordham Road is the first street east of Berkley.”

”Dr. Morse's address is 2979,” said Fuller, looking up from the directory.

”The same block!” cried Ashton-Kirk, his finger searching among the lines. Then he burst into a laugh and allowed the spring to whisk the map out of view. ”Their houses stand back to back,” said he.

<script>