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Ashton-Kirk, Investigator

<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> <h3>STILLMAN'S THEORY</h3> There were four good-sized windows in the show room, all overlooking the street. It was a large, square place, and, as Miss Vale had said, literally stuffed with odd carvings, pottery of a most freakish sort, and weird bric-a-brac. Two large modern safes stood at one side, behind a long show case spread with ancient coins. At the end of this case was a carpeted space, railed in and furnished with a great flat-topped desk. Upon the floor at the foot of the desk, and with three separate streams of blood creeping away from it, lay the huddled, ghastly figure of a man. Pendleton, though he had been warned, felt his breath catch and his skin grow cold and damp. "Heavens!" said he, under his breath. "It's the man whose picture we saw inside there on the wall." Even the shock of death could not, so it seemed, drive the sneer from the thick lips; mockery was frozen in the dead eyes. "What a beast he must have been," went on Pendleton. "Like a satyr. I don't think I ever saw just that type of face before." Ashton-Kirk was bending over the body; suddenly he raised himself. "There is a heavy bruise on the forehead," said he. "He was felled first; then bayoneted." "Bayoneted!" Pendleton peered at the body. "There it is, sticking from his chest." Ashton-Kirk drew aside the breast of the dead man's coat and his companion caught sight of a bronze hilt. The broad, sword-like blade had been driven completely home. "If we attempted to move the body," said the investigator, "I should not be surprised if we found it pinned to the floor. It took brawn to give that stroke; the man who dealt it made sure of the job." With soft, quick steps he crossed the room. The doors of the safes were locked. "If the purpose was robbery," said Ashton-Kirk, "the criminal evidently knew where to look for the most portable and valuable articles. There seems to be no indication of anything having been tampered—" He stopped short, his eyes upon a huge vellum covered tome which lay open upon the floor. He whistled softly between his teeth. "General Wayne once more!" he said. The volume, as far as Pendleton could see, was a sort of scrap book in which had been fastened a great number of prints. Upon the two pages that they could see, six prints had been affixed by the corners. Of these, four had been torn out and lay upon the floor. "Gambetta and John Bright have been spared," said Ashton-Kirk, pointing at the book, "but," and he gathered up the fragments of the mishandled prints, "upon Mad Anthony they laid violent hands four separate times." Pendleton wrinkled his brow. "Now what the deuce can it mean," he asked, vexedly. "Not only what did the fellow mean who did this, but what did he mean," pointing at the dead man, "by having so many portraits of General Wayne?" "I think something might be found to point the way if we could only look for it," said Ashton-Kirk, his face alight with eagerness. "But we'll have to await the coroner's people." "When will they come?" The investigator shrugged his shoulders. "Probably not for hours," he answered. "However, as the coroner himself appears to be new in the office, he may be more anxious to get his work over with than the usual official. In the mean time we'd better go down and have a talk with Osborne. If I remain here I'll succumb to temptation, go rummaging about and so get myself into trouble." He turned the knob of the door with the ground glass panel; but it was fast. They passed into the store room, and so out into the hall. "Any signs of the people from the coroner's office?" asked Ashton-Kirk of the policeman who stood there. "Someone just drove up a minute ago," answered the man. "I hear him down there talking to Osborne now." Ashton-Kirk was about to go down when there came a tramping on the stairs. The big figure of the headquarters detective was first; after him came a nervous, important looking young man and a stolid-faced old one. With a large gesture Osborne laid his hand upon Ashton-Kirk's shoulder. "Mr. Stillman," said he to the nervous looking young man, "this is Mr. Ashton-Kirk. I guess you've heard of him." The important manner of the young coroner visibly increased as he held out his hand. "I have heard of you frequently, sir," he stated, firmly, "and I am quite delighted to meet you. More especially, sir, at a time like this." "A very nasty looking affair," returned the investigator. "Osborne has been good enough to let me glance about," in explanation. "I trust," said Stillman, "that you have disturbed nothing." "Except for gathering up a few scattered pictures in the bedroom, we have done nothing but look," assured Ashton-Kirk. "I find that the exact conditions must remain if we are to secure even a fairly good idea of the crime's environments," stated Stillman, nervously. "It is a thing that I insist upon from the police in every instance." "Sure, sure," said Osborne. "Headquarters does its best never to make trouble for you, Mr. Stillman." The nervous young coroner seemed to be relieved to hear this. He waved his hand in a gesture that might have meant anything and turned to the stolid looking, elderly man who accompanied them. They conversed for a few moments; the stolid man seemed to be explaining something carefully, to which Stillman listened with the utmost attention. Osborne bent his head toward Ashton-Kirk. "The old party is a left-over in the coroner's office, of many years' standing," said the detective. "He knows the ropes and puts the newly elected ones on to the points of the game." Stillman finally turned; there was an added importance in his manner, and his nervousness had also increased. "Mr. Osborne," said he, "please let us have what facts the police have gathered." "That won't take long," said Osborne. "Just before daylight—three o'clock, I think she said—the woman whom Hume employed to scrub the passage-way and stairs got here. She has almost a dozen such jobs in the neighborhood, and as she must have them all done before business begins, she's compelled to get at it early. She has a key to the street door; so she let herself in, came up these stairs and started for the far end of the hall, where there is a water tap. She didn't notice anything unusual until she returned with her pail filled; then she saw this door," pointing to that of the store room, "standing open." "I see," said Mr. Stillman; and he gazed very hard at the door. "Hume, according to the scrub-woman's story," resumed the big man, "was a queer kind of a chap. You didn't always know just how to take him. He's lapped up a good bit of booze first and last and sometimes he's come home pretty well settled. So when the woman sees the door open, this is the first thing that enters her mind. But to make sure, she goes into the room and calls him by name. The room's dark and there's just a touch of daylight coming in through the open door leading into the front room. So as there was no answer, she takes a peep in there and sees him on the floor." "And is that all she can tell?" "Yes; except that she bolted down the stairs in a hurry, met Paulson here," with a nod to the policeman, who had now discarded his cigar, "and told him what she had seen." "What is her name and address?" Osborne consulted a note book. "Mrs. Dwyer, 71 Cormant Street," read he. "Please make a note of that," said Stillman to his clerk. "And send for her later in the day." Then turning once more to Osborne, he continued. "Before doing anything else we will endeavor to find out how the criminal gained an entrance." "That's the way with these Johnnie Newcomers," grumbled Osborne as Stillman turned once more to his aide. "They want to do it all. Why don't he go in, look at the body and leave the police business to the police." "Too much earnestness may have its drawbacks," said Ashton-Kirk, "but it is to be preferred to the perfunctory methods of the accustomed official, for all." "From your angle, maybe so," said Osborne with a frown; "but not from ours." Stillman began rubbing his palms together with what was intended to be business-like briskness; he stepped up and down the dark hall, peering right and left. But for all his assumption of confidence, his nervousness was very apparent. "You say," said he to Osborne, "that the scrubwoman unlocked the street door. Very good. That shows that it was fast at all events. Now what other means are there of entering the building?" "None, except by the fire-escapes and windows. But the windows on this floor are all secured except for those at the front." "Except for those at the front." The young coroner paused in his hand rubbing. "Would it not have been possible for the person or persons who did this murder to enter by one of those?" "It would have been possible," returned the big headquarters man, "but no sane person would do it. They'd have to swarm up the face of the building in full view of anyone that might be passing at the time." "Exactly," said Stillman, stiffening under what he was half inclined to consider a rebuff. "Well, that eliminates that possibility. Now to the next one. Who occupied the building besides the murdered man?" "A man named Berg keeps a delicatessen store on the first floor. His place in no way communicates with the rest of the building. The third and fourth floors are used for storage purposes by a furrier. Except in the spring and fall, so Mrs. Dwyer tells me, he seldom visits the building." "Is there any way of getting in from the top of the house—the roof?" asked the coroner. A look of something like respect came into Osborne's face. Clearly the question was one which he considered worth while. "There is a scuttle," he replied. "The bolt is rusted and broken; it has probably not been fastened for months, perhaps years." "Now we are beginning to come at something," cried Stillman, well pleased. "In all probability the assassin entered by way of the scuttle." He turned as though for the approval of the stolid-faced man. "Eh, Curran? What do you think of that?" "It looks very like it, Mr. Stillman." "At all events," spoke the coroner, "we will now examine the rooms." He advanced and tried the door of the show room. "Ah, locked!" said he. He turned and entered the store room, the others following. The gas was still burning; the coroner stuck a pair of big-lensed eyeglasses upon his rather high nose and gazed about him intently. "There seems to be nothing of an informing nature here," said he, after a time. "Where is the body?" Osborne led the way into the front room. After a glance at the ghastly, huddled figure upon the carpet near the desk, the coroner took a careful survey of the apartment. "Did Mr. Hume employ any person to assist him?" he asked. "The scrub-woman told me that there was a young man here always when she came during the business day for her wages. A sort of clerk, she thought." "He will be able to tell us if anything has been disturbed, no doubt," remarked Stillman. Then he examined the body minutely. In the pockets were found a wallet containing a large sum of money, a massive, old-fashioned gold watch with a chain running from pocket to pocket of the waist-coat. Upon the little finger of Hume's left hand was a magnificent diamond. "Worth two thousand if it's worth a cent," appraised Osborne. "If the criminal had meant robbery these things would unquestionably have been taken," commented the young coroner. "Eh, Curran?" "That is a very safe rule to go by, Mr. Stillman," replied his assistant, with the utmost stolidity. Through his big lenses the coroner gazed curiously at the bronze haft protruding from the dead man's chest. "A bayonet," said he. "Not a common weapon in a crime like this. In fact, I should say it was rather in the nature of an innovation." "It probably belonged in Hume's stock," suggested Osborne. "There seems to be about everything here." But Stillman shook his head. "We have already about concluded that the intention of the criminal was not robbery," stated he. "And now, if we make up our minds that the bayonet belonged to Hume—that the assassin, in point of fact, came here without a weapon—it must be that he did not intend murder either." "Maybe he didn't," ventured Osborne. "There might have been a sudden quarrel. The person who struck that blow may have grabbed up the first competent looking thing that came to his hand." Stillman turned to Ashton-Kirk. "That sounds reasonable enough, eh?" "Very much so," replied Ashton-Kirk. "A bayonet is a most unusual weapon," said the coroner thoughtfully, readjusting his glasses. "And I think it would be a most awkward thing to carry around with one. Therefore, it would be a most unlikely choice for an intending assassin. I am of the opinion," nervously, "that we may safely say that it was a sudden quarrel which ended in this," and he gestured with both hands toward the body. The safe doors were tried and found locked; a cash register was opened and found to contain what had been apparently the receipts of the day before. An examination of the cabinets and cases disclosed hundreds of ancient coins and other articles the value of which must have been heavy. But their orderly array had not been disturbed. A long curtain of faded green material hung from the wall at one side, as though to screen something from the sunlight and dust. "What have we here?" said the coroner. He stepped across the store and whisked the curtain aside. A large gilt frame was disclosed; and from it hung the slashed remains of a canvas. "Hello!" exclaimed Osborne, with interest. "This begins to look like one of the old affairs that they say Hume's been mixed up in. Somebody's tried to cut that picture from the frame." They examined it carefully. A keen knife had been run around the top and both sides, close to the frame. The painting hung down, its gray back displayed forlornly. Stillman regarded it with great satisfaction. "Here," said he, "we at least have a possible motive." Ashton-Kirk took a twisted walking stick from a rack, and with the end of it, raised the slashed canvas so that its subject could be seen. It was a heroic equestrian figure of an officer of the American Revolution. His sword was drawn; his face shone with the light of battle. Pendleton was just about to cry out "General Wayne," when the stick fell from his friend's hand, the canvas dropping to its former position. While the others were trying to get it into place once more, Ashton-Kirk whispered to Pendleton: "Say nothing. This is their turn; let them work in their own way. I will begin where they have finished." After a little time spent in a gratified inspection of the painting, Stillman said: "But, gentlemen, let us have a look at the other rooms. There may be something more." They re-passed through the store room and into the living room. Nothing here took the coroner's attention, and they entered the bedroom. Both these last had doors leading into the hall; upon their being tried they were found to be locked. The smashed pictures upon the bedroom floor at once took the eye of Stillman. He regarded the broken places in the plaster and prodded the slivers of wood and glass with the toe of his shoe with much complacency. "This completes the story," declared he. "It is now plain from end to end. The criminal entered the building from the roof, made his way down stairs and gained admittance through the door which the scrub woman found unlocked. His purpose was to steal the painting in the front room. "In a struggle with Hume, who unexpectedly came upon him, the intruder killed him. Not knowing the exact location of the picture he wanted, he first looked for it here. The light probably being bad he tore down every picture he could reach in order to get a better view of it. When, at last, he had found the desired work, he set about cutting it from its frame. But, before he had finished, something alarmed him, and he fled without the prize." The stolid man listened to this with marked approval. Even Osborne reluctantly whispered to Pendleton: "He's doped it out. I didn't think it was in him." After a little more, the coroner said to his clerk: "I think that is about all. Curran, see to it that the post-mortem is not delayed. Put a couple of our men on the case, have them make extensive inquiries in the neighborhood. Any persons who appear to possess information may be brought to my office at three o'clock. Especially I desire to see this Mrs. Dwyer, Berg, who keeps the store on the ground floor and the young man who was employed by Hume. I'll empanel a jury later." He took off his eye-glasses, placed them in a case and, in turn, carefully slipped this into his pocket. "At three o'clock," he repeated. "If I should not be intruding," said Ashton-Kirk, "I should like to be present." Stillman smiled with the air of a man triumphant, but who still desired to show charity. "I shall be pleased to see you, sir," he said, "then or at any other time." <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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