Ashton-Kirk, Criminologist

by John Thomas McIntyre

  CHAPTER III

  THE CLOUD GROWS DARKER

  Stanwick was a "made" suburb; ten years before its site had beenoccupied by farms; but a keen-eyed realty man had seen promise in it andbought it up, shrewdly. The streets were wide, the walks were narrow andlined with trees that would one day spread nobly. The houses were builtin rows, each independent of the other, mounted upon little terraces,fronted by guards of iron railing and prim little flower gardens. BatScanlon, as he regarded it, nodded knowingly.

  "It's the kind of a place where the seven-twenty is the chief topic inthe morning, and the five-fifteen in the afternoon," he told himself."The habits of the rubber plant are common property; and every man inevery street thinks his roses have it all over the man's next door."

  Duncan Street proved much like the others; and No. 620 had all thecharacteristics to be expected of it. When Scanlon stopped before it hefound a little group of idlers standing on the walk, each member ofwhich stared at him with a curiosity that was active and acute.

  "Hello, Kelly!" saluted Bat, as he recognized a portly policeman at thelittle iron gate.

  "How are you, Bat?" responded the policeman, in a surprised tone. "Whatare you doing away out here?"

  "Just thought I'd run out and take a look around," said Scanlon. He hadseen to the training of the athletic team of the police department forseveral years, and was well known to most of the officials and many ofthe patrolmen. And it just happened that the man on guard at the gate,due to Bat's instructions, had been the winner of the heavyweightwrestling honors in the last inter-city tournament. "Anything new?"

  "I haven't heard anything," replied Kelly. "Osborne, from headquarters,went in a few minutes ago with the coroner's assistant. The sergeant anda 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, thetrees 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 andthoughtfulness. No place at all for a murder."

  In reply to his ring the door was opened by a second policeman. A fewwords brought the sergeant in charge to the door; and he shook handswith Scanlon and asked him to step in.

  "Any interest in this case?" he asked, and his broad, red face displayeda great deal of that very thing. "Is your friend Ashton-Kirk along withyou?"

  "No," replied Bat, easily, "he's not. But from what I hear, it's thekind of a thing he'd like."

  The sergeant shook his head.

  "Oh, between you and me it's simple enough," said he. "The newspapershave played it up some, that's all. To my mind, the party that croakedBurton ain't out of reach by a long shot; and if they'd have left it tome I'd had him at City Hall an hour ago."

  "That so!" Bat looked surprised. "I thought it was one of those thingsall bundled up in mystery."

  He went slowly down the hall and turned in at the first door to theleft, which stood partly open, and from behind which he heard voices. Aburly, good-natured looking man with a derby hat in his hand was talkingto a dapper, quick-eyed personage whose carefully trimmed beard andimmaculately white waistcoat gave him the conventional "professional"look. Near a window was a big chair, among the pillows of which reclineda young girl with a pale, sweet face and that appearance of fragilitywhich comes of long-continued illness; beside her stood ananxious-looking young man whose haggard countenance told of a sleeplessnight and a harassed mind.

  Scanlon at once recognized in the big man the "well-known"--as thenewspapers always put it--city detective, Osborne; and so calmlyadvanced and shook his hand.

  "Glad to see you," spoke Osborne, affably. "Meet Dr. Shower, assistantto the coroner," indicating the white waistcoated gentleman.

  "These investigations are not exactly the thing I care for," Dr. Showertold Osborne, after acknowledging the presentation, graciously. "As amatter of fact I think they are entirely within the duties of thepolice. We of our office shouldn't be dragged out to view dead bodies inall sorts of places; it consumes a great deal of time, and, as far as Ican see, can do no possible good."

  Osborne shrugged his heavy shoulders.

  "Well, Doctor," spoke he, "maybe you've got it right. But when oldCostigan was coroner he always insisted that a body--especially in acase like this--should not be touched until he had looked at it andasked his questions."

  "Costigan was romantic," stated Dr. Shower, as he stroked his beard witha firm hand; "he had imbibed a great deal of theoretical detectivenonsense, and tried to act up to it. However," with a lifting of oneeyebrow, "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. "Andthese 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 thatyour father did not reside here?"

  The young man laughed suddenly; the sound was unexpected and full ofbitterness, and caused Bat Scanlon to look swiftly toward him.

  "Yes, you are quite right in that," said the son. "Quite right! Myfather did _not_ live here."

  There was a feeling behind the words that was not to be mistaken; and aslight pucker appeared between the eyes of the assistant coroner which aperson well acquainted with him would have told you indicated increasinginterest.

  "You are reported to have said to the police sergeant," stated Dr.Shower, referring to some memoranda scribbled upon the back of anenvelope, "that the relationship between your father and yourself hasnot been an agreeable one."

  "There has been no relationship between my father and myself--nonewhatsoever--for a number of years."

  There was a gleam in the eyes of the speaker and a shaking quality inhis voice which showed intense feeling; the thin hand of his sisterrested upon his arm for an instant; he looked at her quickly, and thenbent over while she whispered something in a tone so low that none ofthe others could hear a word.

  "Very well, Mary," he said. "It's all right. Don't worry."

  "What you say being the case," said Dr. Shower, "your father would notbe likely to be a frequent visitor."

  "We've lived here for five years; he was never here before. Up to lastnight I had not seen him for at least seven years."

  "Humph!" The pucker between the assistant coroner's eyes deepened; hetook a firm clutch upon his beard. "Then the visit of last night wasquite unusual--unique, I might say."

  "He was the last person in the world I expected to see," said the youngman. "I did not get home until late. I had a cartoon to do for thesporting page and ideas were not flowing very easily; my usual train isat eleven-ten, but I was held up until the twelve-twenty-two. As I camedown the street I saw a light burning in the sitting-room window; but Ithought my sister was waiting for me, as she sometimes does. But when Icame in and saw my father with her, I was so astonished that for amoment I could not speak."

  "Just so. And now," here the hand of the questioner fell to caressingthe trimmed beard, tenderly, "tell me this: Your father's visit, so lateat night, and after so long an estrangement, must have had some specialreason behind it. Would you mind saying what it was?"

  For a moment there was silence. Bat Scanlon saw Osborne's eyes narrow ashe watched the young man; he saw from the assistant coroner's attitudethat this was a most important question. And, more than anything else,he saw in the pale, sweet face of the invalid girl a look of subduedterror; the fragile hands were clasped together as though she werepraying. And at length young Burton spoke:

  "I don't know that there was any reason for the visit. He gave me none."

  Shower turned upon the invalid girl quickly.

  "Did he say anything to you?"

  "No," replied the girl, in a low
tone. "No; he said nothing."

  "What did he talk about?" asked Osborne.

  "I do not know," said the girl, her voice even fainter than before. "Inever understood my father. He--he always frightened me by the way helooked and the way he laughed."

  She sank back, exhausted, among the pillows; her brother bent over andspoke soothingly and encouragingly to her. When she had recovered alittle he turned once more to the others, and Scanlon saw a bitter angerin his face--a cold, hard fury, such as only comes of a hurt that isdeep and long rankled.

  "You heard what she said?" he asked. "She never understood him. Howcould a girl like her understand a man like that! He frightened her bythe way he looked and the way he laughed! Do you know what that means?It's a thing born in her--got from her mother--a mother who lived infear of that man for years. And then he finally drove her to her grave.He was a monster--a human beast--he had no more remorse than----"

  "Frank!" The girl's faint voice checked him. He looked down at her, thesame expression in his face as Scanlon had seen there before.

  "No, she doesn't know what he talked about," the young man resumed, in alower tone, and with a quieter manner. "She never saw him in her lifebut what she almost died through fear of him."

  With a gesture the assistant coroner seemed to put aside this phase ofthe matter.

  "Very well," said he. "But tell us, please, what happened after youreached home last night and saw your father, so unexpectedly."

  "I was angry," said the young artist "I asked him what he was doinghere."

  "And then what?"

  "He merely jeered at me. I looked at my sister; she seemed very ill, andI understood the cause of it at once, and tried to cross toward her."

  "You _tried_ to cross the room," said Osborne. "What was to preventyou?"

  "My father tried to!" said the young man. "It was a way he had--Iremember it from a boy--a love of threatening people--a desire to mock,a kind of joy in persecution. But he had forgotten that I had grown intoa man, and I threw him out of my way as soon as he stepped into it."

  "Well?" asked the questioner, after a pause.

  "I saw that my sister had undergone a severe strain; she has been in badhealth for some years. So I took her at once to her room."

  "Your father remained in the sitting-room?"

  "Yes. At least I suppose so. For when I returned, perhaps a quarter ofan hour later, I found him lying upon the floor, just as he is now; theblood from a wound in his head was soaking into a rug and he was quitedead."

  "A quarter of an hour elapsed between your leaving the room and yourreturn?"

  "Yes."

  "During that time you heard no unusual sounds?"

  "No."

  "What other occupants are there here, beside you two?"

  "A maid, who also does the cooking. And there is a nurse who has beenattending my sister for some time past."

  "Bring them here," said Dr. Shower to the policeman who had beenstanding at the room door during the greater part of this examination.As the man departed the assistant coroner turned his glance toward thesick girl.

  "How long was your father here before your brother arrived?"

  "I am not sure," she replied in her low voice. "It may have been anhour--perhaps it was more."

  The nurse and the maid had evidently not been far away, for thepoliceman now led them into the room. The maid was an exceedingly blacknegro girl, and obviously frightened; the nurse wore her trim uniformwell; her face was calm and her eyes were level and serene; apparentlylong training in the hospitals had not been wasted in her case.

  "What's your name?" inquired Dr. Shower, of the maid.

  "Rosamond Wyat, suh," replied the girl. And, then, eagerly: "But, deedy,boss, I don't know nothing about this killing! I was back in that yeahkitchen, and----"

  "Answer my questions, please," said the assistant coroner, severely."You were present in the house last night?"

  "Yes, suh. I done lef' dat man in. But that's all I know----"

  "Had you ever seen him before that?"

  "I declah I never did, suh! And I was mighty s'prised when he tole me hewas Miss Ma'y's fathah. I never knowed she had a fathah."

  "Did you hear nothing later? No loud talking--the noise, or shock of afall?"

  "No, suh."

  The inquisitor now turned to the nurse.

  "Now, Miss----"

  "Wheeler," she said, quietly. "Susan Wheeler."

  "Tell us what _you_ know of this matter, if you please, Miss Wheeler."

  "Miss Burton had been feeling rather better all day yesterday," said thenurse, "and as the evening went on she said I could go to bed, as shemeant to wait up for her brother."

  "And did you do so?"

  "No, sir," replied the nurse. "Miss Burton once or twice before hadoverestimated her strength, and ever since then I have been carefulnever to be too far away. Instead of going to bed I came into this room,got a book and began to read."

  Osborne coughed behind his hand; the eyes of the assistant coronersnapped with appreciation. But Bat Scanlon gave his attention to youngBurton and his sister; the girl had sat up with sudden, unlooked-forstrength, and was regarding the quiet young nurse with dilated eyes. Theface of the brother had gone gray; he held to the heavy frame of hissister's chair, and the big trainer noted that he swayed slightly.

  "And were you in this room when the man, now dead, was shown into theone across the hall?"

  "I was," replied the nurse, with the calm impersonal manner of her kind."I heard the ring and heard what he said to the maid; and, like her, Iwas surprised to hear that it was Miss Burton's father. However, I paidlittle attention, but went on with my reading."

  "Did you hear any of the conversation?"

  "I heard voices--or to be more correct, I heard a voice. The father didall the talking as far as I could hear; but, as I have said, I wasinterested in my book."

  "You don't recall any scraps of talk--a detached phrase?--anything?"

  The nurse shook her head.

  "The only clear impression I have is of the man's laugh; there wassomething irritating about it, and I wished he'd stop."

  "When the younger Mr. Burton came home--what then?"

  "The voices rose suddenly; but the two doors were closed and I couldonly catch a word here and there. But I did hear young Mr. Burton callhis father a rascal and order him to leave the house. Just about then Ithought of the maid and went back to the kitchen to tell her she mightgo to bed. But she had already gone. There were a few things I had to doin the kitchen and I remained there until I had finished them. Then Icame back here."

  "Well?"

  "They were still talking in the sitting-room--rather loudly, I thought."

  "Did you hear any sound like a struggle?"

  The maid stood with her rather thin lips pressed tightly together for amoment; then she said, reluctantly:

  "Yes."

  "Anything more?" Dr. Shower's fingers were now twisted in the trimmedbeard, eagerly.

  "Miss Burton cried out. Then there was a sudden jar that made everythingshake."

  "Like some one falling?"

  "Yes," replied the nurse, with lowered head.

  "Ah!" This was a low, long-drawn exclamation and came from Osborne; andit was followed by a deep silence during which the rapid ticking of asmall clock upon a writing table seemed to suddenly swell into anoverwhelming volume of sound.

  It was the sick girl who spoke first. She threw out her frail, whitehands in a gesture of protection toward her brother.

  "Frank!" she cried. "Do you hear?"

  The young man, ashen of face, and with eyes wide open, had been staringat the nurse. But at the sound of his sister's voice he roused himself,and said hurriedly:

  "All right, Mary. All right, my dear!" Then to the assistant coroner headded: "Very likely what Miss Wheeler says is true. There was astruggle, though not much of a one, and perhaps my sister was frightenedand did cry out."

  "But what of the sudden jar--'as thoug
h some one had fallen'?" askedOsborne.

  "It must have been when my father struck the wall as I pushed himaside," said the young man as he passed one hand across his face. "Thatis the only way I can account for it."

  "What more was there, Miss Wheeler?"

  "A few moments later, Mr. Burton took his sister up-stairs to her room.I expected to be called, but was not. In a little while Mr. Burton camedown once more and I heard him go into the sitting-room. There was apause after this; then he called my name. I went out at once. He wasstanding in the hall, with the sitting-room door partly closed, and hishand upon the knob. It was then he told me what had happened--that someone had struck down his father, and that he was afraid he was dead, andthat I must call in the police."

  "You did not see the body?"

  "Yes, sir; as I said, the sitting-room door was partly open. I saw thebody, plainly."

  The assistant coroner asked a number of other questions, but nothing ofvalue was brought out.

  "Very well," said the questioner finally, to the two women. "That willbe all for the time being. Thank you." And then, as they left the room,he added to Osborne, "And now, let us have a look in the next room."

  The two went out into the hall; promptly, Mr. Scanlon followed. Thesitting-room door was exactly opposite, and they entered silently.Through the shutters a dim light was admitted, and fell across thefloor; almost in the center of this a huddled form lay in a twisted,sidelong fashion; the head rested upon a rug, one end of which was thickand hard with blood; a white cloth covered the dead man's face.

  "Just as he dropped when hit," said the police sergeant, who was in theroom. "Nobody has stirred him an inch."

  Osborne's practiced eye went about the apartment.

  "Is everything else as it was?" he asked.

  "Not a thing touched," the sergeant assured him. "I got here an hourafter it happened, and I made it a point to see that there was notramping in and out. The room's been under guard ever since."

  Osborne nodded his approval of this, and then turned toward theassistant coroner, who had knelt beside the body and was now lifting thecloth.

  "What's it look like?" he asked, bending over.

  "A frightful blow," said Dr. Shower. "And it was a strong arm thatstruck it." Then, with suddenly increased interest, he peered stillcloser at the terrible wound in the side of the head. "Hello," said he,"this is rather unusual in shape." He looked up at the sergeant who waspassing his hand behind a row of books upon a shelf. "What sort of aweapon was used?" he asked.

  The police sergeant turned a look at the questioner over his shoulder.

  "We haven't been able to find any," said he, "and we've lookedeverywhere. I've been over this room a dozen times myself, and I'm goingover it again. It wasn't done with the kind of a thing a man would carryin his pockets--I'm sure of that."

  "Right," said Osborne, who had also closely examined the wound by thistime. "The cut's too wide for a blackjack, or what the English call a'life-preserver'; and it's too deep. It was made with something with asharp edge--something wide and heavy."

  "Are you quite sure of that?" The voice was that of Frank Burton, andlooking in the direction of the door, they saw that the young man hadentered the room. "Is it not possible that the wound was caused by aregulation weapon of some sort after all; is the shape of the cut aninfallible test as to the character of the instrument used?"

  There was an anxious eagerness in the voice; the gray pallor of theface, and the feverish eyes were those of a man whose nerves wereclamoring, but whose roused mind refused to give them rest.

  "Such is the case in the great majority of instances," said Dr. Shower,firmly. "We are seldom led astray."

  "There has been no weapon found," persisted young Burton; "and thatbeing the case do you not think it possible----"

  But here a sudden exclamation from Osborne, who had gone to one of thewindows and stood looking out, interrupted the speaker. In spite of hisbigness the detective was in excellent training; with a spring he wentthrough the window which opened upon a walk fringed with autumn-brownbushes; and in another moment he was back in the room.

  "Don't be too sure about no weapon being found," said he, triumph in hisface and voice. "What would you call this?"

  As he spoke he held up a heavy brass candlestick; it had a solid base ofmetal, and the edge of this was darkly clotted with blood.