CHAPTER VII
SOME NEW DEVELOPMENTS
Ashton-Kirk filled a finely colored meerschaum from the jar of Greektobacco on the table; the pipe was a large one; upon the stem was acharging boar, exceptionally well done; and the curving bit was hard,gray bone.
"That combination always struck me as an exciting smoke," observed BatScanlon, from the opposite side of the table. "The tobacco, like mostthings from the Balkans, is a little unsettled; and the wild porkermeans battle with every bristle."
"It was no ordinary carver who gave this old chap his warlike look,"said Ashton-Kirk, as he tapped the boar's bristling back with onefinger. "No less a person than Pasquale Guiccioli is responsible forhim."
"That so?" said Scanlon. "It seems like small work for a sculptor of hisdisplacement."
"It was merely curiosity. He wanted to test this sort of clay as amedium, I suppose. And with a man like Guiccioli, even a whim mustresult in something like a masterpiece. It was just about the time ofthat turmoil about the Florentine bronzes; and a bad light was thrown onthe old man by persons interested in spoiling his career. I had the goodfortune to come at the truth of the matter; and the sculptor, in anoutburst of Italian fervor, declared that I might name any of hispossessions as a reward."
"And you picked the pipe, eh?" Scanlon drew at his cigar, and noddedapproval. But his eyes went from the meerschaum to a sheet of whiteletter paper upon the table which contained some fragments of hardenedmortar gathered in two little heaps. "If you are ready," added he, "I'dlike to hear why you are so interested in this stuff, and what it has todo with the Stanwick murder."
The investigator paced up and down the room; the smoke from the pipelifted about him in small eddies as he moved.
"Two places may be associated mentally," said Ashton-Kirk, "and yet,physically, they may be as far apart as the poles. At the beginning ofthis affair, Nora Cavanaugh's house and 620 Duncan Street were broughttogether in my mind only because the murdered man had visited both onthe night of his death. But," and Ashton-Kirk laughed, "mortar is a mostadhesive substance; and it is holding them together quite firmly."
"I don't get you," affirmed Bat, a line of doubt across his forehead."Make it a little plainer, will you?"
"At Stanwick you did not follow me over the ground very closely, excepta few times when I specially claimed your attention. Just before I foundthe revolver under the fence, I saw a second footprint in the sod--acautious footprint--or perhaps 'toeprint' would be better. It was thatof a man, and he had gone tiptoeing lightly around with long steps andin a most erratic manner."
"Why didn't you mention it?" asked Bat Scanlon, somewhat hurt.
"The prints were few; they were also light and dim; and I was not at allsure that they meant anything. However, at the other side of the house Isaw them again, but after a few yards I lost them."
"Huh!" said Bat Scanlon.
"But just in the neighborhood of the spot in which they disappeared,"continued the investigator, "I noted something else. My lens showed methe impress in the sod of something like a woven fabric. My firstthought was that some one had been walking about in his stockings. But acloser inspection told me that the outline was much too rigid for that.And then I realized what had happened. The man who had been tiptoeing soquietly about had stopped at that point and drawn a pair of woolen'creepers' over his shoes."
"No!" Bat started up in sudden excitement. "That's a good point. Itshows that this fellow, whatever else he was, was no amateur. Thecreeper thing is a regular burglar stunt."
Ashton-Kirk nodded.
"I think you are right," said he. "At any rate it was this gentleman whotried to lift himself up to the window, and in so doing left thatinteresting little ridge of earth on the cellar grating."
"Yes, of course," said Scanlon. "That _would_ be him, sure."
"To the unaided eye," proceeded Ashton-Kirk, "the scrapings seemed butfragments of soil; but the lens showed me something more. Mixed with theearth were some whitish particles--these," and he indicated one of thelittle heaps of crumbled lime. "Association," and the investigatorlooked at his friend steadily, "is one of the commonest faculties of themind. And as soon as I realized what the particles were, an idea tookshape."
"An idea," said Bat, with a feeling of uneasiness growing upon him."What sort of an idea?"
"True coincidence," said Ashton-Kirk, "is so infrequent an occurrencethat I seldom consider it. The presence of the lime upon the cellargrating had no value, of course; but, as you know, a poker player willsometimes retain cards in his hand which are worth nothing inthemselves, on the chance that he may draw certain others. And, oncethese _are_ drawn, the heretofore valueless cards become of superlativeimportance."
There was a pause; Bat Scanlon knew the weight of this illustration, andsat in nervous expectation of what was to follow. "I had this idea inmind when I stepped on the scaffolding outside Miss Cavanaugh's window,"proceeded Ashton-Kirk. "The maid said the workmen had not been on thejob for some days, and so my search was not difficult. There were agreat many footprints, unquestionably of the mechanics; but on top ofthese, plain and undisturbed, were the impressions of the 'creepers'which I had seen in the sod at 620 Duncan Street."
"You are sure?" said Bat Scanlon, in a flat, throaty voice. "There's nomistake?"
"Not any," replied the investigator, quietly.
Scanlon dropped the end of his cigar into a pewter bowl upon the table;then he lighted another and lay back in his chair, his brows drawntogether in a heavy frown.
"All right," said he. "We'll let it go at that. There was a yegg of somekind scouting around Nora's house; and the same lad also took someobservations of the place at Stanwick. We have that all settled. And nowwhat does it mean?"
Ashton-Kirk smiled.
"I don't know," said he. "But suppose we try to find out." He took thetelephone receiver from the hook and asked for police headquarters. In afew moments he had the person required.
"Hello, Devlin," said he; "this is Ashton-Kirk."
"Oh, how are you?" came the big voice of Captain Devlin, of thedetective staff. "Osborne was just talking about you. Said you'd gotkind of a rap across the knuckles on that Stanwick job."
"We must all expect setbacks now and then," replied the investigator,smoothly. "I get mine with more or less regularity."
The captain of detectives laughed loudly; his mirth came over the wirein booming flares of pleasure.
"That's so," said he, "we all get it." There was an instant's pause,then he added: "Anything I can do for you?"
"I wanted to ask about any cracksmen who might be in town at this time,"said the investigator.
"There's a few," replied Devlin. "What's the name of the party youwant?"
"I have no name. But I can give you some details of description. He'scautious in his habits--goes about his work carefully. He's small andhas large feet."
"That won't fit any one I know," said the other. "There is no regularburglar hereabouts just now who is what you'd call small. But the othertwo counts--being cautious and having big feet--would fit Big Slim."
"Ah!" Scanlon saw Ashton-Kirk's eyes snap. "Big Slim! I take it that heis a tall man, lightly built."
"That's right," answered Devlin. "A regular slat."
"Have you any idea where he could be found?"
"He's often seen at Duke Sheehan's, on Claridge Street. That's a kind ofhang-up for him." Then, with a note of interest in his voice, thecaptain of detectives added: "Got anything on him?"
"I don't know," replied Ashton-Kirk. "I'll be able to tell better in aday or two."
After a few general remarks he hung up the receiver, turned towardScanlon and told him of what Devlin had said.
But Bat continued to look puzzled.
"You asked for a cautious crook who was small and had big feet. Wheredid you get all that?"
"The fact that he wore 'creepers' showed that he wasn't a man to takeunnecessary chances. The impressions on the sod at Stanwick were quitefaint; that
indicated a light man, and so I thought of him as beingsmall. However, a tall man of frail build would make about the same sortof a footprint; and in his case the large size of the feet is moreeasily accounted for."
"I get you," said Bat. He arose to his feet, the fresh cigar heldbetween his teeth, and walked up and down the room. Ashton-Kirk leanedagainst a corner of the table, and watched him with observant eyes. And,finally, as the big man continued to tramp up and down in silence, theinvestigator said, quietly:
"There are some things in this whole matter which make you uneasy. I'veseen that from the first. You've even feared to uncover little thingswhich might be truths because you did not know just where they wouldlead."
Scanlon paused and regarded his friend with troubled eyes.
"You are right," said he. "From the very first I've been as nervous as aroomful of old maids with dinner ten minutes late. It had a queer look,somehow; and as I've seen more of it, the queerness don't get any less."
"Just at this point," spoke the investigator, "we reach a sort ofcrisis. Certain things must be faced. What you have been fearing andwhat I have been realizing with increasing clearness with every step wetook must now be considered openly and freely."
Bat cleared his throat, huskily.
"You mean Nora Cavanaugh," he said.
"I mean Nora Cavanaugh," replied the other, evenly.
Scanlon resumed his pacing.
"I can't deny it," said he. "She's keeping something back. I sawthat--or rather, I felt it--from the start. I don't understand why she'sdoing it, and I can't imagine what it is. But she ain't told all sheknows; and she don't mean to tell it." At Ashton-Kirk's side the manpaused and laid a hand upon his arm. "And now that we're on thissubject," said he, "and talking plain, what did you get from the markson her temple?"
"She said it was an accident, due to her maid's carelessness. The maid,when questioned, showed clearly that she knew nothing of it. Thatconvinced me that Miss Cavanaugh desired to hide the cause of thebruise. Her refusal to permit the girl to touch her hair on the morningafter the murder makes it plain that she had some reason for desiringthe mark to remain unseen."
"I'm on that she didn't get the mark as she said," said Scanlon. "Buthow _did_ she get it?"
"That is another thing which it is impossible to make sure of at thistime," replied Ashton-Kirk. "But, merely as a suggestion, mind you, Irecall that the' Bounder' visited her on the night it happened."
"He struck her, you mean!" Bat's hands clenched and his great shouldersheaved. "The infernal cur! that would be just like him!"
"Another suggestion which I'd like to make," spoke Ashton-Kirk, "is onewhich may or may not be significant. The maid said Miss Cavanaugh puther jewels in a bank vault the morning after his visit."
Bat Scanlon stiffened up; an exclamation upon his lips; one fist smackedinto an open palm as he cried:
"You've hit it! She just came in from the theatre, and she was wearingthe diamonds. When she refused him money he grabbed them; she resistedand he struck her!"
"You may be correct," said the investigator. He was keen, calm,impersonal; it was as though the entire matter were a game, theintricate possibilities of which were just being uncovered. But Scanlonwas much excited; the more the thing grew and took shape in his mind,the more agitated he became. "And if you are right," proceededAshton-Kirk, "we can perhaps guess as to what followed."
Something like a shudder ran through Scanlon's big frame.
"I know what you mean," he said. "That thing has been lying like ashadow across my mind from the beginning. Nora Cavanaugh is a woman ofspirit; the man who struck her would risk----"
But the other interrupted him.
"We'll not think of shadows," said he, quietly. "They will land usnowhere. What we are going to do is light the lamps along the road thisthing leads us; in that way only can we get a good look at the facts."
"Facts!" Bat put one strong hand on Ashton-Kirk's shoulder. "As I feelnow, facts are about the last things I want to deal with. Suppose thepolice found this out--that the rascal of a husband had visited Nora toget money from her, that he had struck her and taken her jewels, andthat she had----"
But Ashton-Kirk slapped him upon the back.
"Don't wear out your nerves conjuring up things which maybe never have,or never will, happen," said he. "You'll have use for them, and at once.For there is some snappy work to be done, and I want your help."
"Right," responded Scanlon, with an instinctive grasping at his oldhabit of manner and thought. "What can I do?"
"I'll be engaged in another phase of the thing for a couple of days, andin the meantime I'd like to have you go to Duke Sheehan's place andlook out for the gentleman Devlin calls Big Slim. If possible, getacquainted with him, and find out anything of value he may have."
"Good enough," said Bat. "An acquaintance with that guy is one of thethings I'd framed up for the near future. I'm interested in why he waspromenading around on the scaffold at Nora's window, and why he shiftedhis attention to Stanwick in such a hurry." Bat looked at his hat whichlay upon the table, and then to Ashton-Kirk once more. "Any particulartime you'd like me to take up this job?" inquired he.
"The sooner the better," was the prompt reply.
"That means now," said the big man, as he took up the hat. "First I'llgo back to my shop and dress for the occasion, then I'll drift intoSheehan's just as natural as you please and see what's to be seen."
Ashton-Kirk, Criminologist Page 8