ASION KER
SPECIAL
|
JOHN T. M. INTYRE


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-, *-
Third Volume of the Ashton-
Kirk Series
Ashton-Kirk | --
Special Detective y - .
By -
John T. Mclne, 1e t
Bat Scanlon, two-handed fighter and
trainer, is worried. He visits an old
friend in his big country house, and
runs into some queer things he cannot
explain—the thunder that rumbles over
the hills when skies are clear, -the harp
that is played without sound, enemies
without—and a traitor within the
house.
Bat calls on Ashton-Kirk, who has
solved some strange mysteries, and a
special detective comes to grapple with
the terror.
But why say more?—Read it—No
more mysterious stories were ever writ-
ten than the Ashton-Kirk Mystery
Stories.
Other Books by John T. McIntyre
Ashton-Kirk Investigator
Ashton-Kirk Secret Agent
To Follow:
Ashton-Kirk Criminologist
A. L. B U R T C O M P A
Publishers - New


*~~~
run a 1971





- - -
* * -
*


3 *
“A GOOD BLADE


ASHTON-KIRK
SPECIAL DETECTIVE
By JOHN T. McINTYRE
Author of
“Ashton-Kirk Investigator”
“Ashton - Kirk Secret Agent”
“Ashton-Kirk Criminologist”, etc.
&
£
#
@@#
T
FRONTISPIECE BY
RALPH L. BOYER
A. L. BURT COMPANY
Publishers New York
Published by arrangement with The Penn Publishing Company


COPYRIGHT
1 9 1 4 B Y
THE PENN
PUBLISHING
COMPANY
Ashton-Kirk, Special Detective


To my friend
RALPH L. BOYER





ChAPTER
I.
II.
III.
IV.
V.
VI.
VII.
VIII.
IX.
X.
XI.
XII.
CONTENTS
MR. SCANLON RELATES SOME PECULIAR
CIRCUMSTANCES • o • •
SHOWS How MATTERS STOOD AT
SCHWARTZBERG • • • e
IN WHICH THE SPECIAL DETECTIVE
TAKES UP THE HUNT • • •
TELLS SOMETHING OF THE MAN IN THE
ROLLING CHAIR • © • -
SPEAKS OF ASHTON-KIRK's FIRST VISIT
To SCHWARTZBERG . • • •
IN WHICH ASHTON-KIRK INDICATES
MUCH BUT SAYS LITTLE . • •
SHOWS How MR. SCANLON MET THE
MAN WITH THE SOFT VoICE . •
TELLs How THE NIGHT BREEZE BLEW
FROM THE NORTHWEST . - •
IN WHICH SOME THINGS ARE DONE AND
SOME OTHERS ARE SAID . • •
SHOWS How MRS. KRETZ SPOKE HER
MIND © • • • • o
TELLS SOMETHING OF Two GENTLEMEN
WHO WERE ENCOUNTERED UNEx-
PECTEDLY • • e - •
SPEAKS OF THE MANNER IN WHICH
THE GATES OF SCHWARTZBERG WERE
OPENED . • - • • •
PAGE
I I
2I
35
57
78
IOO
I IO
I 22
I 3O
I42
I55
7


Ashton-Kirk, Special
Detective
CHAPTER I
MR. SCANLON RELATES SOME PECULIAR
CIRCUMSTANCES
ASHTON-KIRK, student of crime, sat cross-
legged upon a rug; thoughtfully he drew at the
big Coblentz pipe; the wreaths of smoke drifted
over the tottering tower of books with which he
was surrounded, and eddied out at an open
window.
“Fuller,” said he, “get me the name Campe.”
The nimble fingered assistant ran through the
cards of a filing system.
“Campe—Mexico—financiers?” said he, at
length, turning his head.
“Right,” spoke Ashton-Kirk.
“Volume II,” said Fuller, closing the drawer.
“Shall I have it sent up?”
“Yes.”
In a few moments, Stumph, gravest of men
servants, entered, bearing a bulky folio which he
placed before his employer.
1 I


12 ASHTON-KIRK
“In a short time,” said Ashton-Kirk, “Mr.
Scanlon will call. Bring him up as soon as he ar-
rives.”
Stumph silently withdrew; the special detective
puffed at the Coblentz and nodded to Fuller.
“Let's see what we have about the Campes,” re-
guested he.
Fuller took the book, opened it at the index, and
then turned over until he came to a certain page.
He read:
“This family came, originally, from Bavaria,
their forbears residing in the city of Munich. The
name was then Von Campe. A Frederich Ernest
Von Campe made a fortune as a brewer before
the French Revolution. His three sons trebled
this by lending it at a high rate of interest to the
various needy German states during the Napole-
onic wars.
“When Maximilian entered Mexico, the Von
Campes helped to finance the venture. When he
fell, they very cleverly managed to save their
money by coming to an understanding with the
succeeding republican government. For more
than fifty years the family has been in Mexico,
financing government and private enterprises.
“Some twenty-five years ago they dropped the
‘Von, becoming simply known as Campe.”
Fuller then went on to read the doings of the
Campes as contained in the record; it was merely


SPECIAL DETECTIVE I 3
a series of “high spots” such as might be gath-
ered about a family of the same consequence any-
where. When he had finished, Ashton-Kirk
looked dissatisfied.
“I find, from time to time,” said he, “that this
record is badly kept. It is loaded with the usual,
when, as a matter of fact, it is intended solely for
the unusual.” He drew at his pipe for a moment,
and then added: “I want intimate information re-
garding this family—especially of their doings
during the last few years.”
“Very well,” said Fuller, briskly. “I’ll start
with the Mexican-Pacific Bank. They ought to
know a deal about the Campes because they did
a lot of business with them, according to what we
have here.”
As Fuller opened the door to leave the study,
Stumph appeared with a big, fresh-faced man
who clutched a hard-rimmed hat in his nervous
grip.
“Mr. Scanlon,” said Stumph; and then he fol-
lowed Fuller out of the room.
“Glad to see you, Kirk,” said Mr. Scanlon, in a
voice which suited his proportions. “I hope I
haven’t come smearing in.”
“Not a bit of it,” the crime student assured him.
“Here, have a chair; also have a cigar.”
Mr. Scanlon sat in the chair, and pinched the
tip off the cigar. He had blue, good-natured eyes,


I4. ASHTON-KIRK
the sort accustomed to laugh; but now they were
grave enough, and little troubled wrinkles showed
at their corners.
“You look up to your ears in work,” said he,
his eyes upon the books.
Ashton-Kirk smiled.
“On the contrary, I’ve been resting,” he an-
swered, his gaze also upon the books, and filled
with the mist which comes of deep plunges into
the past, or into the annals of lands that never
were. “When I’m overtaxed or too tightly
strung there's nothing so relaxes me as the ancient
romances; there's nothing near so quieting as the
sayings of the wise old monks, spoken in the cool
of the cloisters.”
Mr. Scanlon nodded appreciatively.
“Personally, I'm very strong for all those old
fellows,” said he. “They had speed, control and
change of pace.”
“Their greatest charm is their simplicity,” said
Ashton-Kirk, as he refilled his pipe. “They be-
lieved things as children believe them. Their
days were rare with faith; their nights with
wonders. But,” and there was regret in the
speaker's voice, “the world has turned many times
since then. There are no more wonders; and
surprise, as they knew it, has ceased to exist.”
Mr. Bat Scanlon, one time athlete, gambler and
gun fighter, but now a handler of champions,


SPECIAL DETECTIVE I 5
brushed the first short plume of ash from his cigar.
He shook his head.
“Wrong !” stated he, confidently. “Alto-
gether wrong. You get behind the scenes too
much ; you see the insides of things too often.
Wonder is as thick as ever it was ; and surprise is
still on the job. If there's any falling off, it's in
ourselves. We’ve grown cross-eyed looking at
fakes; we haven’t the vision to know a wonder
when we see it.”
A volume of Burton lay upon the table at his
hand. He picked it up.
“Here's Bagdad,” said he, riffling the pages,
sharply. “Bagdad, a city stuffed with strange-
ness. But,” and he looked at Ashton-Kirk,
earnestly, “had it really anything on this town of
ours? Were its nights deeper? its silences more
mysterious? I think not. Let any man—with
his eyes open-mind you-go out into one of our
nights, and he'll meet with as many astonishments
as Haroun Al Raschid, the best prowler of them
all.”
Ashton-Kirk smiled through the thickening
smoke. It were as though he had convinced him-
self of something.
“Your defense of present day interest is so
keen,” said he, “that I’m inclined to hope this
case you have holds some exceptional features.”
Scanlon nodded.


16 ASHTON-KIRK
“And yet,” with a gesture, “I’m not so sure.
I can’t put my fingers on a single thing, or even
give it a name.”
“It has something to do with this young fellow
Campe, I think you said.”
“It has all to do with him,” stated Mr. Scanlon.
“And that's one of the things that makes it so
queer. He's the last one I'd expected to get
mixed up with anything of the kind; and he's a
gone youngster if somebody with more stuff than
I have don’t step in and take a swing at it.”
There was a short silence; the smoke from the
cigar mingled with that of the pipe; eddying in
the draught from the window they wove in and
out intricately, finally mingled and drifted out into
the big world.
“Suppose you go carefully over the affair as
you know it,” suggested Ashton-Kirk. “I got
very little of it over the telephone.”
Scanlon drew at the cigar and gazed at the op-
posite wall where there hung that Maxfield Parrish
print of the wonder-stricken brown sailors, peering
into the unknown from the bow of their ship.
“If this was my own matter,” said he, “I
could take every individual happening by the
neck and shake the information right out of it.
But as it stands, I’ve only got a good straight look
at one thing that's at all plain to me.”
“What's that ?” asked Ashton-Kirk.


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 17
“Fear,” replied Scanlon, in a low-pitched voice,
his mouth twisting wrily as he shaped the word.
“Stark, white-faced fear; the kind that turns a
man sick just at the sight of it.”
The big man frowned for a moment at the brown
sailors peering out over their mystic sea. Then
he resumed.
“As I said a few moments ago, I was surprised
at a young fellow like Campe indulging in a
recreation like being afraid; for in him we have
a wide-awake chap, graduate of one of the big
colleges, holder of a middle distance record and
known for his pluck. And for such a one to lock
himself up in a big country house and go to
shaking at every sound he hears is not quite
pleasant.”
“Fear, when properly planted, sinks deep and
lasts long,” said Ashton-Kirk. “I’ve seen strong
men quite like rabbits, in the grip of something
they didn't understand.”
“I got acquainted with young Campe a couple
of years ago when he sprung a tendon and they
thought a big race was lost for his college. They
sent for me as old Doc Emergency and I tinkered
him up enough to go the distance. After that he
got friendly. When he graduated, every one ex-
pected he'd go back to Mexico. But he didn't.
He went into a German importing house here—a
kind of partner, I think.


18 ASHTON-KIRK
“I’d always measured him for a kind of a cut-
up; he never seemed to take things very seriously,
and had a laugh that he kept constantly working.
But about a year ago I noticed a change. He
didn’t talk so much ; if he laughed at all it didn't
have the old time color; and he got to sitting
staring at the ground. When I’d talk, he'd listen
for a while; then he'd sort of drift away. I could
tell by his expression that he wasn’t getting a
thing I was saying. Finally he took to walking
the floor, biting his nails and whispering to him-
Self.”
Ashton-Kirk shook his head.
“Pretty bad,” said he.
“That's what I thought. And I mentioned the
fact to him. But he tried to laugh—it was a com-
plete failure—and said there was nothing wrong.
He was a little nervous; and even that, so he
said, would wear off after a while.
“The day I spoke to him in this way was the
last I saw of him until about two weeks ago.
Then I got a letter, asking me to pack a bag and
run up to Marlowe Furnace for a visit. ‘The
shooting's right, says he, ‘and I’ve got a brace
of dogs that'll make you show excitement.’
“‘This, says I, to myself, ‘is just about the
right thing. Nothing'd suit me better now than
to fuss with a dog and a gun.’
“So I wrote him I’d come at once. Marlowe


SPECIAL DETECTIVE I9
Furnace, if you don't know the place, is about
twenty miles out, tucked away among the hills.
It was quite a place in revolutionary times; they
beat out sword blades and bayonets there, and
cast cannon, and the round shot to stuff them
with.
“There's only a few houses, with an inn for
summer visitors; and there’s a little covered
bridge crosses the river, just like a picture on a
plate. Campe was holding out at Schwartzberg,
or Castle Schwartzberg, as the people of the town
call it. The castle is a regular robber-baron kind
of a place, with a wall around it, towers, battle-
ments, little windows with heavy bars, and all the
rest of the fixings.”
“I know it,” said Ashton-Kirk. “It was built
by a German officer who came over with Baron
Steuben during the Revolution. When peace
came, he decided he liked the section well enough
to stay. He was rich, and built Schwartzberg in
the effort to get some of the color of the old land
into the new.”
“It was something like that,” said Mr. Scanlon,
nodding. “And the builder must have been re-
lated, in a way, to the Campes. Anyhow, they
came into the castle some years ago. Well, to be
invited to a place like that was not usual with me;
and I felt a little swelled up about it.
“‘You’ve been asked because of your qualities.


2O ASHTON-KIRK
as a sportsman and boon companion, says I
to myself; ‘the discriminating always pick you
for an ace.”
“But twenty-four hours later I had learned my
true status,” said Scanlon, his brows corrugating,
and his thick forefinger tapping the table. “I
had been asked to Schwartzberg to act as a body-
guard, and for nothing else in the world.”
“I see,” said Ashton-Kirk.
“Mind you, the situation has never been put
into plain words. In fact, it's never even been
hinted at. But things happened, queer things,
with no meanings attached, and so I gradually
soaked the idea up. A body-guard I was; and
my job was to protect young Campe from some-
thing out among the hills.”


CHAPTER II
SHOWS HOW MATTERS STOOD AT SCHWARTZ-
BERG
SCANLON paused for a space; he examined a
loose place in the wrapper of his cigar, while
Ashton-Kirk sat waiting, upon his rug, his hands
clasping his knees.
“When I first grabbed at this fact,” said the
big man at length, “I gave it a good looking
over. But I kept still, mind you; I said no more
than the folks at the castle—and they were saying
nothing at all. I tackled the thing from every
angle, but nothing came out of it. And yet, all
the time, young Campe shivered; and, somehow,
I felt that he had cause to do so. I could feel the
thing, whatever it was, at every turn, in every
shadow, in every sound.”
“The condition of Campe probably had its ef-
fect upon you,” said Ashton-Kirk. “He com-
municated his state of mind to you.”
“In other words,” said Mr. Scanlon, “I was
stuck full of suggestion. Well, don't burden
yourself with that notion any longer. I’ve had
some brisk experiences of my own from time to
time; and a man with a tobasco past don’t fall for
2I


22 ASHTON-KIRK
mental influences, not even a little bit. But, be
that as it may, I hadn’t been at Schwartzberg five
days before I, too, began to feel like putting out
a hurry call for help. And now, in a little more
than twice that time, I come knocking at your
door and urging you to do something.”
“I get a general atmosphere of fear—of an im-
pending something—of an invisible danger,” said
Ashton-Kirk. “But there's nothing in what
you’ve told me which permits of a hand-grip, so
to speak.”
“I told you,” began Scanlon, “there isn't a
single thing which —”
“I don’t expect anything definite,” said the
special detective. “Give me the details of your
stay at Schwartzberg. Perhaps we can draw
something from those.”
“Right,” said Mr. Scanlon. “Well, as soon as
I put my foot on the station platform at Marlowe
Furnace, the thing began. The station man said
tO me :
“‘You going to Schwartzberg P’
“‘Yes,’ says I.
“‘A party's been asking about you, says he.
“‘One of Campe's people, I guess.’
“‘No, says he. “I know all them. The party
was a stranger.’
“I thought this a little queer, but I had my get-
ting out to Campe's place to think of ; and as it


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 23
was late and very dark, I said nothing more ex-
cept to ask my way.
“‘Take the road down to the river, says the
station man, ‘Then cross the bridge and turn to
your right. You'll see a lot of lights that look as
if they were hanging away up in the air. That's
the castle.’
“So, bag in hand, I starts off. It was a starry
night; but there was no moon and starlight isn’t
much good on a road where the tree branches
meet on either side. But I was headed right, and
in a little while I made out the outlines of the cov-
ered bridge.
“‘Like a Noah's Ark, says I, as I started
across. Footsteps inside covered bridges on a
still, dark night are apt to stir up a lot of other
sounds; so when I began to hear a kind of shuf-
fling alongside of me, I wasn’t surprised. “An
echo, says I, and didn’t even turn.
“But when an electric hand torch shot a little
tunnel of light through the darkness and hit me
in the ear, I came about, quick enough.
“‘I ask your pardon,’ says a smooth kind of a
voice.
“‘That I hand you, willingly, says I. “But,
believe me, friend, you'll have to go some to get
anything else.”
“The worst of an electric torch in a dark
place,” complained Mr. Scanlon, “is that the


24 ASHTON-KIRK
party holding it has a good slant at you; but all
you can do to him is wink and look foolish.
These being the conditions I didn't lash out at
the party as I felt like doing, not knowing just
how he was heeled; so I waited for him to show
what he had.
“‘You are on your way to Schwartzberg, I
think, says the voice.
“‘On my way is right, says I, as confidently
as I could. “And, stranger, I figure on arriving
there all safe and with everything standing.’
“The party with the torch appeared to be
tickled at this; for he began to chuckle.
“‘I’m very fortunate in meeting you, says he.
“‘Fine, says I. “I always like to find people
in luck. And now, if it's no trouble, suppose you
come through with your reason for stopping me.’
“‘Of course, says he. ‘To be sure. I’ve a
small favor to ask of you, he says. “If you'll be
so kind, I'll have you carry this to young Mr.
Campe.'
“And like that,” here Scanlon snapped his
fingers, “the light went out, and I felt the party
put something into my hand.
“‘No explanation will be needed, says the
voice, if anything a little smoother than before.
‘What I bave given you will tell its own story.’
* Then I heard the pit-pit-pat of careful feet go-
2g back across the bridge. I waited for a 'ittle


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 25
to see if there was to be anything further; but as
there wasn’t I put the thing the stranger had given
me into my pocket, and took up the journey once
more. At the end of the bridge I looked up the
river; there was a sort of mist lifting from the
water, but high above this a battery of lights
twinkled and blinked in the distance.
“‘If that's Schwartzberg, says I, ‘Campe's got
her well lit up.’
“I struck along a road which led over the hills;
and in half an hour I was thumping at the gate of
the castle.
“There was a little empty space after my knock,”
said Scanlon. “Then I heard footsteps and the
sound of whispering. Suddenly I was flooded by
a light from somewhere over the gate; I heard a
man mention my name in a kind of a shout; then
the gate opened, I was dragged in, and it swung
shut after me, the bolts and things falling into
place with a great racket. Young Campe had
me by the hand and was shaking away for dear
life.
“‘I’m glad to see you, old chap !” says he.
“Glad as I can be. But I never expected you on
a train as late as this !” He left off shaking my
hand and took to slapping my back; it all seemed
feverish to me; but like a boob, I took it all for
just plain delight in seeing me. “You see, says
he, ‘it’s a pretty quiet kind of a place out here;


P6 ASHTON-KIRK
and when you came a-knocking, we couldn't
imagine who it could be.’
“After which,” continued Mr. Scanlon, “I was
led across a courtyard and through a high narrow
doorway like a slit in the wall. A few steps down
a stone paved corridor and we turned into a room
that was a ringer for Weisebrode's Rathskellar.
And while I was looking around at the place,
Campe went on talking as if he'd never stop.
This wasn’t usual, and as I now had a good view
of him under the light, I noticed that he was
pinched looking; there were hollows in his face
and neck that I’d never seen there before.
“‘Well, says he, “here you are, old man, and
there never was a person so welcome anywhere
before. You see, and his voice sank a little,
‘there's been things about here that—’
“‘Take care, says some one. And as I looked
around I saw a short, blocky German standing be-
side us, his hand at a salute. He was sort of gray
around the temples and he had as grim a face as
I ever saw.
“Young Campe gave a sort of gulp. ‘Quite
right, sergeant, says he. Then, to me, he goes
on: ‘This is Sergeant-Major Kretz, once of the
Kaiser's army, and an old friend of my father’s.’
“The sergeant-major salutes once more, but his
face was like granite.
“‘I will take your hat and coat, says he ; and


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 27
then a thing happened which, for suddenness, has
got anything I ever saw whipped to a standstill;
and I’ve seen some sudden doings in my day. I
pulled off my overcoat and gave it to the sergeant-
major. He took it kind of awkwardly; some-
thing dropped from one of the pockets and slid
across the sanded floor.
“‘Don’t be so confoundedly clumsy, Kretz, says
Campe, and he stooped and picked the thing up.
But when he got it in his hands and gave it one
look, he threw it from him and gave a gurgling
sort of cry. Then he swung around and leaped
on me like a madman, both hands digging into
my throat.”
Ashton-Kirk shook the ash from the Coblentz
and nodded at his visitor.
“Rather impulsive,” said he.
The big man's hand caressed his throat; it
was as though he still felt the clasp of the young
fellow's fingers.
“It was no easy job tearing him loose,” said he.
“He stuck to me like a wildcat ; his intention was
to do for me on the spot.”
“What was the thing that set him off?” asked
the crime specialist.
“After I’d got him into a chair with the ser-
geant-major holding him,” answered Scanlon, “I
took a look at it. It was a smooth stone about
the size of an egg, though not that shape, green


28 ASHTON-KIRK
in color, and with a humped up place on one side
of it. I had no recollection of ever having seen it
before, and I was puzzled about how it got into
my pocket. But while I was puzzling, it flashed
On me.
“‘It’s the thing that fellow gave me while I
was crossing the bridge, says I.
“‘Let me up, says young Campe to the Ger-
man. There was something nearer sanity in his
eyes than there had been a few moments before;
so the sergeant-major let go of him.
“‘What fellow * says Campe.
“‘I didn’t know him; it was dark and I didn't
even see him. He spoke to me on the bridge
coming from the station. He gave me this thing
for you. He said you'd ask no questions, but he
didn’t mention, I couldn't help adding, ‘the other
things you'd do.”
“Campe grabbed my arm with both hands.
“‘If you can, says he, ‘try and forget that I
lost my head just now. If you knew what a be-
deviled man I am, you'd only wonder why I don’t
go permanently mad.”
“Then he stands looking at the green stone,
which the sergeant-major had put upon the table;
his lips twitched, his face was white.
“‘Oh, they are cunning, says he. ‘They know
the nature and substance of fear. They play upon
it with the expertness of devils. But, and he


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 29
lifted one clenched fist, “they'll never break my
nerve; I'll hold out against them, no matter what
they do.’”
“That was pretty direct,” spoke Ashton-Kirk
“What followed ? Did he say anything more ?”
“The German sergeant-major took him away
before he could indulge in any further remarks; }
didn’t see him again until next morning; and then
nothing at all was said about the doings of the
night. A couple of times I was on the point o
asking him to put me up in the reason for his go
ings on ; but something in his manner and ex
pression kept me back.
“In the late afternoon we all went out for a
breather among the hills. But it was more like
an expedition into the enemy's country than an
exercise. They put a couple of Colt automatics
in my pocket, and each of them took one. Also
the sergeant-major carried a Mauser rifle with
kick enough to have killed at a couple of miles.
“‘Sometimes there are vagrants who get im-
pudent, said Campe. “I’ve known them to at-
tempt robbery; so we may as well be prepared.’
“Next day we took the dogs and guns and
tried for some birds; at night we locked the place
up like a prison. The days that followed were
about the same; I never felt so thick a depression
anywhere as there was in Schwartzberg. For
hours no one would speak; our meals would go


3o ASHTON-KIRK
through like a funeral rite; sometimes I’d catch
myself chewing my food to the tune of a dead
march. After dinner we'd have a gloomy game
of cards; at about ten we'd all go off to bed, one
by one, and seem glad to do it.” \
“Your first visit wasn’t pleasant,” said Ashton-
Kirk.
“I got no fun out of it except the tramping
around, and then only when I’d go off by myself.
I’d packed and jumped out as soon as I’d sized
matters up, but there were two things kept me
back. First, I like young Campe, and I wanted
to help him out; second, something was doing of
a piquant nature, and I had a curiosity to know
what it was.
“Several times, from my bedroom windows, I
saw Kretz prowling about the courtyard or upon
the wall. Once I fancied I caught the creeping of
a couple of figures beyond the wall. I went out
to look up the nature of the stunt, and almost got
myself shot by what Campe afterward called
prowling tramps. On the following night as I sat
reading in my room, I heard a woman's scream—
sudden and high with fear. There was a rush of
feet along empty corridors, sharp voices and the
slamming of doors. I grabbed up my automatic
and, all in disarray, I broke for the scene of excite-
ment. But half-way down a flight of stairs I came
upon Sergeant-Major Kretz, quite calm, but look-


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 31
ing a little grimmer, if anything, than I’d ever
seen him before.
“‘It’s nothing, he tells me. ‘The Fräulein was
frightened. All is right. You need not bother.’”
“There's a woman, then, at Schwartzberg P”
said Ashton-Kirk.
“Two of them, to be exact,” returned Scanlon.
“One’s an aunt of Campe's; the other is a com-
panion, or something of the kind. The girl I see
often, but the aunt very rarely. But I never did
more than nod to either of them until the night
Campe was cut.”
“Cut !”
“In the body,” said Scanlon. “That was two
nights ago. I had gone to bed rather later than
usual and had, I think, been asleep only a few
minutes when I was awakened by a sound. I sat
up and listened. Then it came again. Far off, as
though among the hills, came a roaring; it started
like a murmur at first, and grew in volume until it
rumbled like nothing I'd ever heard before. Then
it died away, and only its echo remained, drifting
above the hillsides.
“‘Thunder,’ says I.
“But the sky was filled with stars, and they
shone as brilliantly as stars ever shone before.
Once more came the roaring in the night; with
my head thrust far out at the window, I listened.
A door opening on the courtyard slapped to, sud-


32 ASHTON-KIRK
denly; quick footsteps sounded and Campe's voice,
high and angry, came to my ears. The gate
opened before him; I could see him, a revolver
in his hand and with all the appearance of mad-
ness, rush away in the direction of the great sound.
“I commenced jumping into my clothes, a gar-
ment at a jump; a brilliant tongue of light shot
from the top of Schwartzberg, and began to sweep
the country round about much like the search-light
of a battle-ship.
“‘They are strong on equipment, says I to my-
self, as I grabbed my gun, and made for the door.
This time I met no one on the stairs, nor in the
courtyard, when I reached it, nor yet at the gate.
Once outside I looked up; the light was streaming
out over the hills from the tallest turret of the
castle; and in the gloom beside the reflector I saw
Kretz, his Mauser in his hands, his face turned as
though he were grimly picking up each detail as
the light brought it out.
“I had noted the direction which Campe had
taken; so I struck after him. Two hundred yards
away from the castle I heard his revolver begin to
Speak; then there came the eager straining breaths
of men engaged in a struggle, the grinding of
feet, and a heavy fall. I had all but reached the
spot when the great ray swept round and held fast.
I saw young Campe stretched out upon the
ground; and over him stood the girl, all in white,


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 33
with her face upturned, her arms outstretched
toward the high turret as though imploring the
grim rifleman to hold his fire.”
“Well ?” asked Ashton-Kirk.
“She was a peach ; and Campe was close to
being all in. I backed him, and with my auto-
matic held ready, and the girl trailing behind, I
got back to the castle where I heard the gate
closed and locked behind me with some thankful-
ness.”
“Was Campe badly hurt?”
“He had a long, peculiar cut down his chest
and stomach, not deep, but ugly looking. It was
just as though some one had made a sweep at
him with something big and heavy and keen, and
he had pulled back in time to escape most of it.
But he was about next day; he thanked me for
going out after him, but sat tighter than ever on
the explanation thing. It was after this that I
tried to reason it out for the last time. But it's no
use—the thing's beyond yours truly. So here I
am.”
The singular eyes of Ashton-Kirk were full of
interest; he arose from his rug and took a couple of
turns up and down the room; then he threw open
a bulky railroad guide and his searching finger
began to run in and out among the figures.
“There's a train for Marlowe Furnace at 8:04,”
said he.


34 ASHTON-KIRK
Then he pressed one of a series of call bells in
the wall, and, through a tube, said to some one be-
low :
“Have dinner a half hour earlier. And set
places for two.”
“I didn’t think you’d jump into the thing with
any such speed as this,” spoke Mr. Scanlon, highly
gratified.
“It looks like a case which will admit of no de-
lay,” replied Ashton-Kirk. “Something of a
deadly nature is lowering over Schwartzberg;
that's plain enough. And that young Campe is so
secretive about it is an indication that it's one of
those things which cannot well be spoken of to
the police.”


CHAPTER III
IN WHICH THE SPECIAL DETECTIVE TAKES UP
THE HUNT
AFTER dinner, Ashton-Kirk smoked a cigar with
his friend; then he retired to dress for the journey
to Marlowe Furnace. When he reappeared he
wore a rough, well-fitting gray suit, a gray flannel
shirt, a cloth cap and a pair of springy tan shoes.
In his hand he held a heavy hickory stick, which
he balanced like a swordsman.
“You look primed for work,” approved Bat
Scanlon, as he stood up and buttoned his coat
across his big chest.
“Your story of the doings in and about Schwartz-
berg holds out a promise of entertainment,” smiled
Ashton-Kirk. “And I’ve noticed that things of
that sort are always more appreciated if they are
prepared for and met half-way.”
“Good!” praised Mr. Scanlon, who was in high
good humor at his success in gaining the interest
of the specialist in the unusual. “Fine ! That's
the kind of talk I like to hear. It puts a man
somewhere. Locking himself up and shivering
never got anybody anything yet. And then going
35


36 ASHTON-KIRK
mad and rushing out to have unseen parties chop
at him is even worse. When I taught boxing to
the boys out at Shaweegan College I used to
hand them this advice: ‘Always keep after your
man—don't let him get set. And the best block
for a blow is another blow—started sooner.’”
“Excellent,” agreed Ashton-Kirk. “And it's a
thousand pities you didn't impress it upon young
Campe. If you had, he'd never have been in his
present state of mind and body.”
The huge shoulders of Scanlon shrugged in dis-
belief.
“Campe was past all reason when I got to
him,” maintained he “To talk candidly would
only have queered any chance I had of doing him
a good turn.”
The 8: O4 was a dusty, ill-conditioned train
which started and stopped with a series of jerks.
After an hour on board of it, among a lot of un-
comfortable, sour-looking passengers, the two got
off at Marlowe Furnace. The station was a shed-
like structure with a platform of hard-packed
earth, and a brace of flaring oil lamps. An an-
cient, with a wisp of beard and thumbs tucked
under a pair of suspenders, watched them get off.
“The station agent,” said Scanlon.
The train went panting and glaring away into
the darkness; it had disappeared around a bend
when the station official nodded to Scanlon.


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 37
“Evening,” greeted he.
“Hello,” said Scanlon.
“Back again, I see.”
“Yes—once more.”
“Nobody asked for you to-night.”
“That so?” said Scanlon, his glance going to
Ashton-Kirk.
The detective dug carelessly at the hard-packed
earth of the platform with the tip of the hickory
stick.
“The person who asked for my friend the last
time he stopped off here was a stranger to you, I
understand.”
The ancient official took one of the thumbs
from under a suspender and raked it thoughtfully
through the wisp of beard.
“Don’t remember ever seeing him before,”
stated he.
“I suppose you couldn’t recall what he looked
like P”
The ancient looked injured.
“I’m sixty-seven year old,” said he, “but I got
good eyesight, and a better memory than most.
That man I talked to that night was a stranger at
the Furnace. If I'd ever set an eye on him before
I’d remembered him. He was fat and white and
soft looking. And he talked soft and walked
soft. When he went away, I'd kind of a feeling
that I'd been talking to a batter pudding.”


38 ASHTON-KIRK
“Have you seen him since?” asked the crime
student.
The old man shook his head.
“No. And I don’t know how he got here, or
went away—unless he drove or come in an auto-
mobile. He didn’t use the trains.”
The road down toward the river was steep, and
lined with trees upon each side; their interwoven
branches overhead, as Scanlon had explained,
were dense enough to keep out most of the light.
“It’s pretty much the same kind of a night as
the one I used when I first came here,” said Bat.
“Stars, but no moon.”
The wooden bridge, with a peaked roof over it,
crossed the river at the foot of the road; the
square openings upon either side showed the dark
water flowing sullenly along.
“Look,” and Bat Scanlon pointed out at one of
the windows of the bridge. “There are the lights
of Schwartzberg.”
Some distance away—perhaps a mile—and
high above the west bank of the river, hung a
cluster of lights. So lonely were these, and so
pale and cold that they might well have marked
the retreat of some necromancer, in which he
pored over his dark books of magic.
“It’s a peculiar thing,” said Ashton-Kirk, his
eyes upon the far-off lights, “what various forms
fear takes. Here is a man who, apparently, is in


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 39
constant terror of some one, or something, and
yet we find him lodged stubbornly in a place
where a secret blow might be leveled at him with
the greatest ease.”
“That struck me more than once,” spoke Mr.
Scanlon. “And I felt like putting it to him as a
question shaped something like: ‘Why stay here
when there's places where there's more folks?
Why stick around a spot where there's always
some one cutting in with an unwelcome surprise,
when you can get good house-room in places
where there's a-plenty of burglar alarms, and lots
of night sticks?’”
Their feet sounded drearily upon the loose
planks of the bridge; and when they emerged at
the far end they found themselves upon a narrow
road which ran off into the darkness.
“On, over the hills, in and out, and up and
down, until it lands you at Schwartzberg gate,”
said Scanlon.
They climbed to the top of a hill; the sky was
thick with stars, and the light from them touched
the high places with pale hands. But the hollows
were black and deep looking; mystery followed
the course of the slowly-running river.
“What is there about Campe's place?” asked
the crime specialist. “Is this the only road that
leads there? What are his neighbors like?”
“To the first of those questions,” said Mr


4o ASHTON-KIRK
Scanlon, “I reply, fields—also hills—also woods.
There are roads passing Schwartzberg upon
either side. As to neighbors, there's a few farm-
ers, and their help. And then there's the man
who flags the bad crossing down by the river, and
the inn.”
“Ah, yes, you mentioned the inn before,” said
Ashton-Kirk.
“A big, old-fashioned place—built away back
in the old times.”
“With a wide hearth and a hearty old landlord,
whose father and grandfather owned the house
before him.”
“Well, I guess that's how it ought to be, to be
in the picture; but it happens that this landlord
has been here for only about six months.”
Scanlon heard the hickory stick slashing at a
clump of dried brush; then the crime specialist
spoke:
“How far away is it?”
“A couple of miles.”
“Maybe it’d be as well if we went there and be-
spoke a bed, if they'll take us in,” said Ashton-
Kirk.
Scanlon seemed surprised.
“I guess they’ve got room,” said he. “But I
had it in my mind you were going to Schwartz-
berg.”
“I will pay it a visit, if I’m permitted, when I’ve


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 4 I
had a chance to see something of its surroundings.
Your story, you see, shows plainly that, whatever
the nature of Campe's danger, it comes from the
outside.”
Scanlon seemed struck by this; then he nodded
and said :
“I guess that's right. But don't you think a
good chance to shake Campe down for some in-
side information would be better than anything
else?”
“In its proper place, perhaps. But I want to
look over the outside, uninfluenced. Five min-
utes' talk with a man in Campe's state of mind
might color one's thoughts to such an extent that
it would be difficult to see anything except with
his eyes.”
“That sounds like wise talk,” agreed Bat.
“And if there's anything in the world you don't
want to get doing, it's seeing things as he sees
them.”
They followed the narrow road for some dis-
tance, and then the big man turned off into a path
which led through a stretch of farm land.
“This is a short cut,” said he. “I followed it
frequently when I was out with the gun. It'll
bring us to a road a bit beyond this timber; and
the road leads on to the inn.”
A hundred yards further on they topped the
crest of a hill; before them loomed a dense


42 ASHTON-KIRK
growth of trees which covered the slopes round
about.
“It’s a fine kind of a place in summer, I guess,”
said Scanlon, as they halted. “But of an autumn
night when the air gets thin, the stars look far
away, and there's a pretty well settled belief that
some queer things are doing, it's got its weak
side. When I was located in Canyon City, I
swore in as a deputy one night and started out into
the hills with the sheriff to look for two lads who'd
fussed up a whole train load of Easterners, and
got away with a bag full of dough. That country
was some wilder than this, and was further away
from anywhere; but,” with a look at the gloomy
wooded slopes, “believe me, it had nothing on it
for that uncertain feeling.”
As they stood gazing about, Ashton-Kirk's head
suddenly went up. He bent forward in the atti-
tude of listening.
“What is it?” asked the big man.
“Hark I’”
Far away, among the hills to the north, came a
deep muttering. Scanlon clutched the crime
specialist's arm.
“That's it !” he cried. “Listen to it lift. It's
the thing I heard roaring in the night.”
Low, growling, ominous at first, the sound grew
in volume. Then it pealed like a mighty voice,
rolling and echoing from hill to hill, finally sub-


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 43
siding and dying in the muttering with which it
began.
“According to the dope,” spoke Scanlon, in an
uneasy tone, “Campe is now due to take his gun
in hand and dash for the gate. And, if he does,
they'll do more than slash him. I’ve got a hunch
they'll get him for the count, on the second try.”
As he uttered the last word, a shaft of brilliant
light shot from the tower of Schwartzberg, and
flashed to and fro across the countryside.
Then came the quick, far-off pulsation of a rifle;
in the widening beam of white light they saw a
woman crouching down as though in fear; and
then they caught the figure of a man, running as
though for his life.


CHAPTER IV
TELLS SOMETHING OF THE MAN IN THE
ROLLING CHAIR
“CAMPE!” cried Bat Scanlon, his eyes upon the
fleeing man, and his hand going, with the in-
stinctive movement of an old gun fighter, to his
hip. “And giving his little performance outside
once more.”
But the keen eyes of the crime specialist had
picked up details which the other had missed.
He shook his head.
“No,” said he. “Campe is a young man, you
say. This one is past middle life. And also he
seems sadly out of condition, and does not run at
all like a man who once took middle distance
honors.”
The searching column of light still clung to the
running man; again and again came the light
shocks of the distant rifle.
“The woman has faded out of the lime-light,”
observed Scanlon.
“And the man is trying his best to duplicate the
feat. Look—there he goes !”
With a wild side leap, the fugitive vanished into
44


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 45
a shallow ravine, out of range of both the ray and
the rifle. At this the search-light was snapped off
and darkness once more settled over the hills.
“Your German sergeant-major is no surprising
shot,” commented Ashton-Kirk. “He had his
man in full view and missed him repeatedly.”
Scanlon shook his head.
“It must have been the light,” said he, “Kretz
can shoot. I’ve seen him at it.”
They stood in silence for a few moments; the
country road about seemed heavier with shadows
than it had been before the appearance of the shift-
ing beam of light; the stars looked fainter.
“That's the second time I’ve seen that girl out
here in the night,” continued the big man. “And
each time the noise came, and things started
doing. I wonder what's the idea?”
“I fancy it's a trifle early to venture an opinion
upon anything having to do with this most in-
teresting affair,” said his companion. “But,”
quietly, “we may stumble upon an explanation as
we go further into it.”
“I hope so,” said Scanlon, fervently. Then, in
the tone of a man who had placed himself unre-
servedly in the hands of another, “What next?”
“I think we'd better go on to the inn.”
If the other thought the crime specialist's desire
would have been to take up their course in the
direction of the recently enacted drama, he did


46 ASHTON-KIRK
not say. He led the way along the narrow path,
and through the gloomy growth of wood. They
emerged after a space into a well-kept road, and
holding to this, approached a rambling, many
gabled old house which twinkled with lighted
windows and gave out an atmosphere of cheer.
A huge porch ran all around it; an immense barn
stood upon one side; and a half dozen giant
sycamores towered above all.
“There it is,” said Scanlon. “And it looks as
though it had been there for some time, eh?”
“A fine, cheery old place,” commented Ashton-
Kirk, his eyes upon the erratic gables, the twin-
kling windows and the welcoming porch. “Many
a red fire has burned upon its snug hearths of a
winter night; and many a savory dish has come
out of its kitchen. Traveling in the old days was
not nearly so comfortable as now ; but it had its
recompenses.”
Their feet crunched upon the gravel walk, and
then sounded hollowly in the empty spaces of the
porch. Scanlon pushed open a heavy door which
admitted them to a great room with a low ceiling,
beamed massively, and colored as with smoke.
The floor was sanded; a fire of pine logs roared
up a wide throated chimney; brass lamps, fixed in
sockets in the walls, threw a warm yellowish glow
upon polished pewter tankards and painted china
plates. The tables and chairs were of oak, scrubbed


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 47
white by much attentive labor; prim half curtains
were at the small paned windows.
A short man with a comfortable paunch, a white
apron and a red face came forward to greet them.
“Good-evening, Mr. Scanlon,” said he, cor-
dially. “I’m pleased to see you, sir. I’d been
told you'd given us up and gone off to the city.”
“Just for a breather, that's all,” Scanlon in-
formed him, as he and the crime specialist sat at
a table near to the blazing hearth. It was still
autumn, but there had been a dampness and a
chill in the night air which made the snugness of
the inn very comfortable.
The red-faced landlord smiled genially.
“I might have known that, even if the shooting
is none too good, the bracing air would bring you
back.”
Ashton-Kirk glanced about the public room.
A small, cramped-looking man sat at a table with
a draught board before him, studying a complex
move of the pieces through a pair of thick lensed
glasses. A polished crutch stood at one side of
his chair, and a heavy walking stick at the other.
Deeply absorbed in the problem and its working
out was another man, younger, but drawn look-
ing, who coughed and applied a handkerchief to
his lips with great frequency.
The hearty looking landlord caught the glances
of the crime specialist, and smiled.


48 ASHTON-KIRK
“My customers are a fragile lot,” said he in a
low voice. “The inns get only that kind in the
winter,” as though in explanation, “and some of
them are worse than these. It's the air that does
it.”
“Makes them ill?” smiled Ashton-Kirk.
“Bless you, no!” The landlord placed a broad
hand to his mouth to restrain the great responsive
laugh which seemed struggling in his chest.
“The air does 'em good, so the doctors say.
Well, anyway,” his humorous eyes twinkling, “it
does me good by getting me over the slim season.
If it wasn't for them, I’d have to close up after
September's done.”
Scanlon ordered some cigars and coffee, and
as the host moved away to procure these, he
said:
“The doctors are a great lot, eh? Once they
piled all the high colored drugs into you that
you'd hold; and now they talk fresh air until
you'd almost believe you could live on that alone.
There's one old codger who's got a pet patient
here—some sort of a rare and costly complaint, I
believe—and he insists on fresh air at all stages
of the game. The patient, it seems, likes an oc-
casional change; but the doc is as deaf as a post
to everything except the sighing of the wind.”
The coffee was served, together with some
cigars.


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 49
“Both black and strong,” said Ashton-Kirk as
he tested one after the other.
“The coffee, sir, as Mr. Scanlon knows, is made
after my own recipe,” stated the landlord. “I’d
not recommend it to one of my invalid guests,
sir, nor to a well one as a regular tipple. But it
has the quality and the touch, if you know what
I mean.”
“White is to move and win,” stated the
cramped-looking man. He rubbed one side of
his nose with a hand that shook, and there was
complaint in the gaze with which he fixed the
pieces. “But I can’t see how it's going to do it.”
“White is to move, and win in four other
moves,” said the drawn-looking man, coughing
into the handkerchief.
“Which makes it all the more difficult,” said
the other. His palsied hand fumbled purpose-
lessly with the pieces; and the look of complaint
deepened. The man with the handkerchief
coughed once more, and looked mildly trium-
phant.
“They seem to be constantly engaged in these
mad diversions,” said Scanlon, his eyes upon the
two. “At times, when I’ve been here, I’ve seen
the excitement rise to that degree that I’ve con-
sidered calling out the fire department.”
Just then there came a strident voice from an-
other apartment.


5o ASHTON-KIRK
“Who the devil is it?” it demanded. “If
matters of importance are to be interfered with in
this way, it's time that something was done — ”
Here the man with the cough reached out and
clapped to a door, shutting out the voice. The
landlord looked discomfited.
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Shaw,” said he. “I
know it's annoying to you; but Mr. Alva must
be worse to-day, and so is very impatient.”
The drawn-looking man coughed hollowly.
“I’m very sorry for the gentleman's condition,”
spoke he, huskily. “But he should remember
that there are others here who are equally ill in
their own way; and that his outbursts are not at
all agreeable.”
The strident voice was lifted once more, this
time muffled by the door; then another voice
was heard remonstrating and apparently advis-
ing. Then there followed a soft rolling sound,
the door opened once more and an invalid's chair
amade its appearance, propelled by a squat, dark
servant, whose flat nose and coarse straight hair
gave him the look of an Indian.
Beside the chair hopped a peppery little man
with white hair and eye-glasses from which hung
a wide black string.
“It makes no difference who he is,” declared
the peppery little man, fixing the glasses more
firmly upon his nose and speaking to the occu-


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 5 I
pant of the chair. “The facts remain as I have
said. But, Mr. Alva, there seems to be very little
use in advising you. In spite of all I can say
you'll keep indoors. Suppose it is dark? The
darkness can’t hurt you. Suppose it is damp *
You can protect yourself against that. Air is
what you want—fresh air—billions of gallons of
it.”
The man in the chair was wasted and pale; his
almost fleshless hands lay upon the chair arms—
his limbs seemed shrunken to the bone.
Bat Scanlon looked at Ashton-Kirk and nodded.
“Whatever it is that's got him has got him
for good,” spoke he, in a low tone. “I never saw
any man's body so close to death without being
dead.”
The eyes of Ashton-Kirk were fixed upon the
sick man with singular interest.
“And yet,” said he, in the same low pitched
way, “his head is very much alive. It probably
would not be too much to say that it is the most
vital thing in the room.”
Scanlon looked at the invalid with fresh inter-
est. He saw a dark face, not at all that of a sick
man, and a pair of burning, searching black eyes.
There seemed to be something unusual about the
upper part of the head, but the man was so
muffled up, apparently about to be taken out,
that the nature of this was not quite clear.


52 ASHTON-KIRK
“Drugs,” stated the peppery little man, “are
useless; time has no effect. To reach a case of
your kind, air must be supplied—clean air—air
containing all the elements of life. If I am to
make a well man of you where others have failed,
you must do as I say.”
“He’s the fresh air crank I was telling you
about a while ago,” Scanlon informed the crime
specialist, softly.
“If I must go out,” spoke the invalid in a sur-
prisingly strong voice, “wrap me up well. I feel
the cold easily.”
The little doctor began arranging the blankets
about the shrunken limbs; and while he was
doing so, Ashton-Kirk arose. l
“Let me assist you,” said he, with that calm
assurance which is seldom denied.
Deftly he tucked in the coverlets upon the op-
posite side, and buttoned up the heavy coat. But
when he reached for the muffling folds about the
sick man’s head, all the sureness seemed to leave
his fingers; Scanlon was astonished to see him
bungle the matter most disgracefully; instead of
accomplishing what he set out to do, he succeeded
in knocking the covering off altogether.
“Pardon me,” he said, smoothly enough.
The invalid returned some commonplace an-
swer; and the doctor set about repairing the
result of the volunteer's awkwardness.


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 53
“Your intentions are the best in the world,”
smiled he, “but I can see that you have spent
very little of your time about sick beds.”
Then he opened the door, and signaled the
Indian. The chair rolled out upon the porch, and
a moment later could be heard crunching along
the gravel walk.
Ashton-Kirk smoked his black cigar with much
silent deliberation, and sipped at the strong coffee.
Several times during the next half hour Scanlon
attempted to bring him out of this state by re-
marks as to the inn and its population. But he
received replies of the most discouraging nature,
and so gave it up. When the cigar was done,
the crime specialist arose and stretched his arms
wide in a yawn.
“I think I'm for bed,” said he.
Scanlon looked his astonishment, but said noth-
ing. His imagination had pictured some hours of
looking about among the darkened hills—just
how, and what for he had little idea; and this an-
nouncement suddenly bringing the night to a close
was not in the least what he had expected.
“All right,” was his reply. “That'll do for me,
too.”
Rooms were assigned them, and each was pro-
vided with a candle in a copper candlestick; and
so they went off up the wide staircase. From the
adjoining room, Bat Scanlon heard the sound of


54 ASHTON-KIRK
pacing feet for some time; after a little they
stopped, but for all that he had no assurance that
the special detective had gone to bed. So he
stepped out and knocked at his door.
Entering, he found Ashton-Kirk, his hands deep
in his trousers pockets, standing staring at the
grotesque flare of the candle.
“Hello,” said the big man, “I thought you were
regularly sleepy.”
“I am—a little. But a notion occurred to me
down-stairs, and I’ve been trying to follow it out.”
Once more he resumed his pacing, his hands
behind him, his eyes upon the floor.
“Imagination is, perhaps, man's greatest gift,”
said he. “Without it there would be little accom-
plished in the world. But there are times when
one is forced to put the brakes upon it, or it would
lead one astray.”
Scanlon looked at him curiously.
“What's set you off on that?” asked he.
Ashton-Kirk stopped in his pacing, and lifted
his head.
“That object you had given you on the bridge
upon the occasion of your first visit, and which
afterward had such a startling effect upon young
Campe—what did you say it was like?”
“It was a stone—not very big—dark green in
color—and with a kind of a hump upon one side
Of it.”


56 ASHTON-KIRK
exact conformation except in —” here he stopped
short. “Well,” with another nod, “good-night.
See you in the morning.”


CHAPTER V
SPEAKS OF ASHTON-KIRK’S FIRST VISIT TO
SCHWARTZBERG
ON the following morning, Ashton-Kirk and
Scanlon breakfasted at the inn; then they each
smoked another of the black cigars. At about
nine o'clock they paid their bill and left.
“This road,” said Bat Scanlon, as they trudged
along, “is rather direct; it leads on to an old mill
built years ago, and now abandoned, and then
down to the river.”
“All things considered,” spoke Ashton-Kirk,
twirling his hickory stick, his keen eyes searching
the ground, “we’d better get away from the roads
and paths this morning, and head for Campe's
place, across country.”
Without any comment, Scanlon followed his
lead. Down one slope and up another they went,
skirting ravines and gulleys, but always keeping
the towers of Schwartzberg in sight. The crime
specialist seemed in excellent humor; he whistled
little airs, and cut at the stubble and withered
stalks with his stick. But always were the keen,
observant eyes traveling here and there; once or
57


58 ASHTON-KIRK
twice he left his companion and darted away; but
he always returned in a very short time, smiling
and shaking his head.
“An interesting place,” said he. “There are
many indications of enterprise and thought. I
shall have to go over it carefully; it promises to
repay even a great deal of labor.”
“Look there,” said Scanlon.
Ashton-Kirk's eyes followed the pointing finger.
Upon the wall of Schwartzberg even at that dis-
tance could be seen a human figure.
“It's Campe,” said Scanlon. “He’s just no-
ticed us.”
As he spoke, the man on the wall drew out a
field-glass and trained it upon them. Long and
earnestly he looked; then without making a sign,
he lowered the glass, turned and disappeared.
“Gone to tell Kretz that I've hove in sight and
am bringing a stranger,” said Scanlon.
As they approached the building its details be-
came more distinct. The gray stone, the narrow
windows, the massive wall, the towers, indeed, all
about the edifice, called up memories of those old
feudal keeps in the Rhine country.
“It wouldn’t surprise me in the least to see the
gates swing wide, and the Baron and his men,
with bows and bills, ride forth to bid us stand,”
said Ashton-Kirk.
“Well, there goes the gate,” said Scanlon, shad-


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 59
ing his eyes from the sun. “And here come
Campe and the sergeant-major. I don't see any
bows nor bills; but it wouldn’t surprise me if both
packed a perfectly competent “gat’ somewhere
about his person, ready to bring into action should
you demonstrate anything but friendship and
good will.”
“I shall be careful to put nothing else on dis-
play,” smiled Ashton-Kirk. “And now,” with
seriousness, “one word before they get too near.
I am simply a friend of yours. You saw me
in the city, and as I professed an interest in
Schwartzberg, you brought me out to put in an
hour showing me over the place if the owner does
not consider it too great a liberty.”
“I get you,” said Mr. Scanlon, briefly.
Here the two advancing men came up. Young
Campe was a well-built fellow and of good height.
But his face was pale; there was a wild look in his
eyes, and his manner indicated extreme nervous-
ness. Scanlon's description of the German ser-
geant-major was quite accurate; he was square
built and grim faced; there was a thick grayish
patch in the hair above each ear; and he carried
himself with the stiff precision of a man trained in
a European barrack.
“How are you?” cried Scanlon, shaking Campe
by the hand. “Would have got here last night,
but I had a friend with me, and we stopped at the


6o ASHTON-KIRK
inn. Mr. Ashton-Kirk,” nodding toward that
gentleman, by way of introduction.
Campe shook hands with the specialist in crimes,
and Kretz saluted after his military fashion.
“Mr. Ashton-Kirk listened to me tell about
Schwartzberg until he felt that he couldn’t live an-
other day without taking it in,” Scanlon informed
them. “So he's come over this morning, hoping
it wouldn't be asking too much.”
Campe's haunted eyes searched Ashton-Kirk;
it was on his lips to refuse the request, when the
other stopped him by saying:
“I hope you'll pardon me; but the fact is, I am
something of a student of the period in which
your house was built, and its absolute following,
line for line, of the ancient plan, is of great interest.
The Count Hohenlo, builder of the place, was re-
lated to you, I understand.”
“An ancestor of my mother's.”
“Indeed. That's very charming. The Count's
career in this country was a most romantic one.
The part he played in the history of the republic
in its infancy has been obscured by the fanfare
made in behalf of men not nearly so notable. His
duel with the Frenchman, De La Place, was an
exquisite piece of knight errantry; and his defense
of the ford below here, while the British occupied
the city, was an act of daring which the historians
do not make the most of.”


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 6 I
A faint flush came into the cheeks of young
Campe.
“It’s an unusual thing to come upon one who
knows anything of the Count's life or doings,” said
he. “I agree with you that the historians do not
make the most of the exploit of the ford, nor do
they give him any of the credit that is his due in
other matters. It is my intention to write his
biography some day; and I hope in that way to
give him, in some small part at least, the place
among the great outlanders which is rightfully
his.”
“Splendid!” applauded the crime specialist,
while Bat Scanlon stood by and looked and
listened in amazement. “That's a fine idea.
The romance of two periods, and of three countries
is in your hands. Such things are done too
seldom in this day; in our hurry and bustle we
have no time for the heroes of the past.”
Young Campe looked at Sergeant-Major Kretz.
But the grim face of the German was turned
away; it was as though he knew what was to be
asked in the look, and so saved himself the morti-
fication of giving advice which he felt would not
be taken.
“I am living a more or less retired life just now,
Mr. Ashton-Kirk,” said Campe, “and make it a
rule to receive no one. But,” and here his gaze
went to Scanlon, “since you are a friend of Mr.


62 ASHTON-KIRK
Scanlon's, and are on the ground, it would hardly
do,” and here he smiled, though faintly, “to turn
you away.”
“Kirk,” said Scanlon, “has been my friend for
years. He's quite a fellow in his way and has
been of service to many folks, who were ready to
put up their hands and quit. Now, here's your
little matter,” eagerly: “he could take hold of
that, and 99
But the voice of Ashton-Kirk broke in on him
swiftly, but with a smoothness that covered its
haste.
“Our friend Scanlon,” said he, smilingly, “is
something of an enthusiast. He has too much
confidence in my little array of historical incident.
But,” and his singular eyes looked steadily into
those of Campe, “if I can be of any assistance to
you in the memoirs which you mean to prepare,
you may command me. I shall be only too glad.”
“That's what I thought,” stated Scanlon, blow-
ing his nose and growing very red. “I know
you’ve got this historical stuff piled in till it's over
your ears; so what's more natural than that you
should give Campe a lift?”
“It may be that at some future time, when I am
in the frame of mind for quiet study, I shall avail
myself of your knowledge, sir,” said Campe, as
they walked toward the castle. “But at the
present time,” and once more the smile, though


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 63
even fainter than before, showed itself, “I am
much taken up with more active matters, and have
not the leisure.”
Kretz took a huge key from his pocket and un-
locked the gate; then he stood aside and the
others passed in. The gate was at once re-
locked.
“This,” said Ashton-Kirk, as he looked about,
“would resist a considerable force, even at this
day.”
The high gray wall towered above their heads;
it was of great thickness and its strength was evi-
dent.
Young Campe looked up at it and shook his
head.
“It's strong enough,” said he. “But for all
that, Mr. Ashton-Kirk, it cannot keep out thoughts;
and thoughts, if they are strongly marked and
along a definite line, are more to be feared than
armies.”
They crossed the flagged court of which Scan-
lon had spoken and entered by the high, narrow
door. A gloomy passage brought them to a room,
the same, evidently, in which Bat had been re-
ceived, for it was furnished with heavy oaken
tables and chairs of ancient design, had a vaulted
ceiling and was ornamented with the heads of
huge stags and boars, and with trophies of arms,
all of a day far past.


64 ASHTON-KIRK
A girl stood at one side feeding a thrush through
the bars of a basket cage; she was attired in a
gown flowing and white, her hair was the color of
yellow silk, parted in the center, and hanging
down over her breast in two thick braids.
“Miss Knowles,” said Campe, and the girl
turned. “A friend of Mr. Scanlon,” continued
the young man, “Mr. Ashton-Kirk.”
The girl was very beautiful; her skin was like
velvet, and her color like roses. She was smiling
as the crime specialist bowed to her; but upon the
instant that his name was mentioned, the recep-
tacle which held the grain she had been offering
the bird fell to the stone floor and smashed; the
delicate color left her cheeks; she stood staring,
her blue eyes full of consternation.
“Grace l” cried Campe, in alarm.
But in a single instant she had recovered her-
self; the color rushed back to her face, the smile
returned to the lips.
“It is nothing at all,” she said. “That head-
ache of which I complained yesterday seems not
to have all gone. I’ve felt a little faint several
times this morning.”
“You should not be about,” said Campe, anx-
iously. “And perhaps it would be best if a doc-
tor saw you.”
The girl smiled sweetly. Her teeth were mag-
nificent; and her lips were scarlet.


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 65
“Some stunner, eh?” whispered Bat Scanlon
to Ashton-Kirk.
“To be about is the best thing I can do,” said
Miss Knowles. Then with a mischievous look,
“Mr. Kirk will think I’m quite an invalid.”
She was really a splendid creature, large and
beautifully formed; her complexion, her eyes, the
great crown of yellow hair and the flowing white
gown gave her the appearance, backed as she was
by the gray trophy-hung wall, of having stepped
out of a medieval picture—the stately lady of some
great baron, or the daughter of a belted earl.
“Invalids seem rather plenty hereabouts,” said
Ashton-Kirk with a quiet smile. “But none of
them at all resembled you, Miss Knowles.”
It seemed, to the eyes of Bat Scanlon, that a
change came into the beautiful face—a subtle
something, swift as the thought that occasioned it,
and gone as quickly.
“You’ve been to the inn,” she said with a ges-
ture of dismay. “Poor things; isn't it dreadful ?
Some of them are really heart-breaking, they seem
so helpless.”
“You’ve visited the inn yourself, then?” and
there was a mild note of inquiry in the pleasant
voice.
“Oh, no; but I ride sometimes among the hills
of a morning. It's a glorious place for that; and
1 meet them stalking slowly along, or being


66 ASHTON-KIRK
wheeled in their chairs. Perhaps it is the contrast
between the vigor of the season and their wretched
state, but at any rate I feel very bad about it all.”
“Mr. Kirk is a student of American history,
and is interested in Schwartzberg and the builder,”
Campe informed the girl. “I am about to show
him over the place. Will you go along?”
“Indeed, yes.” Then to Ashton-Kirk, “I never
get tired of the splendid old building; most of my
time is spent in wandering about from room to
room, imagining the history it does not possess,”
with a smile which once more showed her beauti-
ful teeth. “Oh, if it were only as rich in romance
as it seems to be If the good Count Hohenlo
had only performed some of his deeds here.”
“Who knows,” smiled Ashton-Kirk, “but that
it has been left to a later time to give the old
place the needed touch.”
“But,” said Miss Knowles, lightly, as they fol-
lowed Campe out of the room and along a pas-
sage, “there are no strange knights to beat upon
the portals with the handles of their swords; there
are no arquebuseers to swarm over the wall.”
“No ; that's gone for good; but,” and Bat
Scanlon thought he detected an undercurrent of
something in the crime specialist's voice, “as Mr.
Campe suggested a while ago, high walls cannot
keep out thoughts. Peril in these later days is
not as candid as in feudal times—it has a seeping


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 67
quality—we can neither hear nor see it, at times,
but it is there, nevertheless.”
The girl looked at the speaker; and there was
a smile in her blue eyes.
“And you think a place like Schwartzberg
might get its romance in such a very modern
manner! I'll not believe it. Nothing but the
clash of arms will satisfy me!”
Young Campe laughed, but there was very
little of mirth in the sound.
“Why,” said he, “it may come to that in the
end.”
But Miss Knowles made a pretty gesture of
protest.
“Please don’t make game of me, Frederic,”
she said. “You mean the vagrants who have
been giving you so much trouble. They make
very poor substitutes for men in armor, and I
refuse to consider them.”
Room after room was visited and admired;
each was in keeping, both in furnishing and dec-
oration, with the period of the building's architec-
ture.
“It is really tremendous,” said Ashton-Kirk,
“and must require a horde of servants to keep it
in order.”
“We have only two besides Kretz—and they
are his wife and daughter.”
“I should like to see the kitchen,” said the


68 ASHTON-KIRK
crime specialist. “Very different, I suppose, from
our present compact institutions.”
The kitchen was as huge as imagined; its
bricked floor was scrubbed clean; its copper uten-
sils gleamed upon the walls; the great fireplace
held a turnspit upon which hung a goose, at-
tended by a stolid-looking girl.
“The sergeant-major's daughter?” asked Ash-
ton-Kirk.
“Yes, and here is her mother.”
A heavy, vacant-looking woman entered the
kitchen with some vegetables; she gave but a
passing glance at the visitors, and tucking up
her sleeves, proceeded indifferently about her
duties.
As they reached the roof of Schwartzberg, Ash-
ton-Kirk saw the search-light, which he had wit-
nessed in operation the night before, mounted on
one of the towers. It was a powerful affair, and
seemed in perfect order. But as to its uses
Campe said nothing; he passed it by as though
it did not exist.
Away in every direction stretched the faded
countryside; the hills swelled, the tops of the de-
nuded trees waved starkly in the breeze.
“The prospect is sober at this time of the year,”
said Ashton-Kirk, as he gazed out over the hills.
“But the summer at Schwartzberg, I should say,
is very beautiful.”


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 69
Young Campe nodded.
“Yes,” said he, “it is. I have not spent much
time here before now ; but the pleasant months
would be well enough—if there were nothing
else.”
“Ah !” said Ashton-Kirk, “there are draw-
backs, then. Nothing serious, I hope.”
He looked at the young man with a smile.
“The plumbing, perhaps,” said he. “It seldom
is what it should be in houses like this.”
But Campe shook his head, and made no reply.
His eyes, still with the old haunted look lurking
in them, went out over the country, and one hand
stroked his chin.
There was very little conversation while they
remained upon the roof. Descending, they were
passing along a broad corridor when the sound of
a harp, waveringly played, was heard and a voice
singing a lied.
Ashton-Kirk, trailing observantly along in the
rear, saw the girl start at this and pause. A
strange look came into her face; her hand went
to her lips as though to prevent the words she
was already speaking.
“Surely,” she said, sweetly, “Mr. Kirk should
not go without a view of the tapestries.”
Young Campe looked perplexed.
“You see,” said he to Ashton-Kirk, “there are
some rare hangings—some six or seven centuries


7o ASHTON-KIRK
old, I understand. And they are quite well worth
seeing. But my aunt is there,” and he gestured
toward a door, “and I’m not at all sure that
she —”
He hesitated; and the girl spoke quickly.
“She’ll be pleased to see a visitor.”
Then without waiting for a reply, she knocked
upon the door and went in. In a moment she
held the door wide and smiled out at the three
men.
“You may come in,” she said.
Upon entering the apartment Ashton-Kirk noted
that it was much more elaborately furnished than
the other portions of the castle. Various periods
had been called upon for luxurious fittings; costly
rugs were upon the floor; magnificent paintings
covered the walls; small carvings, very miracles of
workmanship, were many; and the tapestries,
which hung against and covered the far wall, were
gorgeous examples of that ancient mystery.
“My aunt, Miss Hohenlo,” said Campe, “Mr.
Ashton-Kirk.” -
“I hope you'll pardon the intrusion,” said the
crime specialist.
Miss Hohenlo smiled graciously. She was a
small woman, and thin, with faded brown hair and
dull gray eyes. She was elaborately dressed and
rather showily; about her neck hung a string of
splendid jewels. Her hands were remarkably


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 71
small and white and well kept; she fingered the
strings of a gilt harp, and showed them delicately
and to advantage.
“Indeed,” said she, “it is no intrusion. Any
friends of Frederic are my friends; I try to impress
that upon him. The tapestries are, of course,
wonderful, and that lovers of beauty should desire
to see them is, of course, to be expected.”
She had a mincing, artificial manner of speech,
much after the way of a lady in a mid-Victorian
novel; not once did she forget her hands; care-
fully she touched the strings of the harp; with
many little turns and flourishes she showed their
whiteness, their smallness, their delicacy.
She spoke of the tapestry and not of her hands,
but it was plain to be seen which of the two she
thought the more worthy of attention; so Ashton-
Kirk conversed with her and admired the caresses
she bestowed upon the strings.
“The harp,” said Miss Hohenlo, “is a beautiful
instrument; in fact, I will say it is the most grace-
ful of instruments. The Romans and the Greeks,
also, preferred it to the lyre and other forms of
string arrangement.”
“It is perhaps the most ancient of instruments,”
said Ashton-Kirk. “We trace it back to the
Egyptians, and have no assurance that it was not
known even before the time of that astonishing
people. That the tight-drawn string of some war-


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 73
that my poor studies were unnoticed. One can
never be sure of anything.”
Here young Campe, who had been impatiently
intent upon the tapestries, now turned to Ashton-
Kirk. -
“These are, perhaps, as early examples of
Flemish weaving as one would be likely to find.
They came into the possession of my family
about the time of the French Revolution, a period
when much that was rare and costly was kicking
about, helter-skelter.”
Ashton-Kirk examined the hangings with ad-
miration.
“From the design,” said he, “I’d venture that
they came from the looms of either Bruges or
Arras. The hand of Van Eyck—or a follower of
Van Eyck, is unmistakable; and the greater part
of their designs went to the weavers of those two
cities.”
Between two windows was a narrow strip of the
tapestry and in examining this the attention of
Ashton-Kirk was drawn to a huge, two-handed
sword which hung against it.
“A rather competent looking weapon,” said
he ; “and one which, no doubt, has seen excellent
Service.”
Miss Knowles came nearer.
“And who can be sure that its days of service
are over ?” said she, with a smile.


74 ASHTON-KIRK
A few moments before the crime specialist had
caught something behind her laugh; now he
fancied a still more subtle something was hidden
behind the smile.
“This blade was carried in the army of Bar-
barossa, at the siege of Milan,” said young
Campe.
“And by one of Miss Hohenlo’s remote an-
cestors,” added Miss Knowles, and again came
the enigmatic smile. “You should hear her tell
the story. It's really delightful. Sometimes I
think she cares more for the sword than she does
for the harp.”
Miss Hohenlo advanced gingerly; there was
something so mincing in her manner, so entirely
like the old maid of tradition, that Mr. Scanlon
winked very rapidly and watched her with some-
thing like fascination. She stroked the bare blade
with one small hand.
“It's ugly,” she said. “It is rough and un-
couth, much like a great mastiff reared outdoors
and having no place in the house. But it has done
much for the Hohenlos; it has gained them for-
tunes in the past; so why should I not cherish it?”
“Why not, indeed?” said Miss Knowles.
Scanlon noted that this apartment seemed of
great interest to Ashton-Kirk; the tapestries were
exclaimed over and talked about; the paintings
were reviewed; the carvings were gone over


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 75
minutely; the curious qualities and periods of
various pieces of furniture were discussed.
“But the harp,” mused the watchful Bat. “The
harp seems to be the extra added attraction. It's
got something that puzzles him, and he keeps go-
ing back to it again and again.”
But it was not only the harp. The great naked
sword hanging between the windows, backed by
the bit of ancient tapestry, also seemed of con-
tinued interest. With a casual air, Ashton-Kirk
more than once examined it; and his eyes, as
Scanlon alone saw, were darting interest for all
his seeming nonchalance. Once he took the
weapon down and tested its weight in a sweeping
stroke. -
“It would take a person of some strength to
use this with any effect,” said he, and his eyes
were upon Miss Knowles.
“I hope,” said she, “that you are not one of
those who believe that all the power has gone out
of the race—that those of old times could do more
than those of to-day.” She took the great weapon
in her hands and raised it aloft with ease. “See,
even a woman could use it,” she said.
And then with a smile she lowered the weapon
and Campe replaced it upon the wall.
“I don’t think,” said the young man, “there's
anything else of interest.”
But Miss Knowles held up a protesting finger.


76 ASHTON-KIRK
“The vaults!” she said. “No one could say
he had seen a castle without visiting those parts
of it that are underground.”
But Campe did not at all take to the sugges-
tion.
“They are damp and gloomy,” he said. “We
seldom go into them.” He turned to Ashton-
Kirk. “However, if you care to see them, I'll be
only too glad.”
“If it is no trouble,” said the crime specialist,
his singular eyes upon the beautiful face of Miss
Knowles, “I’d be pleased to explore them.”
With Kretz carrying a lamp, the three men de-
scended into the regions beneath Schwartzberg.
The damp from the near-by river had stained the
walls and the stones of the pavement, the heavy
arches hung with growths of fungus. The place
was vast and gloomy; the radius of the lamp was
small and beyond it the shadows thickened away
into absolute blackness. The whole progress
through the place seemed a bore to Scanlon.
“Cellars,” commented he, “are fine places to
keep coal in. Men who believe in encouraging
industry have also been known to store wine in
their cellars, so that the spiders could have some-
thing to spin their nets around. But for the pur-
poses of exercise or for mild morning strolls they
have their drawbacks. As for myself, I should
prefer


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 77
Suddenly there was a smash of glass, the lamp
fell into fragments and the place was plunged into
darkness. Scanlon, who was next to Ashton-
Kirk, felt him spring forward like a tiger; then
came a sharp pistol shot, followed by another and
still another.


CHAPTER VI
IN WHICH ASHTON-KIRK INDICATES MUCH BUT
SAYS LITTLE
“A LIGHT I" cried Campe. “Strike a light,
Kretz.”
“No light,” said Bat Scanlon, softly, “It is no
time for such things when an unknown gentleman
is abroad with a gat And keep still.”
The sergeant-major grunted something in Ger.
man, apparently in approval of this advice. At
any rate, Campe subsided. There was a space of
silence. Then a footstep sounded; and Bat arose.
“That you, Kirk?” asked he.
“Yes,” came the quiet voice of the crime spe-
cialist. “I think it's all right now. Is there any
way of getting a light?”
A match crackled, then Kretz produced a candle
stump from a niche in the wall. This he ignited.
Ashton-Kirk came into the dim circle of radiance.
“I’ll not ask whether you saw anybody,” said
Scanlon. “But,” anxiously, “did you feel any-
thing of him ?”
“It's rather wild firing in the dark,” returned
the crime specialist. “And, perhaps,” here there
78


8o ASHTON-KIRK
young Campe. His manner was quiet, but his
voice was cold with dread. “The only difference
was that it was in the night, and —”
The grim-faced Kretz, looking more granite
faced than ever in the flickering light of the lan-
terns, growled something in a low tone; and the
young man stopped instantly.
“It's the tramps,” he added hastily. “We are
greatly troubled by them. Scanlon,” with a
glance at the big man, “has seen something of
their work.”
Taking one of the lights, Ashton-Kirk went over
the place once more. This time he gave much
attention to the floor, and showed considerable
curiosity as to the walls.
“You see,” said he, laughingly, but not once
relaxing his attention, “it is possible that the
Count in his building of this place might have
contrived the secret passage which legend tells us
went with such buildings.”
“No,” said Kretz. “There is a plan of the
house. All is marked there. Nothing is secret.”
Much to Scanlon's surprise, the crime specialist
seemed to take this as final.
“It is a thing which should be brought to the
attention of the police,” suggested Ashton-Kirk.
“Prowlers who have secret means of entering
cellars can’t be comfortable neighbors.”
“It might come to that in the end,” said Campe


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 8 I
as they climbed the stone steps. He had a smile
upon his lips, a wan hopeless sort of thing, and in
the lantern light his eyes looked sunken. “But
the police are sometimes very troublesome them-
Selves.”
They reached the upper hall, and Ashton-Kirk
looked at his watch and a time-table.
“I have thirty minutes to reach the station,”
said he.
“I had hoped,” said Campe, “to have you for
luncheon.”
“Some other time I shall be delighted. But to-
day there are some small matters which must have
my attention. Good-bye, and thank you.”
Kretz swung open the outer door; they crossed
the courtyard, and he shot back the great bolts of
the gate. The detective shook hands with Campe;
to Scanlon he said:
“If it is at all possible, call upon me at ten
o'clock to-morrow. I think I shall then have
something to tell you in regard to the affair you
spoke to me of yesterday.”
“I’ll be on hand,” said Bat, with a nod of as-
surance. “Count on me.”
From a window the beautiful, smiling face of
Miss Knowles looked down upon them. Ashton-
Kirk took off his cap, and with a nod and a little
flourish he was off down the road, swinging with a
long stride, and twirling his hickory stick gayly.


82 ASHTON-KIRK
Next day the bell in the tower of the church
next door was striking ten when the punctual Bat
Scanlon presented himself at the crime specialist's
door.
“Come in,” said that gentleman. “You are as
sharp as time itself.”
As usual, he had a pile of books about him;
and the Coblentz pipe was sending its pale vapors
into the room. But these were a different kind of
books. Those which had been heaped about on
the occasion of Mr. Scanlon's last visit were things
of dreams and fanciful speculation; but these,
this morning, were keen and practical looking.
The sheep binding seemed to warn off triflers;
the type seemed sharply cut and decisive. And
the very pipe itself seemed to wear a purposeful
air; instead of the leisurely drawing at it that had
marked the other visit, the puffs were now curt
and contained a promise of other things.
Bat Scanlon seated himself in the chair he had
occupied before; and while he lighted the cigar
which was presented to him, his eyes went to the
print of the brown sailors peering away into the
heart of the sea's mystery. And now, somehow,
their attitude was changed. The mystery ahead
was as complete as before; indeed, it was, per-
haps, more so; but the brown men now seemed
at ease; to-day they did not fear the unknown;
and, as he looked closely, it even seemed that


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 83
they were pleased with the unusualness of their
situation.
“Just the way I feel,” Bat told himself. “Kirk's
on the job and he'll fix it up as it should be. So
why worry?”
Ashton-Kirk opened a drawer and took out a
folded paper.
“When you called me on the telephone the
other day,” said he, “I at once set about look-
ing up the Campe family history. My records
had the facts up to a few years ago. But I
wanted complete information, so I sent one of
my men out to look them up. This is his report,
brought in to me this morning.”
He seated himself upon a corner of the table
and unfolded the paper. Then he read:
“Report of Later Proceedings of the Campes.
“The family of Campe, as shown by such in-
formation as it is possible to secure from banks
doing business with them, contracting firms who
undertook their various enterprises and importing
houses who have come into financial contact with
them, have been very clever and able. They
slipped naturally from the wreckage of one gov-
ernment into the favor of the next without loss of
any sort. Their interests grew ; and they seemed
in a fair way to become to Central America what
the Rothschilds are to Europe, when suddenly,
about three years ago, things took a change.
Frederic Campe, Sr., head of the house, at about


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 85
nights ago. Not deep,” and Bat shook his head,
“but it was just such a slash as put this other one
out of the running.”
Ashton-Kirk resumed his reading.
“At the death of Henry, Mexico had run out
of male Campes. There only remained a younger
son who was then attending a university in the
United States. There were several daughters,
but these have resided for some years in Berlin.
The greater part of the family interests in Mexico
and Central America have been disposed of, and
what's left is being offered for sale. From this,
it seems that what remains of the family have
no intention of returning south of the Rio
Grande.”
Here the crime specialist folded up the paper,
and threw it upon the table.
“Is that all?” asked the big man.
“Yes.”
“Well,” declared Bat, “to my way of look-
ing at it, it's plenty. In view of the way that
man met his death in the hallway, can you
figure the matters of the yacht and the bridge as
accidents P”
Ashton-Kirk shook his head.
“At this distance we can’t say,” said he. “But
the deaths of the three have a stamp upon them
which suggest —”
“They were murdered,” said Bat. And then,


86 ASHTON-KIRK
with his eyes upon the other, he added: “But
why?”
The crime specialist slipped from the table,
With the big pipe laid aside, he began to pace up
and down the study.
“This matter has some very curious and inter-
esting aspects,” said he. “It is more than likely,
as you suggest, that the three Campes of whom
you have just heard met their deaths at the hands
of assassins. But, as you also suggest, why?”
He threw up the curtains and allowed the sun
to fill the room; the opening of the windows them-
selves permitted the air to rush in and pursue the
smoke clouds furiously about the place. The
drone of the crowds in the street, the roll of
wheels, the cries of drivers to their horses, and to
each other lifted to them in a confused movement
of sound.
“Murder,” said Ashton-Kirk, “is seldom under-
taken without cause.” He resumed his pacing,
his hands deep in his trousers pockets. “Even
the lowest type of thug, waylaying his victim in a
lonely place, has the desire for money as his mo-
tive. The drunken loafer of the slums beats his
wife to death because she refuses him food which
he has not earned, or the price of more liquor
which dulls his mind to the barest requirements of
life. The masked burglar does not take life wan-
tonly, but only when hard pressed and with the


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 87
jail staring him in the face. The poisoner is
actuated by jealousy, or by the desire to remove
some one who bars his way to happiness or
wealth. If the Campes were murdered, there was
a reason for it. And the fact that three of them
have so died, and a systematic effort seems to be
proceeding to bring about the death of a fourth,
shows that the reason is not an individual one.”
“No,” agreed Bat Scanlon. “It’s a family mat-
ter. It's something that has to do with them as a
bunch.”
“The attention of the murderer,” said Ashton-
Kirk, “was apparently first fixed upon the head
of the house, the elder Frederic. He was blown
up with his yacht. His brother William was the
succeeding head. He died in a fall from a bridge.
Next, the eldest son of Frederic came into control
of the family finances. He was stabbed to death.
The last of them all, and the present head of the
house, is your friend at Schwartzberg. Beyond
a doubt the eyes of the monster are now fixed
upon him.”
“Well ?”
“It is possible,” said the crime specialist, “that
some sort of demand was made upon the elder
Frederic. This was refused, and murder fol-
lowed. Again the demand was made—again
upon the head of the house—and again was re-
fused. Once more death made its grisly appear.


88 ASHTON-KIRK
ance. For the third time the request was repeated
to the person in control of the family's affairs; for
the third time it was denied ; and again death fol-
lowed swiftly.”
“A request,” said Bat Scanlon. “For what?”
Ashton-Kirk shook his head.
“I don’t know,” said he. “And I merely men-
tion this as a thing which might be true, under-
stand me. I do not know that it is. But, sup-
posing it is, perhaps your question can be an-
swered. The business of the Campes, as a family,
was money. And as the family seems to have
been struck at, and not any individual, is it carry-
ing the thing too far to think that money may
form the basis of the request?”
“Not to me,” replied Mr. Scanlon, promptly.
“In fact, it seems very likely, indeed.”
Ashton-Kirk continued his pacing up and down.
For the most part he was silent and intent, ap-
parently thinking hard. Now and then, how-
ever, his thoughts took form in muttered words,
altogether unintelligible to Scanlon, although that
gentleman listened eagerly. After a time the
crime specialist pressed one of the series of bell
calls, and Fuller made his appearance.
“Begin at once,” said Ashton-Kirk, “and put
Burgess and O'Neil on the job if you need help.
Pull together any facts as to the dealings of the
house of Campe during the time Frederic Campe-


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 89
the one who your report says died aboard his
yacht—was at the head of the concern. Go into
this to the limit—don't spare trouble, as it is im-
portant. Also try and get some data as to this
same Frederic Campe personally. Who were his
friends? what were his habits?—what interests,
financial or otherwise, did he oppose?”
“It looks like a large order,” said Fuller. “I’ll
have to get on the ground.”
“Take the next train south,” directed the crime
specialist. “As soon as you get anything, tele-
graph it in our private code.”
“Right,” said the assistant. “Anything more?”
“NO.”
Fuller left the room with hasty step; and Bat
Scanlon nodded his admiration.
“You go after things with both hands in this
shop,” said he. “And, as I’ve always claimed,
that's the only way to get them done.”
“Our little run out of town,” said Ashton-Kirk,
“brought several things to my notice which
singly would, perhaps, have suggested nothing;
but collectively they indicated a possible condi-
tion, both picturesque and dangerous.”
“We ran into a small herd of things,” said Mr.
Scanlon. “Just which of them do you mean?”
But Ashton-Kirk shook his head.
“The indications may prove erroneous,” said
he. “The hour we spent among the hills around


9o ASHTON-KIRK
Schwartzberg was of the sort in which the imagi-
nation operates vividly; and in such work as we
are now on, care must be taken as to what is fact
and what fancy. Under such influences as were
then abroad, the mind strings thoughts much as a
child strings beads.”
He paused in his pacing and stood by the
window, looking down into the shabby street.
There was a tight look about the corners of his
mouth ; the singular eyes glittered a bit feverishly.
Up and down swarmed the alien horde in the
street. The children seemed countless; the sounds
and smells were thick, and of the near East.
The stands at the curbs, and at the walls of
buildings were piled with wares of strange make,
and with food that was questionable. Merchants
in long coats, and with the ever present cigarette
between their fingers, pleaded eloquently with
hedging customers.
Women in bright shawls, which were pulled up
about their heads and faces, huddled upon steps
and peered out at the turmoil about them; the
dull red walls of the buildings and their dirty win-
dows were unpleasantly prominent in the morning
SU11n.
Suddenly Ashton-Kirk turned upon Scanlon.
“What do you think of the Campe house-
hold ' " he asked. “Take them one at a time,
beginning with the lowest in importance—how do


SPECIAL DETECTIVE QI
they stand in the light of your two weeks' acquaint-
ance with them ’’’
“The lowest in importance,” said the big man,
“would be Kretz's daughter. She's got a head
that was made to forget with, and about as much
character as a kitten. I’ve seen things duller than
she is, but they were not human things. As for
her mother, I’ve heard her speak twice—possibly
three times. Each observation was pointed at
her daughter, was in German, and was, from the
general sound, meant to tell her exactly where
she got off. But, though she might be economical
as a conversationalist, she does not stint her talent
as a cook. For she can and does cook with an
abandon and fancy that would take the crinkles
out of the most crumpled appetite. Mrs. Kretz is
the sort of a woman who would greet a broken
dish and the falling in of the roof with about the
same display of emotion.
“Kretz himself is almost as eloquent as his
wife. But though he talks little, he sees every-
thing. Campe tells me he's been in the family
for ten years or more, and he has a lot of con-
fidence in him. As far as I can see—Kretz—I
don’t know. There are some things about him
and his doings that I don’t understand; but then
I can say the same for most of the folks at the
castle, if it comes down to cases.”
“And the next?” asked Ashton-Kirk.


92 ASHTON-KIRK
“Well, I suppose it's a matter of taste just who
is next,” proceeded Scanlon. “But to save any
lengthy argument, suppose we say it's Campe's
aunt, Miss Hohenlo. I don't see much of either
of the ladies of the castle, but Miss Hohenlo is the
closest in that respect. As her name shows, Miss
Hohenlo is a maiden; and after one look at her
face and another at her figure I don’t wonder at
it. Nature seems to have jumped in between her
and any chance she ever had of changing her
condition; for she's got the finest little lot of
spinster manners and ideas I ever saw in one
collection. In character she's about as colorless
as water; and she stands for about as much as a
grain of rice powder on a chorus girl's nose.
“But the other lady is different; you’ve seen
her, and so I'll say nothing about her looks ex-
cept what I said once before, and that is, she's
a pippin However,” and the big man bent his
brows at the crime specialist, “she has a way
with her. As a matter of fact, she has several
ways, and I don’t understand any of them. Why
did she drop the dish when she first heard your
name? and look as if she'd got the shock of her
life What's the idea of her wandering out
among the hills at night? The search-light caught
her standing over Campe's senseless body the
night he was cut. And only the other night you
and I saw the light pick her up once more.”


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 93
“I did not give much attention to the woman
on that occasion,” said Ashton-Kirk. “And so
you think it was Miss Grace Knowles, do you?”
“Who else could it have been P” demanded
Bat. “And who else screamed on the night
Kretz met me on the stairs ? And that's not all.”
Here the speaker leaned toward the special de-
tective, and his voice sank lower, as though he
feared to be overheard. “Last night I got a
fresh slant at her. Eh P With a candle, and
hesitating along the hallway. When she got to
the door of the room where you saw Miss
Hohenlo, she stopped and listened at the edges of
it, as if she was making sure that no one was
there. I guess there wasn't, for she opened the
door and went in.
“I was at the end of the hall when I saw this
and I waited; for somehow the thing didn't look
good. Then I heard footsteps coming along the
lower corridor and some one started up the lower
flight of steps. Like a flash the door of the room
into which Miss Knowles had gone opened; I
didn't see it—I heard it; for the young lady had
blown out her candle. It was Campe coming up,
and he had a light. She was standing by the
door with as sweet a smile on her face as you
ever saw anywhere, and she gave him a lot of
little nods. He was surprised to see her, but she
said:


94. ASHTON-KIRK
“‘I’ve just come to see if your aunt is awake.
I did so want some one to talk to.”
“And so,” said Bat, “she knocked on the door,
very gently, just as if she wasn't already sure that
no one was there. And she seemed greatly dis-
appointed when no one answered.
“‘Talk to me,’ says Campe. You see he fell
for the bunk just as easy as that. ‘Talk to me,’
says he. For when a man's in love with a
woman,” continued Mr. Scanlon, sagely, “she
can put anything across on him ”
“And so you think Campe is in love with Miss
Knowles P.”
“Up to his eyes.”
The big man laid the end of his cigar in an ash
tray, and put a hand upon each knee.
“I don't know whether you noticed it,” resumed
he, “but this same Miss Knowles was peddling
around a queer little line of samples yesterday
while you were there. What was she hinting
about? Eh? What was she saying one thing
for, and meaning something else? She's jollying
Campe, that's plain to me; but what's this thing
she's trying to shoulder onto the little old
maid P”
“It's a peculiar household,” said Ashton-Kirk.
He went to the table and began turning the leaves
of one of the books carelessly. Scanlon, glancing
at it, saw an array of skulls of differing formations,


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 95
all down one of the pages. “And,” resumed the
crime specialist, “it will probably take some
weighing and judging before we get them prop-
erly placed.”
Leaving the book open, he once more thrust
his hands into his pockets and resumed the
pacing.
“Music,” said he, “is a delightful thing. Its
powers to quiet and to uplift are tremendous.”
There was a short pause, and then he added :
“What's your opinion of the harp as an instru-
ment P”
Mr. Scanlon was very frank.
“Now you’ve got me bad,” said he. “All I
know about it is what I heard a Sicilian do to it
one season in Tucson. He was the orchestra in
‘File’ Brady's saloon, and picked melody out of
it to accompany the ballad singers. And,” here
he looked shrewdly at Ashton-Kirk, “I know less
about swords that you operate with both hands.
As a weapon, this style of thing had gone out
before I came into the desire to mix it with my
fellow man.”
Ashton-Kirk smiled and nodded.
“I repeat,” said he, “that some of the things
we heard and saw held a great deal of interest.
But how are we to associate them ? What pos-
sible connection has a delicate gilt harp with a
mysterious noise in the night? What has a green


96 ASHTON-KIRK
stone in common with a sword that was carried
in the siege of Milan And what can there be be-
tween a beautiful woman, radiant with life, and a
creature three-quarters dead, who is wheeled about
in a chair?”
The big, candid face of Scanlon grew stiff with
amazement.
“Why, look here !” said he. “Just where does
that fellow y?
But at a gesture from the crime specialist he
stopped. And once more Ashton-Kirk paused at
the table; and again he began turning the leaves
of the book.
“The studies of that ingenious old empiric of
Antwerp, Gall, are most amusing,” said he, as his
eyes began to run from one pictured skull to
another. “The system he worked out and which
he called ‘Zoonomy’ is rich in suggestion, and,”
nodding his head, “may contain more truths than
is generally supposed.”
“He had something to do with skulls, I take
it,” said Mr. Scanlon.
“He had all to do with them in this particular
regard, though his system was afterward much
amplified by Spurzheim, and the Englishmen,
George and Andrew Combe. His idea was that
the skull's development followed that of the brain;
that certain parts of the brain stood for certain
faculties; if the brain were large in this faculty


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 97
the skull would show it. And in that way we
were to have a very convenient method of judg-
ing the character of any particular person.”
“I’ve heard of it,” said Mr. Scanlon. “A fellow
I roomed with once used to turn that trick at a
quarter a throw. It was a fairly easy way of
getting money, but I couldn't see very much
more to it.”
“You saw it practiced by a fakir,” said the
special detective, his eyes still upon the turning
pages. “And such things offer many oppor-
tunities for crooked practitioners. But, after all,
I don’t think it would be at all difficult to prove
that it has its basis in truth. It is a well-known
fact that nations, for example, have one general
type of head; and it is equally well known that
the individuals of a nation have the same general
tendencies.”
Here he pushed the book aside and his hand
went to a brace of volumes at the end of the table.
“I put in some little time last night,” said he,
“dipping into Humboldt and Vater. There is a
vast difference between their keen, uncompromis-
ing intellects and the credulous minds of Gall and
his followers. And yet it is a bit startling to trace
a line between them which runs —”
But here he looked up and met the inquiring
look of the big man with a smile.
“You’re having a peep behind the scenes,”


98 ASHTON-KIRK
he said. “You’re seeing me deep in a mass of
preliminary speculations, and not at all sure as to
where they are to lead.”
“But,” said Mr. Scanlon, with confidence,
“you see something.”
“Not very clearly,” and the singular eyes glit-
tered with interest, “but I think I see the mist
breaking away at some points, and before to-day
is done I may be able to get my ranges. Per-
haps by the time I get Fuller's second report
I'll have enough data to finish the case at a
blow.”
“Fine,” said Mr. Scanlon. He got up and
shook the crime specialist by the hand. “That
makes me feel good. You see,” earnestly, “I’m
as keen on this thing as if it was my own—maybe
more so. This boy is hard pressed, and has called
on me for help. I don’t want to fail him. I don’t
want it proven that he's made a mistake.”
“We'll do our best,” said Ashton-Kirk, “to pull
him through.”
The big man's face wore an anxious look.
“But just where do I come in ?” he asked.
“While you are deep in the struggle to put this
thing right, what am I to do?”
“That,” said Ashton-Kirk, “is exactly what I
wanted to speak of. Your part in this affair is to
be important. Watch | Sleep—as some of the
naturalists say the wild things do—with your eyes


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 99
open Things are apt to happen inside Schwartz-
berg.”
“Inside,” said Scanlon. “But what about out-
side P”
The other smiled.
“Why, as to that,” said he, “suppose you
leave the outside to me.”


CHAPTER VII
SHOWS HOW MR. SCANLON MET THE MAN
WITH THE SOFT VOICE
IT was late in the afternoon when Bat Scanlon
got off the train at Marlowe Furnace and struck
down the little road toward the covered bridge.
Upon the west bank he held to the regular road
toward Schwartzberg; and he had gone perhaps
half the distance when he heard hoof beats behind
him; turning, he recognized Grace Knowles,
mounted upon a powerful gray horse.
She waved her whip to him, smilingly, and as
she came up, drew in her mount.
“It’s a very pleasant afternoon,” said she.
Bat cast his eyes first at one point and then at
another. The question, it would appear, was a
weighty one and must be carefully considered.
The sun touched the hilltops with a dull gold;
the sky was filled with sailing ribbons of white;
and the breeze was bracing and free.
He nodded.
“Pretty good,” said he. “Reminds me of some
of the afternoons we used to have in the foot-hills
IOO


SPECIAL DETECTIVE IOI
when they were dragging the railroads over them,
and through them, and alongside of them.”
“Mr. Campe has been telling me of some of
your experiences,” said she, her beautiful face
filled with interest. “It must have been a very
wild life, there in the West in those days.”
“It was all of that,” replied Bat, as he trudged
along beside the gray. “Wild is the word that
just fits it. A fellow had to sleep with his guns
in his hands and a call for help in his mouth. We
had some fine, enterprising lads out that way.
They’d go for anything, and stop at nothing.
But,” with a sigh, “it was tame enough before I
pulled out. Things seemed to have shifted, some-
how.”
“In what way?” asked Miss Knowles.
“The West having taken to growing grain and
feeding sheep, the East seems to be providing the
excitement necessary for the country's good,”
stated the big man, calmly. “For example: I’ve
seen more little proceedings around this village of
Marlowe Furnace than I’ve seen in some frontier
towns with the hardest kind of names.”
“You refer to what happened yesterday in the
vaults,” said Miss Knowles. “Yes, that must have
been quite thrilling.”
“It was also a bit dangerous,” said Bat, stoic-
ally. “I don't object to being shot at, mind you;
but I do want to see the party that's got the


I O2 ASHTON-KIRK
matter in hand. This having surprise packages
dealt one in the dark is carrying the matter too
far.”
Miss Knowles smiled.
“No doubt,” she said, very calmly, “it seems
rather awkward.” There was a pause, and she
stroked the horse's neck with her whip. “I sup-
pose your friend was also startled,” she said.
“Almost into fits,” stated Bat. “He’s a fellow,
you see, who's not used to such attentions; and
to have them forced on him suddenly in that way
was too much for him.”
Miss Knowles still smiled.
“That is really too bad,” she said. “Being so
abruptly treated,” inquiringly, “I suppose he will
not come again?”
“You never can tell,” replied Scanlon. “Some-
times people take things to heart; and again they
laugh them off, like a pine-snake does his worn-
out jacket. You might never catch him within
ten miles of Schwartzberg again; and then he
might walk in on us this very night.”
The smile vanished from the beautiful face; and
the blue eyes looked at the big man steadily.
“To-night,” she said, and there was a catch in
her voice. Then, quietly enough, “I don't think
Mr. Campe expects him.”
“Mr. Ashton-Kirk is not the fellow to stand
back for a little thing like that,” remarked Bat


I O4. ASHTON-KIRK
went calmly on, his brows level and his expecta-
tions at their highest.
“At first,” meditated he, “I took this thing in
another way. It was all worry. But now that
I’ve shifted the responsibility to Kirk, I see it
differently. It's an experience—an adventure.
And, believe me, I'm going to get out of it all
there is in it.”
When he reached the rise which the girl had
ridden over, he sighted a small road which his
tramping trips had told him led down to the
river. By the side of this road, writing in a
leather-covered book, was a man. He was a fat
man and soft-looking.
“Hello,” said Mr. Scanlon, “who's this?”
With much industry, the stranger wrote in the
little book; and never once did he lift his head.
Scanlon halted.
“There is something tells me,” was his thought,
“that I have met with this party upon some past
occasion. But where ?”
The little lane was one of the retiring sort; it
had fallen oak leaves covering it to the depth of
one's shoe tops; the crooked rail fences gave it a
homely look.
The man with the book paused in his writing,
and then went carefully over what had been done;
it did not seem to please him, and so he began
some alterations in the entry.


SPECIAL DETECTIVE I of
Then, glancing up, he sighted Scanlon, and
moved toward him softly. When he spoke his
voice was also soft.
“I am a stranger,” said he. “And I fear I’ve
lost my way. Can you direct me to the station at
Marlowe Furnace '''
And with that Bat had him placed ! There was
something reminiscent in the combination of soft-
ness, even at first glance; but the mention of the
railroad station placed the tag upon him. It was
the man whom the old station agent had de-
scribed—the man of the bridge—the man who
had given him the queer green stone.
Quietly the big man blew out a thin spiral of
smoke.
“You go down this road,” said he, “until
you come to a bridge with a lid on it. This
you cross. Ten minutes further on, and there
you are.”
The soft-looking man closed the leather-covered
book; then he put it away carefully in one pocket,
and the pencil in another.
“I am extremely obliged to you,” he said,
gently. “Your directions, I think, will be very
easy to follow.” He stroked his white soft chin
with a hand that was equally thick and soft and
white; and his eyes searched Scanlon’s face.
“You live hereabouts, I suppose ?”
“For the time being,” replied Bat, evenly


I oé ASHTON-KIRK
“It's a nice kind of a place, and I'm sticking
around a while.”
“Ah, yes, to be sure,” observed the soft man.
“You are right. It is a nice place. Very pictur-
esque, and also very historical, I understand.” He
waved one hand in a stubby gesture toward the
north. “I came that way. And just above I
saw a most astonishing house.”
“Big one?” asked Bat. “Things on top?”
“A very big one,” agreed the other. “Very
big, indeed; and, as you say, with things on the
top.”
“That's Schwartzberg,” said Bat. “A German
castle, only not in Germany. The rule is to plant
them along the Rhine, I believe, but the fellow
who put this one in must have thought one river
as good as another. And I agree with him.”
The soft man laughed. If anything, his laugh
was the softest thing about him. As Bat lis-
tened to the laugh, and looked at the man's
eyes, which were green and cold and steady, he
felt his scalp prickle with something like dread.
But he puffed quietly at his cigarette; and, from
his manner, such a feeling was no nearer to him
than the poles.
“Oh, yes, to be sure,” said the soft-looking
man. “He was quite right. It is very stately—
most charming, and adds to the picturesqueness
of the section.” From where they stood the


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 1 o?
towers of Schwartzberg were to be seen through
the naked trees; and one fat, white finger pointed
to them. “The moon, now,” said the man, “must
play about those portions of the building very
strikingly when it is at its full.”
“I shouldn’t wonder,” said Bat.
“In fact,” said the other, “night hereabouts
must be very different in many ways.”
Bat seemed to take this under advisement.
“As to that,” said he, “I don’t know but what
I agree with you. It is different.”
The soft man moved softly nearer; there was
an eagerness under his smooth manner that was
not lost upon Scanlon.
“I love the night,” said he. “It is rather an
old-fashioned thing to do, I admit; but I love it,
for all. In these times when the electric lights
have robbed the heavens of their stars, and put
out the very moon, there are few who admire the
night. But I love to walk in it, to watch the
canopy, to reflect upon the vastness of the uni-
verse.”
“I was raised in Kansas,” said Bat, “and in
the days when there was no end of stars, plenty
of moon, and lots of chance for them to show
themselves. But to me, night was made to sleep
in, and the only use I had for either moon or
stars was to see my way home by, if I happened
to be out after hours.”


Io& ASHTON-KIRK
“Is it possible that you never walk out—here?”
The soft man seemed appalled, but the cold green
eyes were as watchful as those of a cat. “Is it
possible that you never hear—from your window,
perhaps—the whispering of the night?”
Bat laughed.
“Whispering,” said he. “Well, if that's whis-
pering, let me say that the night has some well
developed voice. Up here,” he added, “it’s the
greatest place for thunder you ever saw. It comes
up when you never expect it.”
“Thunder l” said the soft man; and the cold
eyes seemed to smile.
Bat nodded.
“Pretty loud, too,” said he. “And as for tak-
ing little walks at night—well, that's hardly the
thing to do hereabouts. You see, there's a lot of
vags about; and they make it a little danger-
ous. A friend of mine up at the big place you
were just talking about,” and Scanlon gestured
toward the castle, “is kept on the jump all the
time by them. They're very forward; even un-
dertake a little housebreaking now and then, he
says.”
The soft man caressed one hand with the other.
“Ah, well,” he sighed, “everything has its draw-
backs. I suppose it's too much to hope for com-
plete tranquillity. I thank you, sir, for your
courtesy. Straight on, did you say? and then


SPECIAL DETECTIVE Io9
across the bridge? Again, thank you You are
very kind.”
And so the soft-looking man moved softly down
the road, and Bat stood looking after him from
under puckered brows.


SPECIAL DETECTIVE I I I
child, they fed him culture with a spoon. He
knows more inside stuff about people whom ordi-
nary people never heard of than you'd think
could be found out in a half dozen lifetimes.”
“How very interesting,” said Miss Knowles.
“Only to-day he was overhauling a group of
musty old fellows who, so it would seem, put in
their lives poking around among skulls.”
“Oh !” Miss Knowles said this, and her hands
went up in a pretty gesture, apparently of dismay.
But Bat, somehow, was quite sure it was to hide
the expression that swept across her face. How-
ever, he went on, calmly:
“To find a dome that was fore and aft, or to
put the tape around one that leaned to one side,
was life's extreme limit for those chaps. They
even seem to have written books about bumps
which any fairly strong man could pack into the
thumb of a lady's glove.”
“And is your friend also interested in this
study?” asked the girl.
“Only a little,” replied Scanlon. “He does
not make a practice of any one thing, as a matter
of fact. He's the kind of a fellow who has a great
many cards up his sleeve; and so he always has
one to play when it's wanted.”
“That,” said Miss Knowles, “is clever of him.”
“And it's so unusual to find a man interested in
biographical bypaths,” said Miss Hohenlo. “The


II 2 ASHTON-KIRK
Count, you know, figured largely in the court of
Frederic the Great; he was a friend to Voltaire and
other men of note, and gave his sword and his
genius for the freedom of these states.”
“Sure,” said Bat. “He’s one that slipped by
me; but I can appreciate him for all that.”
The delicate hands went out in a gesture ex-
tremely girlish ; the spinster's faded face was full
of rapture.
“It is really remarkable how things come
about,” she said, “and, somehow, I feel that the
visit of Mr. Ashton-Kirk will result in something.”
“I’m sure it will,” said Bat, calmly.
“Frederic has been gathering documents for a
long time,” she went on. “I have a number of
journals containing data of a most interesting
character, and there are letters without number
from historical personages. These together will
show the beautiful fulness of the Count's life.
When your friend comes again, we must not fail
to call his attention to them.”
“On the next visit he'll not miss a thing,” stated
Scanlon, confidently.
As they arose from the table Miss Hohenlo went
to a window, raised it and looked out over the
country, now dimming under the hand of dusk.
“If Schwartzberg had nothing else in its
favor,” she said, vivaciously, “we could always
fall back upon the glorious weather. And to-


SPECIAL DETECTIVE II 3
night,” with a gesture of the beautiful hands, “is
more than usually splendid.”
As she stood there, framed in the high window,
the spinster looked even more angular than Scanlon
had supposed her to be. Her faded hair threw
back nothing that the lamplight gave it; her neck
was thin, her arms were long and awkward. Near
her stood the stately Miss Knowles, magnificent
in her youth, her height, her long soft lines. The
girl's complexion was more like cream and roses
than ever; the splendid crown of yellow hair was
built up in a shining mass.
Striking as was her beauty, and much as he
would have liked to stand and admire it, Bat
Scanlon's interest was called to something else.
The actions of Miss Hohenlo at the window were
commonplace enough, and yet, somehow, Miss
Knowles seemed to attach much importance to
them. The girl stood talking with Campe. Their
tones were low; and the young man's face had
lost the strained look. The fear, which usually
held its place so fixedly in his eyes, was gone for
the time, and an eagerness had replaced it.
“Fine for him l’’ was Bat's mental comment.
“If it don't do anything else, the entertainment
will rest him up for a little, and that's something.
And,” here his mouth twisted slightly at the
corner, “the lady is as interested as he is, but
not at the same thing.”


II.4. ASHTON-KIRK
There was a subtle something going on which
the big man did not grasp ; that it was proceed-
ing was plain enough ; but its meaning was lost
upon him.
“I’m muffing it,” was his thought. “Right
under it, too. It must be,” sadly, “that the
grand stand's too big ; a minor leaguer never
does get a right slant at anything until he's out
of the bush for a season. Kirk ought to be
here.”
“How deep the shadows grow on the east of
the hills,” spoke Miss Hohenlo, sentimentally.
“I love to watch them as they thicken and
lengthen in the evening.” She leaned further
from the window, a hand outstretched. “There
is only the faintest of breezes,” she continued,
“so little that one can scarcely detect its direc-
tion.”
At this, the watching Scanlon saw the blue eyes
of Miss Knowles narrow; the look of interest upon
her face deepened.
“Now it's the wind,” said Bat, to himself. “And
I am up to my eyebrows for sure.”
“Frederic,” and Miss Hohenlo turned to her
nephew, “see if you can catch the wind's direc-
tion.” -
Obediently the young man left the side of Miss
Knowles.
“It's from the northwest, I think,” said he


SPECIAL DETECTIVE II 5
“Yes, look there. Those tall birches are stirring;
you can see their tops against the sky.”
“What wonderful sight you have, my dear,”
said his aunt, as she fixed her eye-glasses upon
her insignificant nose, and strove to see the tree
tops he mentioned. “You must inherit it from
your father's family, for ours have never seen
very clearly.” She looked out into the dusk
with much affectation of fear. “Oh, dear, isn’t
it very lonely out there ?” she said. “Dark-
ness does make such a change, doesn’t it, Mr.
Scanlon ?”
“One time,” said Mr. Scanlon, “when I had
nothing else to do, I took a short whirl at a
theatrical enterprise in Dodge City. And that
showed me something fresh about the effects of
darkness. Flood the stage with light and you
couldn’t stir a thrill in the audience, no matter to
what histrionic lengths you went. But put on the
shadows and you began to get them; shut off the
lights altogether, and you could feel things creep-
ing right over the footlights.”
“Could you really ?” Miss Hohenlo was ex-
tremely juvenile in her gestures of terror. “It
must have been dreadful !” Then to her nephew :
“You are quite sure it's from the northwest,
Frederic P”
“Yes, quite sure,” replied the young man a
trifle impatiently. He had gone back to the girl


II 6 ASHTON-KIRK
once more and taken up the low-pitched conver-
sation.
“Perhaps,” said Miss Hohenlo, “it might
change.”
Young Campe did not hear this, so Mr. Scanlon
said, reassuringly:
“Not to-night it won’t. It'll stick around that
quarter till sunup, anyway.”
“Isn’t it delightful to understand the laws of
Nature?” said Miss Hohenlo. “I never had a
head for it, really.”
A. very few moments later she moved out of the
room; Scanlon, with a nod and a half spoken ex-
cuse, left the girl and Campe together. Descend-
ing the stone stairs, he let himself out into the
courtyard, and lighting a cigar he began walking
up and down.
The square figure of the German sergeant-
major was to be seen upon the wall; there was
something intent in his attitude, indistinct though
he was.
“A good watch-dog,” mused Bat, as he puffed
away. “But, dash it, I don't get him 1 A fellow
like that is useful if you know he belongs to you ;
but when you get to thinking that he might 99
Here the big man paused and took the cigar from
his mouth. “What happened to that lamp in the
vaults yesterday?” he demanded of himself.
“What did it smash for? It wasn’t till after-


II 8 ASHTON-KIRK
“The northwest !” said he, to himself. “What
the dickens is there about the northwest that —”
here he stopped, a thought taking shape in his
mind. “I’ll go out and give it the once over,”
said he, gravely. “There might be something
cooking, out that way; and if no one's there it
might boil over.”
He called once more to Kretz.
“Hello,” answered the man.
“Come down,” requested Bat, “and open the
gate. I want to go out.”
The sergeant-major descended from the wall.
“To go out,” stated he, “is not wise. Outside
there is danger—from the tramps.”
“Unbolt the gate,” said Bat, serenely. “I rather
like tramps. In fact, one of the regrets of my
young life is that I’ve met so few of them.”
“In the cellar,” said Kretz, as he shot back a
bolt, “they fired at us.”
“Maybe,” suggested Bat, “that volley ran them
out of ammunition.”
“You do not know how much they are to be
feared,” said the German, stubbornly. “I have
served. I have seen danger. But,” and Bat saw
his head shake, “never any like this.”
“To-night,” said the big man, “I feel like tak-
ing a chance. Stick around, will you, so you can
let me in when I get back.”
Reluctantly the sergeant-major opened the gate;


SPECIAL DETECTIVE II 9
then he closed it promptly and Bat, from the out-
side, heard him refastening it.
“Is it that he is anxious that nothing should
happen to me; or is it that he wants nothing to
happen to something else?" reflected Bat, as he
threw away the cigar, and stood by the gate look-
ing away into the night. “Little anxieties like
that might work both ways, as I’ve seen to my
cost.” -
Slowly and quietly he passed around the wall,
and at a point overlooking the northwest he
paused.
“The Potomac at its quietest never had any-
thing on this,” said he, gently. “It’s as peaceful,
apparently, as a pastoral on a post-card. All it
needs is a section of moon, a fleecy cloud, and a
happy pair of lovers.”
It was a serene, quiet night; the wind from
the northwest was but the merest puff; the
shadowy hills lay long and looming on every
side; the stars were few and seemed very far
away.
“It's on these still nights, though,” ruminated
Bat, “that things that make a noise usually have
their beginnings. Some wise old lad, in the days
gone by, came through with a remark about the
3alm before the storm ; and as an observer, I'll
say that he held aces. Because it's always been
my experience that your man always takes his


I 2 O ASHTON-KIRK
longest rest before he comes at you with both
hands swinging. So the right dope must be :
the quieter the night, the wider you should keep
your eyes open.”
Just then he turned his head and looked up at
the castle. At an open window he saw some-
thing move. It was a woman in white—a tall
woman. Bat's straining eyes made her out.
“The young one,” said he, softly.
The window was dark, but the white of the
gown was distinct; and the outlines, vague though
they were, were unmistakable. And she seemed
to be looking out over the swelling country toward
the northwest.
“There are happenings to be expected, as I
thought,” murmured Mr. Scanlon. “Doings are
being started just as sure as she stands in that
window.”
He turned his eyes away from the shadowy
window and toward the equally shadowy quarter
which held the girl's attention. For a space all
was alike; it seemed evenly dark. Then he
began to perceive points of light between the
hills; these were low places in the western sky
which the night had not stained completely
black. Against one of these, Bat, as he looked,
caught a movement; some slinking, peculiar
figures crossed it and were at once swallowed
up


SPECIAL DETECTIVE I 2 I
“Right,” muttered Mr. Scanlon, grimly. “Just
hold that for a little, and I’ll be with you.”
And with that he quietly descended the slope of
the hill upon which Schwartzberg stood, and made
off into the darkness.


CHAPTER IX
IN WHICH SOME THINGS ARE DONE AND
SOME OTHERS ARE SAID
AS Bat went cautiously onward, the place
where he had seen the movement marked in his
mind, he was aware of a glimmering of light over
his shoulder. Turning his head he saw the rim
of the moon pushing its way above the trees be-
hind him.
“Hello !” said he, “Here's our friend with the
smiling face, and I don't know whether I'm glad
to see him or not.” He stood gazing at the disc,
which mounted rapidly, throwing its cold rays
along the hills. “Anyway,” continued Bat, philo-
sophically, “I caught him over my right shoulder,
and that means a run of luck. So with things
fixed in my favor, I’d better go on.”
Keeping as much in the shadow as possible, he
went his way. After a time he drew near to a
hill, higher than any of those about it, from which
he had more than once admired the ancient look-
ing towers of Schwartzberg.
“I think I'd better top that,” he muttered, “and
take an observation. If there's any one moving
I22


I 24 ASHTON-KIRK
singularly light wheels. And the stumbling hoofs
of the usual horse were absent.
“Can it be some one doing a little hill climbing
on a bicycle?” was the big man's silent question.
“If so, he has an original turn of mind.”
But in a few moments more a shape emerged
from the shadows, coming up the hill. It was a
rolling chair; in it was a muffled figure and be-
hind it labored a squat, strong looking servant.
“By Jovel” was Bat's mental exclamation.
“It’s the sick fellow from the inn.”
Upon reaching the crest of the hill the chair
stopped. The squat servant spoke to the invalid
inquiringly, but in a strange tongue.
“Lift me up,” directed the man in the chair.
The stocky one did as directed; the patient
turned his face toward the castle, and his eyes re-
mained fixed upon it for a long time. The breeze
moved softly; there was scarcely a sound to be
heard.
“He’s been here before,” mused Bat, from the
shadow of the tree. “And it's not been for air,
either.” Then Ashton-Kirk and his array of pic-
tured skulls occurred to the watcher, and he gazed
at the peculiar frontal formation of the sick man
with attention. “I wonder,” was his next thought,
“how Kirk doped it out that this fellow was in on
our affair? and I also wonder what a skull with a
flat place in front's got to do with it?”


SPECIAL DETECTIVE I 25
After a time Bat saw that the pale hands of the
invalid were moving as though he were fumbling
impatiently with his wrappings. Then, for a space,
he'd remain perfectly still; as the pale moon shone
directly upon his face, Bat noted that his eyes
during these periods of stillness were closed. But
once more they'd open and again the wasted hands
would begin to stir in the same impatient way.
During the spaces in which the sick man sat with
closed eyes, the watcher often saw his face twitch
suddenly; and once he laughed out, clear and
loud. -
For the space of half an hour this continued;
then there was a long period during which the
sick one sat as though he were thinking. Then
he spoke quietly to his servant; promptly the man
lowered him to a reclining position, turned the
chair about and wheeled it carefully away in the
direction from which they came.
Amazed, Bat stood beneath the friendly tree.
“Well,” said he, “I wonder what's all that?
There is something on the range, that's sure; but
as far as my memory goes it's the queerest bit of
cookery I ever witnessed. There he sits with his
eyes shut, and makes faces at the moon. And
the lad that pushes him around instead of putting
in a call for an ambulance seems to think it a per-
fectly natural proceeding.”
Scanlon gazed once more in the direction of


I 26 ASHTON-KIRK
Schwartzberg; a spot of yellow light winked here
and there from a window; but otherwise the great
place, lit as it was by the moon, seemed paler and
more ghostly than ever.
“If that was a winter moon, and there was
snow on the ground, and the Christmas bells were
ringing in the distance,” mused Bat, “I’d under-
stand why I feel as I do. Those trees over there
would be the Black Forest; there would be a
small bright place among them showing the char-
coal burners at work; and in a couple of minutes
along would come a little old man with a white
beard and a bundle of faggots on his back. Then
I'd know I was six years old and reading a story-
book. But being a man and grown to some size,
I'm up in the air.”
He stepped out from the shadow of the tree,
and throwing his arms wide, yawned luxuriously.
Then he realized that several men stood beside
him.
“Hello!” said Bat, and brought the yawn to
an abrupt termination. “How are you?”
One was the drawn-looking man whom he and
Ashton-Kirk had seen at the inn; the other was
the brisk little physician whom they had seen upon
the same occasion.
The drawn-looking man stood with stooped
shoulders and regarded Bat with wondering eyes.
Then he coughed into a handkerchief.


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 127
“It’s a very brilliant night,” suggested he.
“Great l” replied Bat.
The little physician fixed his eye-glasses firmly
upon his nose.
“It is a night,” stated he, “for being outdoors.
As a matter of fact, any night, or any day, are
excellent for that purpose. The warm-blooded
animal requires great quantities of those forces
which the air holds for his use; and to get them
he must go where it is. Otherwise he'll be ill.”
“That sounds like a very good argument,” ob-
served Bat, calmly.
“As a rule,” stated the doctor, and he regarded
Bat through his lenses, “my patients resent the
idea of outdoors. They look at it askance. There
is the suggestion of hardship in the mere idea.
They want to be coddled in a room full of poison-
ous vapors.” Still he looked at the big man
fixedly; then he continued, “You are not of sickly
habit, I think, and so you require no urging to
take the air.”
“Not a bit,” replied Scanlon. “To-night, as
a matter of fact,” his mind running back to the
words of Kretz, “I was strongly urged to stay in-
doors.”
The drawn man coughed; he looked extremely
fragile in the pale light; his face was bloodless,
and his eyes had a feverish glint.
“In the main, the doctor is correct in his obser-


I 28 ASHTON-KIRK
vations,” said he. “But, for all, I can't help
thinking there are times when one should stay
inside.”
Bat waited a moment, expecting a protest from
the physician; but none came ; that gentleman
was engaged with the moonlit landscape.
“And such times?” asked Bat. “Just what are
they like?”
The drawn man wiped his lips, and his thin,
bowed shoulders shrugged.
“Perhaps one's own discretion is best as to
that,” said he, mildly. “But, for the sake of an
example, a skipper does not venture to sea in the
face of a storm; a mountaineer keeps from the
passes in the season of snows; a careful man does
not force his way into those things which do not
concern him.”
“I get you,” said Bat, thoughtfully. “But I
also see some holes in your argument. It's not
nearly so good as the doctor's spiel for fresh air.
The skipper, if he's on his job and has the craft,
has no right to let a blow keep him in bed; and
I’ve seen real two-handed lads hold to the passes
in all weathers. So far as the careful man is con-
cerned—well, different people have different ideas
about what makes up a man of that kind. Your
notion of one seems to be a man who wouldn’t
take a chance except in his own affairs. But, in
my little book, he's written down as one who'd


SPECIAL DETECTIVE I 29
think his friend's affair just as important—and he'd
be just as anxious to set it right.”
“I think,” said the doctor, turning, “we’d bet-
ter make our way down to the road. The moon,
in a few moments, will be under the clouds, and
the path is rather steep.”
The drawn man coughed and nodded to Mr.
Scanlon.
“Good-night,” said he. “Now that you are
out,” and he smiled disagreeably, “I trust you'll
enjoy yourself.”
“Thanks,” replied the big man, coolly. “I’ve
always had kind of a knack of doing that; so I
shouldn't wonder if I did.”


CHAPTER X
SHOWS HOW MRS. KRETZ SPOKE HER MIND
BAT SCANLON stood for a space under the
neighborly tree; he could hear the drawn man
coughing away into the gloom at the foot of the
hill.
“Now,” observed he, “am I indeed over my
head. Not only have we one man in this little
matter who is so far through that he must be
shoved along in a chair, but here comes another
who goes wheezing around on one lung and
throwing hints of a threatening nature.”
He slipped an automatic pistol from his hip
pocket—a black, bulky, deadly thing; and he
smoothed it with a feeling of satisfaction.
“Hints are all very well,” he went on ; “but
they never did any harm, and they never got any-
body anything. Doing’s what counts; and all I’ve
got to say is, let somebody start doing something
I don’t like.”
Thinking it just as well to move from the spot
he then occupied, Bat, pistol in hand, made his
way along the crest of the hill and struck into a
path which was to some extent shaded from the
moon's rays. He had a very clear recollection of
I3o


SPECIAL DETECTIVE I 3 I
the brisk rattle of shots in the vaults on the day
before, and he had no desire to court another
such.
But he picked his way along through the rising
ground without mischance; the river gleamed
coldly and smoothly; the walls and towers of
Schwartzberg looked darker at close hand, and
lost the ghostly, transparent quality which they
had taken from the distance. Bat was somewhat
disappointed.
“Here I take a gentleman's promise—for that's
what it really was—of some entertainment. I
even think enough of it to draw a gun, and pick
the covered spots. And now there's nothing do-
ing. What the dickens is the world coming to
when a fellow can’t ??
There was a loud splash from the river close
by ; looking quickly in that direction Bat saw a
bulky form stumbling about in the shallows under
a bank. Two other forms instantly appeared and
steadied the burly one; then all disappeared like
a flash.
“The curtain,” observed Bat, grimly, “is a little
late in rising ; but it seems we're going to have a
show after all.”
Holding to the shadow thrown by the high
wall, he made his way cautiously toward the spot.
On the edge of the shadow he paused, but there
was no sound; so, with his automatic held ready,


I 32 ASHTON-KIRK
he stepped out into the light and advanced toward
the bank. A broken place was plain; but no one
was in sight.
“The big fellow stood too close to the edge;
then the thing caved in and let him down into the
water,” reasoned Bat. “But,” and his gaze went
about, “what's become of him and the parties
who offered the helping hand in his time of need?”
The river bank was clear of all obstructions for
some distance above and below Schwartzberg; the
moonlight flooded it; there was no place where
any one could hide.
“That being the case, and the prowling parties
not being in sight, I think I’ll step back where I
can’t be so readily seen,” said the big man.
He had turned about and was moving away
from the river when a rifle sounded; clear against
the moonlit sky he made out Kretz upon the wall.
“Hello!” said Scanlon, his hands at his mouth
like a megaphone. “That'll be about all of that.”
The sergeant-major lowered his gun, and stood
looking down; and within a few minutes the big
man was at the gate and hammering to be let in.
Kretz admitted him, sullen-faced and silent.
“Suppose you always take a look,” spoke
Scanlon, after the gate had been closed and fast-
ened, “a good look, mind you, before you cut
loose with that gun of yours. And let this be es-
pecially the case when I'm known to be outside.”


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 133
“Twice to-night have I seen people near the
river before I saw you. Each time I called, but
they said nothing. The third time I fired.”
“And I just happened along in time to be the
goat,” grumbled Bat. Then, with a sharp side
glance at the sergeant-major's grim face, he added
mentally, as he turned away, “That is, if you
didn't know who it was.”
Inside he found the room where he usually
spent the evenings with Campe deserted. But
from another apartment the voice of Miss Knowles
was heard laughing, and that of Campe answered
with much animation.
“Oh, come now,” said Mr. Scanlon; “if it was
somebody other than that blonde girl who was
with him I’d say that this wasn’t half bad.”
An atmosphere of change was about the rooms
which had been so gloomy; for the first time since
he had been there, fear was sharing the center of
the stage with something else.
“If I’d only thought of Ashton-Kirk sooner,”
said Bat, “the whole thing might have been
straightened out by now. His just coming here
for an hour, and Campe not even knowing who
he was, has put a new face on things.”
He wandered about among the lower rooms for
a time, and finally began to run through the books
in the library.
But none of them pleased him, for it seemed


I 34 ASHTON-KIRK
a time for action; so shutting the bookcase door,
he turned away; and then he saw Kretz's daugh-
ter beckoning to him.
“Eh?” said he, staring.
“My mother,” said the girl, stolidly. “She is
in the kitchen. She wants you.”
Then she vanished. For a few moments Mr.
Scanlon continued his stare—but now at the
empty doorway. Then with the little twist at the
corner of his mouth, and with something like in-
terest in his eyes, he made his way toward the
kitchen.
The lamps, hanging from the beamed ceiling,
threw but a dim light about the huge room; a
sullen fire burned in the fireplace; the copper ves-
sels gleamed dully. Upon a rush-bottomed chair
near the blaze sat Mrs. Kretz. In her strong
hands were some long steel needles, and she was
knitting a stocking of blue wool. She nodded to
Scanlon as he entered.
“Lena,” she said to the girl, “get a chair.”
A second rush-bottomed chair was brought for-
ward by the girl, who then retired to a little dis-
tance and also took up the knitting of a stocking
of blue yarn—evidently the fellow to the one her
mother was engaged upon.
“My husband,” spoke Mrs. Kretz, “is outside.
He is watching. He will not be in for some
time.”


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 135
Bat nodded.
“And,” continued the woman, “while he is not
here, I will have some talk with you.”
“Sure,” said Mr. Scanlon.
“In this house I have been since spring,” said
Mrs. Kretz. “Was it in April, Lena P”
“It was in April,” agreed Lena.
“Since spring,” said Mrs. Kretz. “And I am
afraid.”
The interest in Mr. Scanlon’s eyes deepened.
“Of what?” he asked.
But the woman gazed at him with an expres-
sion even more wooden than her daughter.
“I don't know.” She laid the knitting on the
hearth beside her and folded her hands in her lap.
“My husband knows. But my husband never
speaks of things to me. He does not trust
women,” simply. “But I am afraid. And Lena
is afraid.”
Mr. Scanlon leaned forward,
“It isn't only that something is going on which
you don’t understand that makes you afraid.”
The woman considered this word by word and
then shook her head.
“No,” she said; “there is more.”
“Something has happened—you've seen it—
maybe more than once,” suggested Bat.
The big man had a pretty clear belief that for a
guest to endeavor to worm things out of his host's


136 ASHTON-KIRK
servants was not altogether decent; but in the
present case he felt that the attempt was justified.
“There have been many things happened,”
spoke the woman. “They began when we first
came, and they have never stopped.”
She sat looking at Bat for a moment, then she
proceeded :
“Do you know why you are here?”
Bat nodded.
“I’ve never been told, but I’ve kind of guessed
my way through it.”
“They are afraid to tell,” said Mrs. Kretz.
“They fear those outside there; and they also
fear the police.”
“Huh !” said Mr. Scanlon.
There was a long period of silence, for he felt
that it were best to let her go her own way.
“For the people outside they watch,” said Mrs.
Kretz, at length. “Always outside. But,” and
the strong hands knotted together suddenly and
her voice sank to a whisper, “who watches in-
side P”
“Inside?” said Bat, quietly. “Do we need a
watch inside? Are we not all friends in Schwartz-
berg '"
Here the girl laughed, though she did not look
up from her work. And the laugh was one not
pleasant to hear.
“You do not know,” said Mrs. Kretz, and she


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 137
shook her head. “You do not see. One night
since you came,” and here her voice was lowered
once more, “a woman screamed. And a shot
was fired. Do you remember?”
“I heard both,” said Bat. “But I don’t know
the reason for either.”
“Lena was sick—with her tooth,” said Mrs.
Kretz. “I went to speak to my husband. I saw
the door of the vault standing open. And beside
it was Miss Knowles, the key in her hand. I
knew something was about to happen; I ran to
the door to close it. Then the shot came—from
below; she screamed; I closed and made fast the
door.”
“Well ?”
“She is of the family,” said Mrs. Kretz, “and
so I never knew how she lied herself out of it.”
“You feel sure she opened the door, eh?”
The woman nodded. “What for, do you sup-
pose?”
“To allow some one below to come up. But
that thing is not all. Why does she walk about
in the corridors at night? What does she do out-
side when all should be asleep but the dogs?”
“You saw her one night,” said Lena, speaking
suddenly. “The night Mr. Campe was hurt.”
“Yes,” said Bat.
“On that same night,” spoke Mrs. Kretz, “I
was arranging something in the large room where


SPECIAL DETECTIVE I 39
weapon like the sword which hangs between the
windows.”
Bat caught his breath.
“No l” said he, appalled. “No !”
“You think a woman couldn’t do it? Well,
don’t forget that this one is tall and strong.”
Bat gestured the idea away. He, himself, had
spoken of Miss Knowles and her doings suspi-
ciously. But now that these suspicions were
voiced by another, and raised to a pitch of un-
thought horror, he almost sickened at them.
“Why,” said he, the recollection of many little
glances and accents rushing to his mind, “she
might even be in love with him.”
“He is with her,” corrected the woman. “And
that, you know, is different.”
She once more took up the blue stocking and
began to move the needles in and out among the
loops. Lena was stolidly engaged in a like man-
ner, never having lifted her head since she began,
not even when she herself had spoken.
“Neither of them has any great width be-
tween the hair line and the eyebrows,” said Bat
mentally, as he looked from one to the other.
“It's the sort of calm that passes all understand-
ing; and those persons gifted with it usually live
blameless lives.”
The kitchen clock tick-tocked away in its long,
wooden case, as drowsily as need be; the wooden


I 4o ASHTON-KIRK
kitchen things which were in view looked heavy
and commonplace.
“But, for all they don’t seem very ready to
grab a thing,” said Bat, to himself, “these women
have realized something. And that's promising.
Things have happened here, and that's the surest
sign that things will continue to happen. And
this pair may turn out to be of use—if I don’t ex-
pect too much of them.”
The great fireplace faced the open door of the
kitchen; they all sat facing the fire, and so with
their backs to the door. Bat, with a tight, strained
feeling in his brain, clasped his hands behind his
head and leaned back in his chair.
“To you, who are a stranger, I say all these
things,” said Mrs. Kretz, busy with her needles.
“And it is for this: You have been told nothing
—because they are afraid. You are Mr. Campe's
friend, and want to help him. But how can you
give help where you do not understand P”
Bat agreed with this.
“But,” said he, his eyes upon a great copper
vessel which stood shining dully from the chimney
piece, “I could have wished you’d had some
other sort of information for me. For this puts
me up against something that'll be pretty hard to
do.”
The kitchen doorway was reflected in the
sheen of the copper vessel; and, framed in this,


SPECIAL DETECTIVE I4 I
his brooding eyes saw a man. It was a soft,
bulky figure, with white, fat hands and a round
face with small light-colored eyes. And while he
looked, it moved softly past the doorway and was
gone.


CHAPTER XI
TELLS SOMETHING OF TWO GENTLEMEN WHO
WERE ENCOUNTERED UNEXPECTEDLY
MR. BARTHOLOMEW SCANLON stood up with
much calmness.
“I'm obliged to you,” said he nodding first to
Mrs. Kretz and then to her daughter. “And I'll
think over what you've said. It might bring me
even with something.”
“There is my husband,” said the elder woman.
“He thinks women are foolish. You'll not speak
to him P”
“About this? No. I'll mention it to no one.
And,” pausing in his movement toward the door,
“if you hear or see anything else which may be
useful to Mr. Campe, don't make me wait for it.”
“I will speak to you at once,” promised Mrs.
Kretz, intent upon the blue stocking.
In the hall, outside the kitchen door, Bat
Scanlon's manner changed. Bulky as he was and
with forty years resting upon him, he was still a
well conditioned athlete. Slower than he was at
twenty, he was supple enough when he set him-
I42


SPECIAL DETECTIVE I43
self to it; and now he moved down the hall swiftly
and with the lightness of a boy.
No one was in sight; the first door he came to
stood open; it was a sort of storage room for the
servants, and no one was there. The next door
led to the vaults under the castle; this was closed.
But a turn of the knob showed that it was not
locked.
“The soft one oozed in by this route,” thought
Bat as he closed the door. “And some thought-
ful friend prepared the way for him, for witness
the fact that there are bolts on the door as well as
a lock.”
Silently he rebolted the door; with some slivers
of wood from the storage room, pointed with his
pocket-knife, he so jammed the bolts that it would
be no easy task to shoot them back.
“In this way,” murmured Bat, putting away
the knife, “I place some small impediment in the
path of the soft party should he desire to back out
of the premises in a hurry.”
Quietly the big man went through the lower
floor; each room was visited and examined nar-
rowly. But he found no one; there were no traces
of any one. At the foot of the stairs he paused;
from above came the voice of Campe, and in it
there was lightness and ease.
“The billiard ball is also merrily clicking,” said
Mr. Scanlon. “Evidently he is still engaged


144 ASHTON-KIRK
with the golden-haired Helen, and she is making
him forget his troubles.” He began quietly to
ascend the stairs. “But it might behoove him to
keep an eye open; for who knows when her ambi-
tion might break out afresh, and she might take
another swing at him with the sword.” -
As his head appeared above the landing, he
came in sight of the billiard room door. This was
open and a stream of light flowed out into the
hall. Standing flat against the wall, his back to
the staircase, and peering around the door-frame
into the billiard room was the soft-looking man.
Gently Mr. Scanlon advanced; quietly he
touched the man upon the shoulder; then, as the
head turned, skilfully he chipped him upon the
jaw. The body buckled, and crumpled into a soft
mass in Scanlon's arms. Lowering it to the floor
the big man stepped into the doorway. In the
billiard room were Campe and Miss Hohenlo.
“Hello,” said the former with a startled look,
but a manner expressive of relief. “I thought I
heard somebody shuffling around out there.”
“I’d like to speak to you a moment,” said the
big man, “if” with a glance at the spinster, “Miss
Hohenlo will pardon us.”
Miss Hohenlo shook her faded hair and gestured
prettily with her beautiful hands.
“Frederic has so many little secrets of late, and
so many matters he seems anxious to keep from


SPECIAL DETECTIVE I45
me, that one, more or less, will make no differ-
ence. I’ll rehearse my next play while you are
gone.”
Campe came out into the hall. Scanlon stood
between him and the body until he closed the
door.
“Now, sit tight,” admonished the big man,
“and give me a lift.”
With a face as gray as ashes, Campe looked at
the senseless man.
“Who is it?” he asked. “And how did he get
here P’’ -
“As an answer to the first question, I'll say I
don’t know,” said Scanlon. “To the second, he
came in by way of the cellar; and the door lead-
ing therefrom was unfastened by some one in the
house.”
“Again l” Campe looked as though death it-
self had clutched him. “Again!”
“You’ve never thought it wise to put me up in
these affairs of yours,” said Scanlon, “so I’ll now
have nothing to say in them. However, that'll
not stop me from doing any little thing that I
think needs doing.”
Campe put a trembling hand upon the big man's
arm.
“Bat,” said he, quietly enough, “no man was
ever more bedeviled than I am, and I’ve not been
exactly frank with you —”


146 ASHTON-KIRK
But Scanlon stopped him.
“Some time we'll both be in a humor for a
talk,” said he, “and we'll save the matter till then.
Just now there is another bit of business to work
through. Get hold of it by the legs.”
Together they took up the heavy body and car-
ried it down the hall to Scanlon's room, where
they laid it upon the floor.
“He looks,” observed Bat, “as if he'd got his
last jolt; but he'll live to get many more, so don’t
worry. What I want you to do, as a kind of ad-
dition to your burden bearing, is to sit here and
watch him. Got your gun on ?”
“Yes,” said young Campe.
“If he comes to, advise him to keep still; if he
refuses, poke the barrel in his face. If he insists,
hammer him over the head until he grows peace-
ful.”
“But,” said Campe, “what are you going to
dOP.”
“Look around a little,” replied Bat, who had
moved toward the door. “I’ll not be gone long.
Don’t say a word now, and watch your man.”
Bat softly opened the door and stepped out into
the hall. There was nothing definite in his mind;
but, vaguely, he felt that there were more ex-
periences to come.
“If one man came out of the vaults, why not
more?” he asked himself. “If some one opened


148 ASHTON-KIRK
“The golden Helen l” was Scanlon's next
thought. “And promptly on the job l’”
The rustling stopped; then a whisper came.
“Paul I’”
There was no reply and again came the whis-
per.
“Paul I ?”
Once more came the creaking of hinges; another
door had opened.
“What is it?” came the answer.
“Hush | Not so loud l” The whisper seemed
filled with fear.
Then Bat heard the woman move further for-
ward; she spoke again, but this time so low that
he could not catch the words.
“The deuce,” said the man, startled. “How
do you know?”
“I feel sure of it,” was the whispered reply
“Don't lose your nerve,” said the man, swiftly.
“This is the first good chance we’ve had, and we
must make the best of it.”
“Be careful,” pleaded the woman.
“I’ll be sure to,” said the man. “And now
keep a lookout. If you hear or see anything, give
me the signal.”
The hinges of the invisible door creaked as it
closed; then the rustling of the skirts began once
more. As it approached Bat flattened himself
against the wall. Slowly the woman drew nearer;


SPECIAL DETECTIVE I49
then she was beside him, her skirts brushing him;
but that she was unaware of his presence was
proved by her continuing in silence and without a
pause. But after a few moments Bat heard a
slight sound as though she had caught her breath
suddenly, and she came to a halt.
“She's got to the turn in the hall,” said the big
man, mentally, “and she's found the two lights off
duty.”
But the fact did not detain the woman, for once
more the rustling began and finally the listener
heard it die away.
“And now I may as well push my scouting
venture,” was Scanlon’s soundless resolution.
“The man inside there may be engaged in a
matter that would interest me a great deal.”
But he had barely got under way when he
halted.
“The skirts!” said he. “And coming back l”
Sure enough they were. Frou-frou, frou-frou,
they came, more sharply than before, for the
wearer was evidently moving at a brisker pace.
“Something new !” said Scanlon. “Maybe
she's dropped to my doings, and she's going to
put the party in the room on to it.”
He felt that he could not chance the passage
of the hall once more; his groping hand had
touched the wood of a door; now he found the
knob, opened the door silently as possible, slipped


I 5o ASHTON-KIRK
inside and partially closed it. It was fortunate
that he did so; for immediately afterward came a
short, snapping sound, and a flare of light filled
the hall. Scanlon stooped cautiously to the key-
hole, and peered through it; there, holding a
lighted match above her golden head, stood Miss
Knowles.
“Came back looking for little me,” was Mr.
Scanlon's conclusion. “Well, look away, Helen
of the crown of gold; for behind the door I’m
going to stick.”
The match burned out; there followed the
sound of some one moving along the hall, and
when silence had fallen once more, Scanlon began
to stir. But as he came from behind the door he
caught a trickle of light in the room. He stood
staring at it for a moment; and then it dawned
upon him what it was.
“Still another door,” murmured he.
Gently he approached the seeping light; it
came, as he judged, from under a door, and
through its keyhole. He listened; from the ad-
joining room he caught the sound of rustling
paper, and now and then the closing of a drawer.
“Isn’t he the thorough little ransacker, though?”
continued Mr. Scanlon, immediately interpreting
these sounds. “Well, there's no use in putting
him to needless trouble; I’d better go in and have
a few words with him—if I can open the door.”


SPECIAL DETECTIVE I 5 I
Fortunately he found that he could; the door
swung in, and a man, who stood under a light ex-
amining some papers at a table, lifted his head.
He put a handkerchief to his lips and coughed;
then he nodded.
“How do you do?” said he.
Mr. Scanlon was equally polite.
“I felt that I'd see you again,” stated he. “But
I had no idea it would be to-night.”
The drawn-looking man turned over a few of
the papers; then gathered up the lot and threw
them into a drawer.
“Unexpected little things have a way of hap-
pening,” said he. “And it's as well that they do;
for they are really of that elemental spice which
makes life worth while.” He dumped the con-
tents of another drawer upon the table, and nodded
toward a chair. “Won't you sit down?” he asked.
“I don't mind if I do,” said Mr. Scanlon, so-
ciably.
And so he sat down in the chair. And while
the drawn man busied himself with the fresh batch
of papers, Bat took out the tobacco pouch and the
little packet of papers and rolled himself a ciga-
rette. This he lighted, and puffed away com-
fortably.
“You seem to be hard at it,” commented he,
after a pause, during which he watched the la-
bors of the other.


I 52 ASHTON-KIRK
The drawn man admitted that this was so by a
gesture.
“It's a more or less difficult proposition,” said
he. “This room is a regular dumping-place for
documents. They seem to have been snatched
up and brought here in barrels. Not the slight-
est care has been taken to keep them properly
classed.”
“Tut, tut!” observed Mr. Scanlon. “That's
what I call just common carelessness. They might
have known that you’d call.”
The drawn man coughed. -
“As to that,” said he, “I’m not so sure. We’ve
made an effort to avoid any extreme of publicity,
you see.”
“Sure, sure!” spoke Bat, understandingly.
“Advertising's a fine thing, but not in all lines of
endeavor.”
The other raked over the papers impatiently.
“Here,” said he, “we have an old will, a con-
tract for hauling stone, a marriage certificate, a
receipt from the Mexican government for the loan
of ten millions of dollars, an estimate for steel rails,
and a laundry bill.”
“That's mixing them some,” said Bat, haloed
by the cigarette smoke. “But go at it; better
luck next time.”
Returning the papers to the drawer, the drawn
man next opened a heavy chest. He threw an


SPECIAL DETECTIVE I 53
armful of documents upon the table, and plunged
into them with covetous hands.
“I would say that's a promising lot, from its
general appearance,” commented Scanlon. “Of
course,” casually, “I haven’t the least idea what
you're looking for, but here there seems to be a
holding to one thing, a kind of a tight, official,
important look, as it were.”
The covetous hands became eager; Bat noticed
this; he threw down his cigarette; his muscles
tightened; the automatic thrilled in his grip.
“So you are short of ideas about what we
want,” spoke the other, still searching. “Has it
never occurred to you to ask?”
“Once or twice,” replied Scanlon. “But I
never got quite up to it. For instance, I met a
friend of yours down-stairs a while ago.”—here
the drawn man coughed, his eyes lifting for an in-
stant—“and I thought of putting the question to
him.”
“Why didn't you?” asked the drawn man,
deep in the papers again.
“He hadn't come to, up to the time I left,” re-
plied Rat. “I suppose I must have hit him
harder than I meant to do.”
“Oh, well,” said the drawn man, tolerantly,
“things of that sort will happen. They are
hardly to be avoided, in fact.”
He yawned and stretched his arms wide; the


I 54 ASHTON-KIRK
light over his head as he struck it sharply
smashed and went out. There came the rattle of
the automatic, and the splintering of window
glass; the dogs, always at large in the courtyard
at night, barked furiously. Bat heard the voice
of Kretz from the wall; the rifle sounded sharply,
and then silence, broken only by the sound of
running feet beyond the wall.


CHAPTER XII
SPEAKS OF THE MANNER IN WHICH THE GATES
OF SCHWARTZBERG WERE OPENED
THROUGH the fragments of the window sash
and the shreds of the blind, Bat Scanlon looked
out upon the moonlit night. Directly under the
window was a roof, as near as he could judge
that of the stable. Between this and the top of
the wall there was a space of some twelve feet.
“And the fellow with the cough took it like a
broad jumper,” commented Bat. “Well, well, we
live and learn.”
Then a light illuminated the room behind him;
he turned and met the wondering face of Miss
Knowles.
“What has happened?” she asked, rather
breathlessly.
Bat surveyed her with much composure. He
had been right in his estimate of her beauty; that
wasn’t to be denied. He was sure he'd never seen
a more splendid example of her type. Her figure
was like that of the queen in a story-book. Her
complexion was like snow and rose petals; her
eyes were as deep and as blue as the sea.
155


156 ASHTON-KIRK
“If I hadn't regular good reasons for believing
what I do, one look at her would scatter the whole
fleet of suspicion,” was Bat's thought as he gazed
“She does it well. I never saw a better attempt
to put a thing across. Ten minutes ago she was
talking to the crook; now here she is, asking as
innocently as you please: “What has happened?’”
“I heard a noise as I sat in my room,” said
Miss Knowles. “I heard shots,” her face a trifle
paler. “Has any one been hurt?”
“No such luck,” replied Mr. Scanlon. He re-
placed the automatic in his pocket and his broad
back against the wall. “Fellow was just here
making free with some papers. I happened in
on him, and he headed for the window.”
The girl approached the table and looked at
the papers curiously; her hands wandered among
them and her eyes scanned one after another.
“Did he take any of them?” she asked.
A shock ran through the large frame of Mr.
Scanlon ; for it occurred to him that he did not
know. He was busy wrestling with this some-
what unpleasant thought when hasty feet were
heard tramping along the hall; and in another
moment Campe and the sergeant-major were in
the room.
“Who was it?” asked Campe. “Did you see
him, Scanlon ?”
“I did,” replied Bat, “And I let fly at him.”


SPECIAL DETECTIVE I 57
Then in as few words as possible he related his
experiences since leaving Campe on guard over
the unconscious prowler, being careful, however,
to omit that part of it which dealt with the whis-
pering and the rustling of skirts in the hallway.
“Whatever his game is,” concluded the big
man, “he was a pal of the fellow you’ve got down
the hall.” Here he caught the expression that
came into Campe's face; at the same instant he
noted that Miss Knowles had left the room. How
long she had been gone he did not know ; but it
must have been while he was deep in his narra-
tive. “The man's still there, ain’t he?” he asked
Campe.
“When I heard the shots I left the room,” said
the young man. “Then Kretz ran up-stairs, and
we came hunting you.”
Without a word Bat rushed along the hall; the
door of his room was open, and the soft man was
gone. Then down the stairs went Bat, three at a
leap. The plug still held in the bolt of the cellar
door, so he was sure that the prowler had not
gone that way. There was only one other way
of escape. The gate | And when he reached the
courtyard the gate stood wide; the watch dogs
were running in and out, whining uncertainly and
apparently still much excited.
Both Campe and the German soldier had
pressed hard after Scanlon ; and the young mas-


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 159
tion has anything on you. It has a bad effect.
Even the best of us has no real liking for a bruis-
ing battle, if we get the bruising ; and we're only
looking for an excuse to side step. And thoughts
like those provide the excuse.”
At the cellar door Campe stopped.
“We'll not venture into the vaults,” said he, in
a tired way. His face had the sagged look which
hopelessness brings, and his eyes were without
lustre. “It may not be safe.”
“It’s clear enough to me,” said Scanlon, bluntly,
“that some one has pretty plain sailing into these
cellars of yours. They seem to come piling in
whenever the spirit moves them. I'd do some-
thing in the matter if I were you, even if it was
only to post a warning to trespassers.”
“There must be a way of getting in,” admitted
Campe, dully. “I made up my mind to that
some time ago. But,” and his voice broke with
a sharpness that startled Scanlon, “a man whose
life is in danger every moment of it can't take
too many chances.”
Bat put his hands on the young man's shoulders
and looked steadily into his face.
“Hold up !” said he “Hold up ! You're up
against something raw and hard. But don't let
them stop you. No matter what the thing is—sit
tight. You’re going to win out.”
“Win |” Campe threw up his hands and


16o ASHTON-KIRK
laughed mirthlessly. “You don't know the facts
or you wouldn't say that.”
“Maybe I'm not on to all the facts,” said Bat,
stuffing his hands into his pockets, “but I'm on
to the very worst of the lot. And even in spite
of that, I say you'll win.”
“The worst!” said Campe, and his eyes searched
Bat's face. “What do you mean?”
“I mean just that—the worst ! Listen. One
time when I was a youngster I was out with old
Dick Bunder, packing stuff out to Gabriel City.
Now Gabriel was out on the desert and was made
up of a half dozen 'dobe houses and a few tents
around a water-hole. The first night I spent in
the place it was attacked by Apaches, and the
thing went on for days. Bitter, cruel work it was
in the heat, with no sleep, and death barking
always from across the sands. The Apaches
were bad, but,” and Bat shook his head, “there
was something worse.”
“Yes?” said young Campe.
“Much worse,” affirmed Bat. “And it was in-
side. Somebody was calling off our hands to the
enemy.”
Campe's face grew rigid ; his mouth twitched
and one shaking hand went to it as though to
hide his weakness.
“Some one inside,” said he. “Inside | Yes,
that's a fearful thing. Outside's bad enough.


SPECIAL DETECTIVE I61
But the other.” He stood, his fingers pressing
against his lips for a moment; then he asked,
suddenly, “Did you find the person out?”
“I did,” answered the big man. “And I have
found out the one in Schwartzberg.”
Campe stretched out the shaking hand and laid
it against Scanlon's chest.
“Don’t say anything more,” said he. “Not
her name, for God's sake l I couldn't stand
that I’’


CHAPTER XIII
DEALS WITH SOME HAPPENINGS OF THE
NEXT DAY
THE remainder of the night passed without
incident, and next morning Scanlon, accompanied
by Kretz, who carried the light, made a complete
tour of the regions beneath the castle. No one
was hidden there; there were only the massive
walls and arches, the damp and the echo.
“Locks and bolts seem to offer no hindrance to
housebreakers,” said Bat, speaking to Campe who
met them when they came up. “So, with your
permission, we'll have a few additional precau-
tions.”
Procuring a hammer and some heavy nails, the
door to the vaults was made fast.
“Now,” Bat proceeded, “we are in a position
to offer some defense against another invasion.
But,” and he glanced from Campe to the silent
German, and back again, “how the dickens they
got into the cellar puzzles me. I looked all
around; but not a way could I see.”
“If we can prevent any further entrances into
the house itself, for the present, we'll be satisfied,”
said Campe.
I62


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 163
Scanlon did not approve of this. It indi-
cated a willingness to share something with the
enemy.
“Which is always wrong,” he told himself,
later, as he trudged along the road on his way to
Marlowe Furnace. “If it was my affair, I’d shake
it up till I had those crooks headed for the next
county.”
Campe had abruptly closed the conversation of
the night before with the request that no names
be mentioned, and so Scanlon had been left in a
state of doubt. -
“He knows, or suspects about the girl,”
thought the big man, “but what about these
other people? Has he got them placed ? I'd
'a' told him all I’d seen and heard last night,
but as he wanted silence, silence it is. Anyway,”
as an afterthought, “it might have been a wrong
move to say anything more than I did. Maybe
Ashton-Kirk doesn’t want him told.”
There were no letters for him at the village
post-office, and he was much disappointed. So
much had happened to him in the last twenty-
four hours that he had the feeling that Ashton-
Kirk must also have had some exciting experi-
ences which he would report at once.
“But he hasn’t had time to say anything,”
reasoned the big man. “Maybe I'll get some-
thing in the mail to-night.”


164 ASHTON-KIRK
He stood upon the post-office steps and lighted
a cigar; while he was puffing thoughtfully at this,
he felt his arm jostled gently. Turning he saw
an old man with a basket on his arm, and a hand
tangled in a chin beard.
“How d'ye do?” asked the old man.
“Pretty fair,” said Bat.
“Stopping up at Schwartzberg, ain’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Thought so. My name's Henry; got a
brother over at the station.”
“Oh, yes,” said Bat, “I detect the family re-
semblance. How is he ”
“Doing tolerable.” There was a slight pause,
then the old man disentangled the hand and
jostled Scanlon's arm once more. “Remember a
man that asked for you one night at the station—
fat kind of a fellow P”
“Yes,” said Bat.
“Saw him last night.”
“That so?” Bat was unmoved, smoking
calmly.
“Helped to take him to Doc Sharpless's.
Found him in the road, not far from Schwartz-
berg. Was coming along in a wagon with my
brother when I seen him. Only for the moon
we'd run over him.”
“What was wrong?” asked Scanlon, care-
lessly.


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 165
“Don’t know. He told Doc Sharpless he fell
somehow. Doc says he'd got a bad bump.”
The old fellow looked at Bat as though he ex-
pected him to say something. But the big man
examined the wrapper of his cigar in silence.
“I’d never knowed who the fellow was,” said
the man with the basket, “only my brother was
along. He told me.”
Still Bat was silent, and the greater grew the
old chap's disappointment.
“We reckoned you'd like to hear about him,”
resumed he. “Of course we thought he must be
a friend of yours.”
“Entire stranger,” replied Bat, briefly.
“Funny, ain’t it, how he should come asking
after you like that, and you not know him ? And
then to find him unconscious in the road out by
the castle, too. We thought that was very
queer.”
It occurred to Scanlon that the tone of the old
man's remarks was not desirable. So he at-
tempted to shift it about.
“When a person feels that he must fall,” re-
marked Bat, “he should be very careful in the
selection of a place to fall in. Now the middle of
a roadway as a site shows carelessness, don't you
think?”
But the ancient refused to be side-tracked. He
clung to his theme like a terrier.


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 167
seen ? And when he does come out, why does he
look as if he was running away when he gits sight
of anybody? What's wrong with him? What's
he afraid of ? What's he done—him with his
dogs, and his man on the wall, and his search-light,
frightening the women and kids.”
“I think,” said Bat, “you're imagining a good
deal of this. Anyway, it's Campe's own place,
and I suppose he can do as he likes on it.”
He nodded to the old man with a smile, but
as he walked away from the post-office he was
thoughtful enough.
“Getting on the nerves of the population, eh?”
said he. “Well, I don’t wonder. A fellow can't
go slam-banging around like that and not attract
attention.”
He noticed, as he went along, that more than
one person regarded him curiously; little knots
of people gathered behind him, their heads to-
gether and no doubt deep in the discussion of the
odd doings about Schwartzberg. He had left
Marlowe Furnace some distance behind when an
idea occurred to him.
“I’ll just top a few of these hills to the left,”
said he, “and stop off at the inn. It wouldn't sur-
prise me if I saw or heard some little thing of in-
terest. These fellows with the lame lungs and the
lame legs seem to have more to them than a first
glance shows.”


168 ASHTON-KIRK
So Mr. Scanlon confidently took the path across
the hills. As a rule a criminal caught in the
act of housebreaking would not be expected to
linger in the neighborhood of his exploit; but that
the man with the cough had departed was not at
all in the calculations of Bat.
“According to the dope of both Kirk and Mrs.
Kretz, Campe is afraid of the police,” was the way
the big man reasoned it out. “Knowing the na-
ture of the thing which makes Campe afraid, the
housebreaker knows that the police won't be
called in. So, then, he'll stick around, waiting
for another chance.”
In the road which led to the inn Bat heard the
sound of wheels; it was the rolling chair contain-
ing the man with the flattened skull. The black,
glittering eyes of the invalid fixed themselves upon
Bat as he came up with the chair. The big man
noted this and nodded.
“Nice day,” said he.
“Splendid,” replied the invalid, in his peculiarly
strong voice. “In fact there has been a succes-
sion of fine days. This section seems specially
favored.”
Bat nodded his head many times.
“I’ve been thinking something like that myself,”
he said. “There seem to be things here which a
fellow wouldn't be likely to run into anywhere
else.”


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 169
“I’ve noticed you a number of times with your
dogs and gun,” said the sick man. “The game
is none too plentiful hereabouts, I should say.”
“It depends a good bit on what you're after,”
stated Mr. Scanlon.
“Yes, I suppose that is true.”
The tone of the man in the chair was quieter
than usual; his manner, too, seemed mild. But
the expression of his full-lipped mouth was one of
infinite savagery; his eyes shone like those of a
caged beast.
“Doctor sent you out here, I suppose,” said
Scanlon, as they went on toward the inn.
The invalid gestured with one wasted hand.
“We who have no health,” said he, “are for-
ever under a doctor's directions. We can never
follow our own desires.”
Bat regarded the speaker attentively.
“Any one,” was his thought, “who could make
you do what you didn’t want to do would be a
good one.”
But aloud he said:
“Don’t it beat the dickens ! The doc who
has you in charge, I’ve noticed, seems to have
some confidence in fresh air. I suppose that's
why you keep so much to the roads.”
“Yes,” replied the invalid.
“Outdoors,” said Scanlon, “is a fine thing. I
guess that's why there is so much of it. It's full


17o ASHTON-KIRK
of benefits, night or day. Moonlight nights,'
sagely, “are especially good. Then you not only
get the air, but you get a view of things, which
helps the mind. Last night was as bright as
day, and Schwartzberg looks well with the moon
On it.”
The beast in the man glared out more than ever
from the black eyes, and the teeth gleamed be-
tween the full lips. But he said, quietly:
“Ah, yes; I can believe that Schwartzberg is
an interesting place. I have given it some atten-
tion since I have been here.”
Bat nodded.
“A number of people have,” said he “We
have visitors happening in every now and then.”
“Some time I shall go,” said the invalid. “I
have been promising myself that for a long while.”
“Sure,” said the big man, easily; “of course.
But the others only stayed a little while. When
you come, we'll keep you longer.”
“Thank you,” said the sick man. “You are
very kind.”
Here his chair turned into the gravel path lead-
ing to the inn door, and Scanlon followed it. The
cramped-looking man with the crutch and the
walking stick was stamping up and down.
“The blood,” declared the cramped-looking
man, “is the most important thing in the body
It is meant to carry vigor to all our outlying parts


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 171
but, sir, it carries other things at times—other
things not so desirable.”
A tall man with a saffron complexion and a
pair of thick blue spectacles sat in a cane chair;
his clothes hung about him as if he had shrunken
a half-hundredweight in a short time; his long
hands, as yellow as his face, were clasped before
him.
“I will not try to belittle the function of the
blood,” said he in a husky voice. “It would be
foolish in me to do so. But you exaggerate it,
sir. And why? Your joints are solidifying
through deposits of lime; this is carried to the
joints by the blood, and therefore you give undue
importance to that fluid.”
“Undue importance 1” The cramped man
paused in his stumping and seemed astounded.
“Undue ! But, my good sir, how can that be *
It is life itself.”
The yellow-faced man jeered at this.
“Fiddlesticks!” said he. “Fiddlesticks, Mr.
Hirst. Since the time Harvey discovered its cir-
culation, sentimentalists have overpraised this
corpuscle-carrying agent. They have given it
credit which it in no way deserves. In much
the same way poets and novelists have misrepre-
sented the heart. To them, this is the seat of af-
fection—of every noble impulse—where, as a
matter of fact, it is nothing more than a pump.”


172 ASHTON-KIRK
The cramped-looking man cast a look of com-
plaint at every one on the porch; then he was
about to put it into words, but the yellow man
stopped him.
“You spoke of the blood as ‘carrying vigor,”
said the latter. “‘Carrying, mind you. And
that's all it does—carry. It remains for other
and more important things to make and introduce
both that vigor of which you speak and that lack
of vigor. The liver, now ; take that | There's a
piece of machinery for you. There's an organ
which means something.”
The cramped man seemed amused. He cackled
and hammered with his cane upon the floor.
“The liver,” said he, “why, I’ve known men
to go on forty years who had no livers at all. Be-
cause yours has refused to secrete and has painted
you up with jaundice, you put it out front, and
belittle more important things. With good blood,
sir, a man need have no liver.”
“Without a liver,” maintained the saffron-hued
man, “he could not have good blood.”
Mr. Scanlon nodded to the landlord.
“It's a fine, uplifting conversation,” said he, in
a low tone. “Do you have to listen to them
often ?”
The innkeeper smiled. *
“About two-thirds of the talk here is symptoms,"
answered he.


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 175
awed tone, “The liver, sir, is a most tremendous
thing.”
“So I've heard,” said Scanlon, cheerfully. “I
suppose I’ve got one myself, but it's never intro-
duced itself to me, and so I haven’t given it much
attention.” -
The saffron-hued man seemed appalled at this
last.
“Sir,” said he, “I am a stranger, and I know
it is a very great liberty to take, but I cannot help
a word to you, now that I see it is needed.”
“Sure,” said Bat; “go ahead l”
“Some one—and a very wise person it must
have been—has said: “In time of peace, prepare
for war. That, sir, should be the duty of every
man; he should not procrastinate; he should, so
to speak, take his liver by the forelock, and tame
it—tame it, sir, completely.”
“But,” protested Mr. Scanlon, “a liver that's
never, in its career as such, said anything to its
owner, seems to me to be tame enough.”
The jaundiced one grew more agitated than
eVer.
“Don’t be deceived,” begged he, “Don’t be
imposed upon. They are things given to the
most deplorable treachery. One can place no
faith in them whatever; they are worthy of not
the lightest confidence. They have been known,”
and here his voice shook a little, “to stop short in


176 ASHTON-KIRK
their functions at an instant's notice—and this
after years of apparent devotion.”
“Well,” said Scanlon, “that does look like a
shabby deal, that's a fact. But what's a fellow
unaccustomed to such things to do? How is he
to know when to jump in with his corrective
measures 7" -
“Any time will do before the thing asserts its
independence of you. If it is mild, beware of it;
for like as not it will eventually become like an
old man of the sea and rule you completely.
Scourge it; drench it with compelling draughts;
submerge it completely; bombard it with bitter
pills.”
“I suppose,” said Bat, “you speak as a man
who neglected all these measures.”
“Utterly, sir, utterly 1” The saffron-hued man
shook his head sadly. “I had no voice to speak
a warning word; I was unlearned in the wiles of
the thing. Even after it had secured the whip
hand of me, I could have defeated it if I had been
told how by a person of experience in such strug-
gles. With a few dozen bottles of ‘Seaweed
Tonic” I could have stopped its assault; and with
a handful of ‘Grady's Gray Granules’ I could
have put it to flight.”
“Maybe,” said Mr. Scanlon, “I’ll lay in a stock
of those some time.”
“They are the only permanent hope of man,”


178 ASHTON-KIRK
and was examining the bole of an oak tree which
grew on the crest of the hill.
“Same tree I stood under last night when
I watched the fellow in the rolling chair,” mur-
mured Bat. “Wonder what he finds wrong with
it * *
From the tree the yellow man fell to carefully
noting the dried stems of some stunted bushes;
then he studied something here and there upon
the ground, sometimes using the glass, but more
often not.
“If I didn’t have a first class reason for sus-
pecting invalids,” said Mr. Scanlon, “I’d say this
fellow was a botanist—maybe hunting a plant
which, when cooked, would have some sort of a
discouraging effect on the liver.”
He watched the man for some time; carefully
the saffron-hued one went from place to place,
from tree to tree, from one clump of dried brush
to another. Gradually he moved down one hill
and up the side of another. From the top of this
a good view was to be had of Schwartzberg
through the trees, and stationing himself behind
one of these, the stranger looked long and search-
ingly toward the castle.
Kretz was not to be seen upon the walls; but
at one of the windows Bat made out a woman’s
figure. Apparently the saffron-hued man also saw
her; but apparently he desired a better view. So


18o ASHTON-KIRK
From across the river came the sounds of
laughing; some boys were fishing from a boat,
and were shouting to each other over some comic
misadventure. The saffron-hued man lifted his
head and looked out across the slowly flowing
water; but the pause was for an instant only; for
he proceeded with the matter in hand.
A dozen yards further on he stooped, and
seemed to grow intent and eager. Out came the
lens which Bat had seen him use on the top of
the tall hill, and down on his knees he went to
examine something on the ground. *
“And right there,” said Bat, “is the place where
the soft-looking party broke through the edge of
the bank and flopped into the water.” He stood
watching for a space, and then, unable to restrain
his curiosity, he pulled his hat firmly down upon
his head and said: “I think I’ll have a closer view
of those proceedings. They may contain some-
thing-I ought to know.”
With a light step he moved along the river
bank until he was within a half dozen paces of
the stooping yellow man. Then he paused, and
said:
“Hello! What's the idea? Lost something?”
The yellow man replied promptly, without turn-
ing or lifting his head, and in a voice from which
every vestige of huskiness was gone.
“Just working out a little idea, that's all.”


SPECIAL DETECTIVE I 81
At the voice Mr. Scanlon gasped. Then the
man's head lifted without the blue glasses.
the yellow stain was no disguise.
“Kirk!” said the big man. “Kirk, by George l’”
Even


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 185
“You’ve also been having some experiences
then,” said Ashton-Kirk, interest in his voice. “I
rather fancied you would. And as there will be
no better time than the present, suppose you tell
me just what they were.”
They seated themselves upon a flat rock out of
eyeshot of Schwartzberg, and Bat began a report
of his adventures. He told of his meeting with
Miss Knowles on the road and her agitation at the
thought of a fresh visit from the crime specialist;
of the soft-looking man who stood in the lane
writing in a leather-covered book; of Miss
Knowles and her interest in the direction of the
wind; of his seeing her at the window overlooking
that point afterward; of the man in the chair and
his strange actions; of the meeting with the man
with the cough and the peppery little doctor; of
the happening on the river bank; of his talk with
Mrs. Kretz; of the laying low of the soft man; of
the whispered conversation between the house-
breaker and the woman in the darkened hall; of
the escape of the latter; of the disappearance of
Miss Knowles from the room, followed by the
liberation of the prisoner.
When Bat had finished—and he did not slight
a detail—his friend laughed softly.
“Experiences—yes,” said he. “And you have
a most excellent memory. When you came to me
the other day you complained of everything being


186 ASHTON-KIRK
elusive and difficult to make head or tail of. It
would seem, from what you have told me now,
that this had changed.”
“Altogether,” said Scanlon. “I don’t know a
great deal more of the truth, but there's no end to
the happenings. As a matter of fact, I seem to
be squaring up to something all the time.”
“And something of undoubted interest,” said
Ashton-Kirk. He looked toward the river and
added, “That, I suppose, is the place where you
heard the man tumble into the water last night.”
“Yes,” replied Bat; “there where the bank is
broken.”
“I’ll remember that,” said the other. “Indeed,
it was in the hope of coming upon something of
the sort that I came this way.”
Bat looked at him in surprise, but before he
could speak the other went on:
“The matter of the northwest wind has a rare
sound, and the affair of the sword will in the end,
I have no doubt, prove of much interest.” He
was silent for a space as though thinking, and
then proceeded: “And so Mrs. Kretz is inclined to
suspect the girl of foul work?”
Bat nodded.
“She is,” said he. “And, much against my
will, I'm inclined to do the same.”
“You say you heard her talk to Shaw in the
dark hall; and afterward when she had suspected


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 187
something wrong because of the lights further
along being turned off, she came back to learn
who had done it.”
“She did,” said Bat. “I saw her as plainly as
I see you.”
“Things fall together very oddly at times,” said
the crime specialist, more to himself than to Bat.
“Very oddly.” Then to Scanlon: “Miss Knowles,
you say, was interested to know if Shaw had taken
any of the papers at which he was looking ?”
“Yes,” replied Bat.
“I, also, am a trifle curious as to that.” The
soulless blue glasses were fixed upon the big man
steadily. “What did Campe have to say in the
matter?”
“Nothing,” replied Bat, “At least nothing
that I heard.”
“It's singular,” said Ashton-Kirk, “how a man
will hold to silence regarding some things. In the
midst of happenings which sap his courage and
weaken his will in everything else, this young man
keeps his mouth shut as to the cause of it.”
“If it's something which began with his father,”
said Bat, “and you think it might be, as your
sending your man to Mexico shows—isn’t it pos-
sible that Campe doesn't know what it is?”
But the crime specialist shook his head.
“No,” said he. “If this were so, he would not
hesitate to call in the police.”


I 88 ASHTON-KIRK
“That's true,” said Bat. “It never occurred to
me.”
“Your crippled man, in his chair on the hill-
top, watching the moon on the towers of Schwartz-
berg, is a pleasing thought,” said Ashton-Kirk.
The keen, complete form which he gave every
word showed intense interest. “He smiled, you
say, and closed his eyes?”
“And a couple of times he laughed,” answered
Scanlon.
“The hill is northwest of the castle, is it?”
“Almost exactly, as far as I can make out.”
“And Miss Knowles stood in a window facing
in that direction?”
“Yes.”
“A little while before she had expressed, by
certain mannerisms, an odd sort of interest in that
particular point of the compass?”
“That was plain enough,” stated Bat. “Any-
body who was there could see it.”
“It looks,” and again the vacant blue glasses
fixed themselves upon Mr. Scanlon, “it looks quite
a bit like something prearranged. A signal, per-
haps.”
But Scanlon shook his head.
“No,” said he. “The hill is too far away.
And another thing: moonlight, no matter how
bright, is uncertain. You can’t be dead sure of
getting an eye full of anything.”


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 189
Ashton-Kirk nodded; the blue glasses looked
rounder and more vacant than before. But there
was a deep wrinkle at the top of the nose between
them which told Scanlon that the detective had
marked the incident well.
“It means something,” the big man told him-
self. “And he'll hit on it before he's through.
But what it means and how he's going to work on
it is too much for me.”
After a little Ashton-Kirk arose.
“Stay here,” said he. “I’ll not be more than a
few minutes.”
But he was gone a good half hour, and in that
time Bat could see him prowling up and down
along the river bank, the blue glasses off and the
magnifying lens in his hands. The rocks in par-
ticular seemed to interest him; and when he re-
turned he carried a bit of one in his hand.
“Soft, and almost crying its age aloud,” said
he. “I know of no region of such little interest
to a geologist.”
He stood for a space, the long yellow fingers
crumbling the surface of the soft stone; then he
said:
“The recent activity around here seems to
prove one thing to me; and that is that Campe's
enemies have made up their minds to end what
might very well be called the siege of Schwartz-
berg.”


19o ASHTON-KIRK
“Right,” said Mr. Scanlon. “They are push-
ing the job to its finish. And I can tell you why.
The girl has tipped them off that you are here, and
has handed them your record. They mean to
rush the fight from now on, afraid that you're
coming back.”
“As you are not quite sure as to the people
inside the castle,” said the detective, “I will rec-
ommend that you keep even a keener watch than
before. But do so in such a way as not to attract
attention. Especially watch for small events; they
are more apt to be of value to us than showier
ones; people as a rule are guarded as to the big
things, while the small ones are gone through
often with no care.”
“When do you hope to hear from Fuller?”
asked Scanlon.
“It will take the greater part of a week for him
to reach the place of operation, and with the best
of luck two days will be taken up in gathering the
facts I want.”
“A lot of things may happen in that time,” re-
marked the big man. “It might be that before
you get his report we'll meet the rush of the inva-
lid corps in such a way that we'll put them down
for the count.”
Ashton-Kirk made no reply; the big man waited
for a moment or two; the vacant blue glasses were
fixed upon a point some little distance away.


SPECIAL DETECTIVE I 93
“This,” said he, “is private property.”
“My name is Flood,” said Ashton-Kirk, huskily.
“And I am sorry to trespass.”
“When you reach the edge of our domain in
going back, be sure to wipe your shoes,” admon-
ished Scanlon. “We wouldn’t care to have you
take any of it away with you.”
The man with a yellow face smiled.
“Well, good-day, Mr. Scanlon,” said he. “I
think I'll make my way back to the inn. You
have been very kind.”
“Not at all,” said Bat, with a wave of the hand.
“Glad to do any little thing I can for you at any
time.”
The fictitious Mr. Flood, saffron-hued, blue-
spectacled and stiff-gaited, moved away, taking a
path which soon hid him from view behind the
rising ground.
Kretz now turned to Scanlon.
“You,” said he, “are a friend of Mr. Campe's.
Good l I am but a servant. Good l It is not
my place to say what you must not do. Is it not
SO P”
“I think that statement would stand in most
instances,” replied Bat.
“I have the excuse,” said Kretz. “Herr Campe
is now like a man who is sick. He can’t help
himself. You have seen that. And so his people
must be his eyes and his ears. They must also,”


I94 ASHTON-KIRK
and here the square-cut face tightened more than
ever, “be his tongue. They must speak when he
cannot.”
“I see,” said Bat, “And so you accordingly
seized upon this occasion to lift up your voice in
his behalf.”
“You are a stranger here,” said the German,
who did not seem to listen to what Bat said, much
less understand it. “You do not know some
things which are known to me.”
Bat blinked solemnly.
“It seems to me I’ve heard that, or something
like it, before,” said he. “But don’t take so much
credit for your exclusive information. You might
not have it as safely cornered as you think.”
“The tramps ” began Kretz, but the big
man stopped him impatiently.
“Tramps nothing !” said he. “Don’t go on
with that kind of thing. I’m not an infant in arms
to be fed with pap. If you have no real out-in-
the-open talk on this subject, keep quiet about it.
I passed the point where the tramps were long
ago.”
Kretz stood, with frowning brows, looking at
the other. Then his right hand went up in a sa-
lute.
“Excuse !” said he.
He regarded Bat for still another moment; then
he came a step nearer.


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 195
“You have known Herr Campe for a long
time ’’’
“Quite a while.”
“Before you come he spoke much of you,” said
the German. “He asked me what I thought of
sending for you. I said,” candidly, the hand lift-
ing to another salute, “not to do it.”
“Why?”
“I was not sure. It was a time when a man
could not be sure. All strangers were dangerous.”
“But I was a stranger to you only. Didn't you
give Mr. Campe any credit for judgment, or
knowledge of people P”
“Herr Campe,” said Kretz, “as I have said, is
like a man who is sick. He does not know who
his friends are. That, sir, was plain to me
when —” But he stopped shortly at this, his
jaws snapping as though to shut in any words
which might complete the sentence. Then, after
a moment, he said: “You will be careful of the
strangers?”
Bat nodded.
“Excuse,” said the man, and with another sa-
lute he turned and went on his way along the
river.
Scanlon returned to the castle and was ad-
mitted, much to his surprise, by Miss Knowles.
“You must have gone a great way to-day,” she
said, with a smile which showed her beautiful teeth,


196 ASHTON-KIRK
“Quite a bit of a tramp,” acknowledged the
big man. “But then it's a bracing morning, and
a fellow should put such days to good use.”
“Kretz seems to think the same,” said she.
“He asked leave to go, and I promised to keep
the gate. But,” and her head shook slowly, “he
didn’t cross the hills, as you did; he seemed to
prefer to take the path along the river.”
“That so?” said Bat. And, mentally, he added:
“Oh, golden Helen, what makes you always have
meanings on the side This is the first time I’ve
seen you to-day, and you are at it already.”
“But then Kretz has shown a preference for the
river of late,” the girl went on. “I’ve noticed
that he likes to stand upon the wall overlooking
it.”
“Every man to his own fancy,” spoke Mr.
Scanlon.
“It may be that it has reminded him of some
stream he knew at home in Germany. The banks
are rather picturesque, don't you think? At
places they are really wonderful l”
The big man rolled himself a cigarette and con-
sidered. The river bank, eh? What was all this
talk about it—this talk, and other things? He
had noticed when he first came to Schwartzberg
that the river had a bank; as a matter of fact, it
had two of them. But that's all it, or they, had
been—just bank, or banks.


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 197
“However,” his thought continued, as he pro-
ceeded with his cigarette, “lately the thing's been
getting a whole raft of little attentions. Last night
I heard a fellow fall off of it; this morning it at-
tracted Ashton-Kirk greatly. The German, so it
seems, likes little walks along and little observa-
tions of it from the wall. And, last, the golden
one is at great pains to put me up in the facts as
she sees them. ‘The river bank, says she, as
plain as day. ‘Take a good, long, sweeping look
at the river bank. And, once seen, do not for-
get.’”
“I suppose, though,” said the girl, “to one who
has, like you, Mr. Scanlon, spent a great deal of
his life in the wild places, a tame little river like
this has no charm.”
Bat lit the cigarette and smoked peacefully.
“As you say, the river is tame,” said he. “It
has a way of slipping by without forcing your
notice; and in these days a river, like anything
else, if it wants attention, must speak out good
and loud. But though I never have fallen for
bashful rivers, still river banks, of any denomina-
tion whatsoever, have always gone strong with
me.”
The girl's eyes as she gazed at him were half
smiling, half wondering. She said:
“One can never be altogether sure of what you
mean.”


198 ASHTON-KIRK
Bat nodded sorrowfully.
“Too bad, isn’t it?” remarked he. “When a
fellow’s exposed to a thing like that, he's sure to
catch it.”
Here there was the sound of wheels without; a
bell, evidently in the kitchen, rang loudly. Miss
Knowles and Scanlon were still in the courtyard
when Mrs. Kretz made her appearance in answer.
While the woman was opening the gate the girl
said:
“Your friend, Mr. Ashton-Kirk, did not arrive
last night, after all ?”
“No,” replied Bat. “But then, as I said, you
never know when to expect him. He's one of
those fellows who have their own ideas about
things.”
The opened gate showed a wagon outside, one
which Scanlon had noticed more than once before.
A package was handed to Mrs. Kretz, who at
once came in and relocked the gate.
Miss Knowles held out her hand as though to
take the package. There was a sweet smile upon
her face, but in the movement there was a swift-
ness, an eagerness which Scanlon could not help
but notice.
“Not for me!” she said.
“No,” replied the woman, sullenly.
“For Miss Hohenlo, then. Give it to me. I
will take it to her.”


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 199
Reluctantly Mrs. Kretz handed her the parcel,
and the girl, with a smile and a nod to Scanlon,
crossed the courtyard and disappeared.
The woman fumbled at the bolts of the gate for
a few moments; it was plain to Bat that she de-
sired to say something but was at a loss as to how
to begin.
“You don't care to have any of your work
taken off your hands, I see,” said he.
The woman shook her head; her heavy face
still wore the sullen look.
“Always,” she said, “she does that.”
“Well,” asked Bat, “what of it? I don’t see
much in her carrying a small package up-stairs.
It'll not overtax her.”
Mrs. Kretz folded her strong, thick-fingered
hands in her apron, and again she shook her
head in a stubborn sort of way.
“It is not that,” she said. “It is not what you
see. It is never what you see in Schwartzberg,
but always something else.”.
“Agreed,” said Mr. Scanlon. “That's exactly
how I feel about it myself. But,” and he looked
at her with the interest of a prospector who is
about to turn over some fresh soil, “just what
is the idea this time?”
“Always,” said Mrs. Kretz, “when a parcel
comes by the wagon, she is here to see. Never
once does she let me take it in myself. And


2OC) ASHTON-KIRK
never once does she take it where it belongs until
she has looked inside.”
“Ah !” said Scanlon. “I see.”
“More than once I have watched,” said the
woman. “It is not my place, but I want to keep
trouble from the house. Hours she will spend
looking and searching. Then she will tie the
bundle up as it was, and take it to whomever it
is for.”
Bat considered this for a space.
“The mail now, does she do the same with
that?”
“Sometimes,” replied the woman, “when it is
a package.”
“Oh,” said Scanlon. “When it's a package,
eh? Never when it is anything else?”
“NO.”
Once more Mr. Scanlon considered.
“That looks,” said he, “as if Miss Knowles
were interested in the coming of something of
some little bulk.” He stroked his shaven jaw
and looked at the woman. “Now I wonder what
it is she's looking for ?”
The woman returned the look, and again Scan-
lon saw she desired to say something, but did not
know how to begin.
“What is it?” he asked. “If you've got any
suggestions to make, don’t be backward.”
“If you would see her searching and look-


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 2O I
ing,” said the woman, “there is a window near
the stable. She always locks herself in that
room.”
Mrs. Kretz then returned to her kitchen, and
Scanlon leaned with his back against the wall and
pondered. That he might the better do this, he
took out his tobacco pouch and the little sheaf of
papers; then he carefully shaped another ciga-
rette. With the pale smoke hovering about him,
he turned the question over carefully.
“It stands like this,” he told himself. “Some-
thing is doing which threatens to scale all the
features off a friend of mine. Said friend asks me
to give him a help. This I do. In the process of
helping I run smack into the fact that the girl he's
in love with is on the cross. She stands in with
the parties who are trying to get him. Mixed up
in her efforts in his direction is a desire to see
what's inside all the packages which come to the
house. I have a chance, maybe, to find out what
the reason is—by peeping in at a window. Ques-
tion before the committee on morals: Is it per-
missible to peep under such circumstances?”
Evidently the said committee went into ses-
sion at once, and a great cloud of smoke arose
above its meeting place. Mr. Scanlon, after a
space, threw the cigarette away with decision.
“As it's a case of out and out crookedness, the
thing can be done without fracturing any of the


2O2 ASHTON-KIRK
finer feelings. Therefore I'll go and get an eye-
ful of what she does with the package.”
So down the courtyard went Mr. Scanlon ; at
the near end of the stable was a grated window
some dozen feet from the ground; a ladder stood
under it.
“The Frau Kretz, I suppose, got up this way,”
said Bat. “Therefore, so shall I.”
Peering in through the grating he saw that the
room was the one the servants used for storage.
At a table stood Miss Knowles, and the parcel,
opened, lay before her.
The room was a dark one, but the girl had
lighted a large swinging lamp and the rays fell
downward upon the table.
The observant eyes of Mr. Scanlon went all
about the place; nothing in the room was missed.
“For you see,” mused he, “a fellow, in a case
like this, never knows just what belongs to the
game being played, and what doesn't.”
It was a high ceilinged room, narrow, but long;
shelves were upon two sides of it, shelves loaded
with packets and jars and labled boxes.
“How many of them are in on this business of
the packet?” was Bat's mental query. “They
all look innocent enough, of course; they seem to
be simple things having to do with the kitchen
and the preparation of meals. But are they what
they seem to be? Or are they like a good many


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 2O3
things about this house—putting up an innocent
front, but, in reality, working as something else.”
The big man had come to a mental state in
which he took nothing for granted. His stay at
Schwartzberg had been one which shook his con-
fidence in his own judgment; there was nothing
his senses told him that he could accept without
investigation.
“The good old days when a fellow could take
a slant at a thing, and then pass it on, are gone
by,” he'd sadly told himself more than once.
“And they may never come again.”
The parcel contained papers, small rolls, each
tied with a tape. Carefully the girl undid the
fastenings of one of these; slowly the sheets were
unrolled and separated. Then, one at a time,
they passed under the eye of Miss Knowles; one
at a time they were laid aside; and when the little
packet was examined, it was rerolled and tied
with the tape once more. Profound was the
amazement of Mr. Scanlon, perched upon the lad-
der outside; he felt almost like rubbing his eyes;
he could scarcely believe his senses. For each
sheet of the paper was absolutely blank.
Another and still another of the rolls was gone
over in a like manner; each blank sheet was
studied; each little packet was faithfully retied;
and when all were done, the girl stood looking
down at them thoughtfully. The yellow lamp-


2O4. ASHTON-KIRK
light glinted in her hair; her smooth skin looked
inexpressibly fair; the pink in her cheeks was like
the softly-sunned side of a peach. For a long
time she stood without moving; then she as-
sembled the rolls of blank paper and carefully
wrapped them as they had been when she re-
ceived them from Mrs. Kretz. After this she
turned off the light, and with the package in her
hand she left the room.
Mr. Scanlon stepped down from the ladder, his
face a study. Walking the length of the court-
yard, his hands in his pockets, his cheeks puffed
out like small balloons, he fell once more to pon-
dering. But evidently his cogitations did not
bring any enlightenment, for after a while he re-
moved his hands from his pockets and elevated
them above his head.
“I’m through,” stated he. “I am completely
and absolutely through. Every minute I spend in
this place puts it up to me more and more plainly
that I was never meant for anything but elemen-
tary purposes. After this I will gaze and not even
try to think. I will record like the camera and the
phonograph and leave the developing for a pro-
fessional. I could stand this stuff about the north-
west and also the play of the sick man in the
moonlight. But when it comes to otherwise
competent young ladies displaying intense interest
in sheets of blank paper, I quit.”


CHAPTER XVI
SHOWS HOW THE GREAT SWORD WAS MISSED
FROM THE WALL
THE day passed slowly for Scanlon; he put in a
few hours with the newspapers, which were always
brought to Schwartzberg about noon; then he
selected an armful of likely looking books and
took them to his room.
But the adventures therein related were not to
his taste. He was in no humor for the accumula-
tion of unexplained incident; what he wanted at
that particular time was clarity—a breeze which
would blow through the edifice of intrigue and
drive out the obscuring vapors.
“This fellow,” remarked he, turning the leaves
of one of the books, “is too much like myself.
Here he starts out under a cloud; and as he goes
along, instead of getting rid of it, he adds to it.
At page one hundred he has a collection of clouds
the like of which I never saw in a book before.
Then they proceed to break, and he has a fine lit-
tle storm on his hands, with thunder and lightning
and wind. If it only cleared up then, all right.
But it doesn't. The little old clouds still stick
around; the fellow never gets a chance to do any-
thing, for he can't see far enough ahead.”
206


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 207
He threw the book upon the table and yawned.
Then he proceeded to dress for dinner.
Once more he was surprised to find that Miss
Hohenlo would dine with them.
“Really,” she declared, girlishly, “I seem to
be in splendid spirits. I haven’t been keen enough
to come down to dinner for ever so long before
last night. I don’t understand it. There must be
something in the air.”
“It is very possible,” spoke Miss Knowles,
smilingly. “I think I have detected it myself.”
While the two women talked, Campe engaged
his guest in conversation.
“Kretz tells me that there was a stranger about
the place to-day,” said he, with an assumption of
carelessness, but a troubled look in his eyes.
Scanlon nodded easily.
“A sick fellow,” said he. “From the inn over
yonder. Something of a botanist, I think. He
said he was looking for indications.”
“Botanists don't usually select November as a
time for their work,” observed Campe. “That
was a subterfuge, and that he thought it neces-
sary to use one shows his intentions to be at least
open to question.”
Bat acknowledged this with a nod.
“Only a few of us ever lie without a reason,”
said he.
Miss Hohenlo, who had turned to listen, ges-


208 ASHTON-KIRK
tured admiringly and in such a way that her small
white hands were well displayed.
“You have such a delightfully straightforward
way with you, Mr. Scanlon,” she said. “I think
it's so refreshing. I suppose it comes of living so
long in the West among people who have none
of the subtleties of over-civilization, and among
the grand wild scenery.”
“Maybe,” said Bat, “ or it might be something
else. You can’t always put the brand on a
straightforward talker, and his reasons for being
such, any more than you can on a botanist
who picks the wrong time of the year to do his
prospecting. I knew a fellow named Cameron
once who kept the ‘Deuce High at Cripple
Creek, and was the smoothest faro dealer I ever
watched. His next best thing was straightforward
talk, and he used to reel it out by the mile.
Everybody took stock until one night, in the
middle of a portion of it, somebody caught him
slipping cards from the bottom of the deck. After
that they sort of lost confidence.”
“Such a wild, reckless life,” sighed Miss
Hohenlo, her pretty hands before her face, as
though to shut it out. “And yet,” with an air,
“I could almost wish I were a man so that I
might take part in it.”
“You don’t have to be a man to do a little
thing like that,” said Scanlon. He addressed


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 209
Miss Hohenlo, but as he spoke his eyes were upon
Miss Knowles. “Some women break the tape
with the speediest of men.”
“Oh, not really l” exclaimed the spinster. “You
can’t mean it.”
“It's been my experience,” said Bat, “that the
ladies are not a bit different from men in their
undertakings. They just go about it differently.”
Miss Knowles laughed a little.
“I’m not quite sure whether you are compliment-
ing us or no,” said she. “But I don't agree with
you at any rate. No woman, for instance, could
have done what you did last night.”
Bat shook his head.
“She could,” stated he. “What is there to
walking quietly down a dark hall ? Don’t you
think a woman would have the nerve to do
that?”
Calmly he studied the beautiful face before him,
and he saw a deeper tint creep into the pink of
her cheeks.
“Oh, perhaps that,” said she.
“And more,” insisted Bat. “Much more.
What did I do but hold a quiet conversation
with the burglar as he went about his work. Is
that too much for a woman to do? I'll venture
that one of them has talked just as quietly with a
housebreaker, and almost under the same condi-
tions, before now.”


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 2 I f
Miss Hohenlo clasped her hands with delicate
satisfaction.
“Oh, Mr. Scanlon,” said she, “I’m delighted
that you won't permit Grace to think meanly of
herself. For, when you've come to know her as I
do, she is really a wonderful person.” Here the
eyes of the two women met in a look so rapid that
Scanlon was unable to interpret it. “You are
quite right. I have the greatest faith in her cour-
age, and what I said a few moments ago in doubt
of it was merely a jest. Grace, you know, would
really dare anything.”
“Oh, please, Miss Hohenlo,” said the girl, in
protest.
“You would, my dear; you know you would.
It would only require,” and here the faded eyes
went from the beautiful face of Miss Knowles to
the attentive one of Mr. Scanlon, “it would only
require an occasion. Let that be sufficient,” said
Miss Hohenlo, nodding quite positively, “and
Grace would be equal to anything.”
“I wish,” said the girl, “what you say were
true. For there are many occasions,” and she
smiled at Scanlon, “which arise and demand to be
met. And I'm afraid I don’t do the work very
well.”
After this Scanlon fell into a silence, not an ab-
sent one such as Campe seemed plunged in, but
alive and observant. When appealed to he re-


2 I 2 ASHTON-KIRK
plied briefly, but he did not lose a word or miss
an expression of either face.
“Right here,” said he, mentally, “is where I
break my new-made resolution. For the time be-
ing I am not a non-reasoning recorder. I must
reason, or I'll sink. And as something seems
stirring between the ladies, I don’t want to do
that.”
“You would do anything well, my dear Grace.”
Here Miss Hohenlo’s white hand smoothed her
faded hair. “Anything in the world. But being
clever and ingenious and persistent, I am sorry to
say, does not always bring success. And if you
have failed in any of your undertakings it is this,
and not yourself, that is to blame.”
“I wish I could think so,” said the girl. “Per-
haps I would then have the energy to go on.”
“Energy l” Miss Hohenlo laughed, gently.
“Oh, Grace, as if you could ever lack that—you
who are energy itself. Mr. Scanlon, please speak
to her again; she will insist upon doing herself
these little injustices.”
The tones of the two women were mild, their
looks were kind, their words were inconsequent;
and yet underneath all these things the big man
seemed to detect a rapid play of meaning.
“It's there,” said he, to himself, “but, as usual,
I am not getting it. However, one thing is plain
-the elderly lady has something on the younger


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 2 I 3
one; and if it is at all possible, I’m going to find
out what it is before the night is done.”
In this purpose events seemed to favor Scanlon.
Miss Knowles proposed a game of billiards with
Campe after dinner, and as Miss Hohenlo de-
clined, Bat declined also ; and so he was left alone
with her in the great room where the tapestries
hung.
The spinster caressed the strings of the gilt
harp gently; Bat lounged in a deep chair and
talked to her.
“Have you lived in this country very long P”
he asked her, finally.
“Only two years,” said she.
Bat expressed his astonishment.
“But you speak the language so well,” he said.
She laughed, and the harp murmured under
her touch.
“You are thinking of my having lived in
Mexico, or in Germany, before that,” she said.
“Well, I have. But, you see, I was educated in
England and the United States.”
“Oh, yes,” said the big man; “that accounts
for it then.” He watched her for a little and lis-
tened to the soft sounds she drew from the strings.
“But Miss Knowles,” he said, “she speaks the
language very well also.”
“She should,” replied Miss Hohenlo calmly,
“seeing that she is American.”


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 2 I 5
harp spoke murmuringly, and Bat kept the time
upon the arms of his chair with his fingers. “And
do you know, when I did finally size it up,” he
added, “it gave me a little start.”
The beautiful hands left the strings and clasped
themselves together; Miss Hohenlo turned an in-
credulous face toward the speaker.
“Gave you a start l” she said. “Oh, Mr.
Scanlon, one can't imagine anything like that.”
“Well,” said Bat, “maybe you wouldn’t think
so, seeing I pull the scales at about two-thirty,
and was brought up outside. But start I did on
that occasion.”
“But why?” and the dull eyes of the spinster
were full of wonder. “Why?”
“Your nephew,” said the big man, “is a friend
of mine. And a fellow never likes to see a friend
venturing into a thing which might not be right.”
Miss Hohenlo shook one pretty finger at him
girlishly.
“Oh, you bachelors,” she said; “you have such
a dread of marriage.”
“Nature always fixes it for its creations,” said
Bat. “If it can't provide you with a courage to
meet a thing, it supplies a fear which makes you
duck and in that way save yourself. But,” he
frowned at a rug on the floor before him, and
stroked his chin, “it wasn’t marriage I was think-
ing of.”


2I 6 ASHTON-KIRK
44 NOP 35
“No,” said Bat, “it was the girl.”
His eyes were still on the rug, but for all that
he caught the sudden tenseness of her attitude.
“Grace l” she said, and there was a sharpness
in her voice which was new to him. “What do
you mean?”
The big man studied the rug under his bent
brows. He felt that the situation, now that he
had brought it to this point, was a delicate one,
and knew that he must be careful. Indeed, it was
so exceedingly delicate and required so much care
that under other circumstances he would not have
ventured the framing of it. But he wanted to
help Campe; his curiosity was aroused, and he
felt convinced that there was something hostile
between the two women. And so he launched
himself upon waters which might prove a mill
pond or a whirlpool.
“Miss Knowles,” stated he, “is a good looker.
She's got a figure that has the best of them look-
ing like cripples, and I never want to see a nicer
smile. Along these lines she's an ace, and I have
nothing but praise for her.”
“But,” said Miss Hohenlo, attentively, “along
some others you feel that you can not praise her.”
Bat acknowledged this by a gesture.
“Not that I am very definite in the matter,”
said he, “for I’m not. You see ” but he


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 217
stopped short as he was about to add something
else, and after looking into the dull, uninteresting
face before him, he said: “You’ve been here at
Schwartzberg for some time, I suppose.”
“Since early summer. When Frederic wrote
that he was here and meant to stay for a time, I
was overjoyed. You see, I love the memory of
the old count, my ancestor, and this place is so
full of him.”
“Being given to staying indoors and to music
and such,” said Bat, “you'd not be likely to see
as much or notice as many things as some one
who goes about more; but, for all that, you must
have seen that there's something adrift here in
Schwartzberg.”
Miss Hohenlo arose; leaving the harp, she
walked to a window and stood for a moment
looking out into the darkness. When she turned,
the dull eyes were filled with tears; the small face
was piteous with pleading. All the affectation
had vanished; her manner was simple and direct.
“Mr. Scanlon,” she said, “you are a friend of
Frederic's, and I am glad of the chance to talk
with you upon this subject. As you say, there is
something adrift in Schwartzberg; I’ve been aware
of it for months. But my nephew is unapproach-
able upon the subject; I am ashamed to say he is
more like a frightened child than a man whose
life has been put in danger.”


218 ASHTON-KIRK
“It's sunk deep,” acknowledged Bat. “And it
may even get worse.”
The beautiful hands went out in a despairing
gesture at this.
“Oh, I hope not!” she exclaimed. “For his
sake I hope not. And it's a torture to me to see
him so.” She was silent for a moment, and then
went on : “I have given him every opportunity
to confide in me, but he will not. And so, Mr.
Scanlon, I am like a stranger. Danger, even
death, perhaps, is hovering over the house, and I
know nothing except the little that comes to me
by chance.”
“Since I’ve been here I’ve felt about the same
way,” said Scanlon, “though, of course, I haven’t
so much reason as you.”
“I could not speak to Frederic, and I must not
speak to the servants. So,” said Miss Hohenlo,
“there was left only—Grace.”
Again there came the pause, this time longer
than before. Finally Scanlon said:
“Well ?”
She came nearer to him. Never had she looked
plainer or more angular; never had her eyes
seemed duller or her hair with less life.
“But I could not speak to her. There was a
something which stood between us—perhaps the
same feeling which you had—and it held me
back.” One of the delicate hands went out and


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 219
rested on Scanlon’s sleeve. “What is it?” she
asked.
But the big man could only shake his head.
“At times,” said Miss Hohenlo, “she comes to
me with the strangest requests. They seem to be
without meaning, and yet, somehow, I am afraid
of them.”
“Requests?”
“They seem silly,” said the spinster, a dazed
look in the dull eyes. “I’ve tried to give a mean-
ing to them, but never could. For example, she'll
often, of an evening, ask me to go to a window
and pretend to be interested in the direction of the
wind. And she makes me promise not to tell.”
“Huh !” said Mr. Scanlon.
“Then she has a way of jesting about my play-
ing of the harp, and of other things which seem
to be odd in tone and in meaning. I’ve never
been able to understand them.”
Scanlon nodded; he could readily see this as
the things had made the same impression upon
himself. Then, guardedly, he began to speak.
Little by little he told Miss Hohenlo of the numer-
ous things which had attracted his attention to
Miss Knowles since his arrival at Schwartzberg.
And when he had done, she stood staring at him
like a small scared animal.
“It’s dreadful l’” she said. “Who would ever
Have dreamed of such a thing?”


22o ASHTON-KIRK
From the courtyard there came a dull com-
plaining sound.
“Hello,” said Scanlon, in surprise; “what's
that ?”
“It's the gate,” spoke Miss Hohenlo. “Some
one is opening it.”
The night, though the month was November,
was an exceedingly mild one, and the windows
were partly open. Through one of these they
looked down into the courtyard. Kretz was at
the gate drawing the bolts, and beside him stood
Miss Knowles, a long, muffling wrap hanging to
her feet.
“She is going out,” breathed Miss Hohenlo.
The big gate creaked open, and for a moment
the girl and the grim-faced German spoke in low
tones. He seemed expostulating, but she ap-
peared to brush his words aside as being of no
consequence. Suddenly their talk ceased. Campe
appeared, a cap upon his head, a stick in his
hand.
“Frederic l’” Miss Hohenlo was amazed. “He,
too, is going !”
The gate swung to behind them, and the ser-
geant-major shot the bolts.
“The last night those two were out there
among the hills,” said Scanlon, “he was slashed
—and maybe with the sword which she had taken
out of this room.”


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 22 I
At this a cry came from the woman.
“Look l” she gasped, and pointed toward the
narrow strip of tapestry between the windows, the
place where the great sword usually hung.
“By Jingo !” cried Scanlon. “It's gone !”


CHAPTER XVII
SPEAKS OF A HARP WHICH WAS PLAYED
IN SILENCE
THERE hung the long strip of tapestry between
the two windows, but the huge naked blade which
usually rested against it was missing. For a mo-
ment or two Scanlon could not take his eyes from
the spot; he was fascinated by the possibilities of
the discovery.
“Where can it be?” asked Miss Hohenlo.
“What could it have been taken for ?”
Bat took his eyes from the place where the
sword had hung, and they fixed themselves upon
the speaker.
“Under the circumstances,” said he, “and in
the face of what I’ve just told you, can’t you im-
agine what it might have been taken for?”
She put her hands before her face as if to shut
out the idea.
“Oh, no !” she said, helplessly. “No ! Surely
not that l”
“Well,” said Scanlon, and he drew a deep
breath as he said it, “maybe not. But I’ve
222


224 ASHTON-KIRK
“I’ve heard of something like this once or twice
before,” murmured he. “Decoys have been used
since men began to find it was surer to hit when
the punch wasn’t expected. Though,” and he
shoved out his chin, “I can’t say the facts make
her that sort of a decoy. If there's a blow to be
struck, it seems to me, she'll strike it herself.”
Scanlon's stride was long and quiet; the path
was of well-beaten earth and free of stones, so
he stepped out freely without fear of detection.
Finally he began to make out the figures ahead
of him.
“There they are,” said he, “and going along
very contentedly.” He put a hand to each side
of his mouth and lifted his voice. “Hello!” he
called.
Young Campe wheeled like a flash, his hand
going to his hip.
“All right,” said Scanlon. “You needn't trouble
about that.”
He approached hastily, his hands upraised.
“Bat!” said Campe, in surprise.
“We hadn't expected you, Mr. Scanlon,” spoke
Miss Knowles, sweetly. -
“No, I suppose not,” said the big man, and his
tone was dry. “I just thought I'd take a stretch
along the path.”
“It's such a splendid night for that,” said Miss
Knowles.


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 225
“Not too bright,” exclaimed Campe. “A fellow
doesn’t make such a target as he would on a moon-
lit night. And yet with plenty of light to see by.”
“Moonlight has its disadvantages, of course,”
admitted Mr. Scanlon. “And with matters as
they now seem to be, you can’t do better than
figure everything in.”
The girl and the young man went along on the
path, and doggedly Scanlon followed.
“It always pays,” he continued, “not to slip
anything when it comes to a calculation. Doing
that has cost many a man his life—and even more.
I recall one time out in the Black Hills country-
but,” inquiringly, “maybe you don’t care to hear
about that just now.”
“Oh, yes, please,” said Miss Knowles.
“I was riding with Captain Marsh's troop in
chase of some Sioux who’d raided a little place
called “Soldier Hat. They'd taken all the fire-
water they could lug—this, like as not, being the
principal object of the raid—and then headed for a
camp they had among the rocks. We got word
six hours later, and made good time after them.”
“In the night?” asked Miss Knowles.
“It was night when we pulled up about half a
mile from their camp. Marsh wanted to see just
how things lay for a rush on them; he didn’t ask
any of his men to go, but went himself. He'd
figured on everything, so he thought, but when


226 ASHTON-KIRK
he'd crept within fifty feet of where the Sioux
lay asleep something began to strike the stones—
chink—chank—chink—chank l”
“His spurs,” said Miss Knowles.
“He’d figured on his spurs, and taken them off.
But his sword had slipped and began to trail; be-
fore he could snatch it up the camp was awake,
and in two minutes the reds were off. The one
thing he hadn't taken into his calculations,” said
the big man, slowly, “was the sword. And that's
what gave him away.”
“Oh, what a pity,” said the girl. She turned
her head and looked over her shoulder at Scanlon
as she spoke; it was too shadowy to catch the ex-
pression in her face, but in her voice was that little
break which is apt to appear when one's breath is
short and quickly taken. “Success meant so much
to him, too, I suppose.”
“He’d had his chance and missed it,” said Bat.
“And,” shaking his head, “who'd ever have
thought of such a thing as that giving him
away?”
The girl drew the long muffling wrap about her
carefully; she shivered a little.
“I had no idea it would be so cold,” she said.
“Perhaps we'd better return,” said Campe, so-
licitously.
“If you don’t mind,” she said. “I’m really
chilled.”


228 ASHTON-KIRK
one of the massive oaken tables. “Sit down,
light a pipe, and listen.”
From a shelf he took a stone jar and a brace of
pipes, with bowls of baked clay and long reed
stems. The pipes were filled with tobacco from
the jar and lighted; then they sat down at the
table facing each other. Campe smoked quietly,
tilted back in his chair, his eyes upon the floor.
Scanlon examined him keenly, with the manner
of a man who had something of a job before him,
and meant to go about it as carefully as he could.
“It was pretty close to three weeks ago that I
first came here,” said he. “And in those three
weeks I’ve had a sort of miscellaneous time.”
“I hope you’ve enjoyed yourself,” spoke Campe.
“I’m afraid I’ve been rather lacking in many
ways, but things are in such shape with me just
now that —”
Here Bat stopped him with a wave of the hand.
“The shape that things are in with you just
now,” said the big man, “is what this talk is go-
ing to be about. You couldn’t have brought the
thing forward at a better moment.”
Campe's fingers tapped nervously upon the
edge of the table; Scanlon blew a cloud of smoke
toward the ceiling and watched it curl and shift
formlessly.
“You’ve never told me why you asked me here,”
said the big man. “And I never asked. But


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 229
just the same I dropped to the facts in the first
couple of days.”
Campe placed his pipe upon the table, and
stared at the speaker with frightened eyes.
“Do you mean —” he began.
“No,” said Bat, interrupting him, “I don't mean
that. What the inside of this affair of yours is
—the real reason for it all—I don’t know. But in
the outside I am pretty well informed. You are
cooped up here with enemies all about you. Now
at a single glance, a fellow wouldn’t say they were
a very dangerous lot; but,” wrinkling his fore-
head, “I’ve seen them work a little, and I’ll say
for them that they've got stuff I can't hit; and
from all appearances, it's the same way with
you.”
Here Scanlon paused and took a few pulls at
the pipe to assure himself that the tobacco was
still burning. Campe said nothing during the si-
lence, and the big man took occasion to go on.
“As you never volunteered anything,” said he,
“I didn’t think it was my place to ask questions.
So I've watched the thing move along, and all the
time it got tighter and tighter, and sharper and
sharper; and now, to-night, I feel that I can't
draw another full breath until I tell you what I
think, and what you ought to do.”
“Well?” said Campe.
“In a civilized community,” said Scanlon, “the
/


23o ASHTON-KIRK
first thing a man does, when pestered as you’re
being, is to call in the cops. That you’ve kept so
close, both with me and the cops, shows that
you’ve got a secret on your hands—something
that you're not anxious to spread around.”
“Well ?” asked the young man once more.
“I’m not trying to pry into your affairs,” spoke
Scanlon. “I don’t want to know the object of the
parties at the inn. And I’m not advising you to
consult the police, if you think you ought not to
do so. But what I am wanting you to do is to
carry your idea regarding me a step further.”
“I hardly think I understand you,” said the
other, looking at Scanlon searchingly.
“You will in a minute,” spoke the big man.
“I was called in to help, wasn't I? Good! But,
willing and all as I was, I wasn’t the right party.
I can handle small matters that are set down
plainly for the eye to see, but what you really
want is a man that's capable of putting the hook
into those that the eye can't see, and one, at the
same time, not having anything to do with the
police.”
Campe smiled faintly.
“That is an ideal combination,” said he. “But
where is such a person to be found P”
“I think,” said Scanlon, “that I could provide
such a one if you feel inclined to talk to him—a
fellow who is naturally put together for getting to


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 23 I
the bottom of things. I’ve seen him do one or
two stunts since I’ve known him that were fancy
bits of reasoning, and I’ve been told of some
others that made my eyebrows curl.”
There was a silence of some duration. The
young man took up the pipe once more and re-
lighted it. Finally he spoke.
“There is no use in my attempting to deny the
situation here at Schwartzberg,” said he, slowly.
“I had hoped to keep it hidden, but the last few
days have shown me that such a thing is impos-
sible. Your judgment that the thing behind it all
is one which I hesitate to make public is correct.
At first I wanted to fight it out—alone, but I see
that this, also, cannot be done.”
He leaned toward Scanlon, his hands upon the
edge of the table, desperation in his eyes.
“I need help,” he said. “I need it perhaps as
badly as it was ever needed before. For not only
is my life in danger, but my sanity as well.”
“Tutl tut !” said the big man. “Hold tight !
We'll get you out of this with everything stand-
ing.”
“That there is some one whom you know—a
private person—who has shown cleverness in en-
tanglements brought to his notice is, perhaps,
fortunate.” The young man looked at Scanlon,
his face twitching nervously. “But I'll have to
give the matter some consideration. I am not


232 ASHTON-KIRK
sure that I can take any one into my confidence
without doing an injustice.”
He got up and stood for some time troubled of
face and with the pinched, hollow look which
Scanlon had watched since coming to the castle.
Then he said, simply:
“I think I'm tired now, Bat, and I'll go to bed.
Somehow,” and his smile was wan and a little
piteous, “I don’t seem as able as I was a short
time ago. This thing has taken some of the snap
out of me.” He shook the big man by the hand,
adding, “Thanks, old man, for the way you've
taken this thing, and also for the offer regarding
your friend. I'll turn him over in my mind for a
little, and then I'll tell you just what I’ve con-
cluded to do.”
After he had gone Bat sat at the oaken table
and smoked. Three times he refilled the pipe
with the reed stem, and three times he knocked
out the ash. Then he also arose to his feet.
“I think he's about ripe for a consultation with
Kirk,” he told himself. “And the quicker he
makes up his mind to it, the better. For this lit-
tle game is getting so close that I'm beginning to
feel it pinch.”
He yawned widely and started for his room.
Now, after the way of most big outdoor men,
Mr. Scanlon, in his moments of relaxation, was
not at all light footed. Neither was he naturally


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 233
given to stealthy ways. But since coming to
Schwartzberg he had acquired both.
“They have fallen upon me like a couple of
garments,” he had acknowledged to himself more
than once. “And I’ve got to going around as
softly as a pair of gum shoes shot through a
Maxim silencer.”
It was in the hall, not far from the head of the
stairs, that he had seen the soft man on the night
before; this fact must have been subconsciously
active, for he now slowly lifted his head above the
level of the floor, his eyes, as he did so, glancing
swiftly ahead. Both the hall and the stairway
were dim; and before his eye had caught any-
thing, his ear got a soft step and the gentle clos-
ing of a door.
“The golden Helen,” he said, a moment later,
as he caught the outlines of Miss Knowles.
“What now, I wonder?”
With the light foot and the stealthy manner,
Bat had acquired the habit of suspicion. He had
reached the state where every movement which he
did not understand was an occasion for inquiry; each
unexplained sound caused him to prick up his ears.
Under ordinary circumstances the gentle closing
of the door and the quiet movements of Miss
Knowles would have passed unnoticed.
“But these are no ordinary times,” he told him-
self. “The golden one is a very busy person, and


234 ASHTON-KIRK
so, when she goes pit-patting around, there's no
harm in looking after her.”
The girl flitted down the hall, and Scanlon
quietly followed. But in the dusk he lost sight of
her. Reaching the place where he had last seen
her, he stared around; but nothing but shadows
met his eye.
“Gone into one of the rooms,” said he to him-
self. “But which, and why?”
As he could think of nothing to do in the mat-
ter, he was turning away; but just then a thought
struck him. At the next turn in the hall was the
staircase leading to the next floor.
“Suppose she has gone up there ?” said he.
The floor above was not used by any of the
members of the household, though all the rooms
were completely furnished and open. Why any
one should go up there Mr. Scanlon could not
think.
“But,” reasoned he, “in Schwartzberg you
can never tell. So I'll climb the stairs just for
luck.”
He proceeded to do so, not neglecting his light
step. The upper hall was in complete darkness,
save for what faint light the windows admitted,
and he stood at the head of the stairs, looking
carefully up and down. After a pause he started
along the passage; half-way to its end he stopped
suddenly.


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 235
A dozen steps away was an alcove, about which
were some partly drawn hangings. These stirred
gently as though moved by a breeze.
“A window is open,” said Scanlon, mentally.
“And some one is sitting by it.”
He remained motionless in the shadow and
watched. Yes; some one was there. A moment
or two told him more.
“I’m sure those are the folds of a white gown,”
he told himself. “The golden Helen is in the
alcove. But what's the idea P”
Now Mr. Scanlon was quite sure of one thing.
And that was that no one would seek this unu-
sual place and at such an hour without some pur-
pose. He fancied he caught a glint of a polished
surface at those points where the dim light caught
it; then he became aware of a curious shape which
he could not altogether make out. Cautiously he
shortened the distance between himself and the
alcove. And now he saw something else. Be-
tween him and the patch of sky which showed
through the window was a series of perpendicular
bars—very fine, and very close together. As he
followed these up and down he gradually began
to sense the shape of the other thing which had
puzzled him. Then like a flash he got it all. The
thing was a harp—a gilt harp-upon which the
faint light was glancing, and the fine bars between
him and the sky were its strings.


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 237
and when he reached his own room, he said, be-
wilderedly:
“This is what comes of breaking a resolution |
I said I’d not try to reason out any more of these
things, but I broke the vow and am punished.
But here, on this spot, I renew it. Come what
will, or go what may, I am through !”
And with that Mr. Scanlon went to bed.


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 239
But he got no sight of the jaundiced man at the
hostelry; indeed, there was no one in view but
the round bodied landlord, who laughed at Mr.
Scanlon's jokes and was as affable as ever.
Bat tramped back to Schwartzberg in a thought-
ful mood.
“A dead calm,” said he. “Complete and ab-
solute. And not a sail in sight. But,” with a
lift of the eyebrows, “maybe it's that thing I’ve
so often heard of—the calm before the storm.”
In the middle of the afternoon the bell at the
gate rang, and a little later Kretz came in with a
telegram.
“For Mr. Scanlon,” said the German.
The big man tore open the envelope. As he
expected, it was from Ashton-Kirk, and read:
“‘See me in the city at nine o'clock to-night.’”
“Anything important?” asked Campe who was
watching him.
“I’m called to the city,” replied Bat. He
glanced at a time table, and added: “However,
I'll not leave until after dinner.”
“Back to-morrow P”
“More than likely.”
During the time that had passed since his talk
with Scanlon as to the danger which threatened
him, Campe had not once recurred to the subject,
But that he bore it well in mind Scanlon was con-
fident.


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 24. I
the other hotel keeper very well now ; you know
he told me that new guests never stayed long at
the inn.”
“They didn’t want you, eh?” Scanlon chuckled.
“Well, what could they do with a perfect stranger
around, and all of them up to their ears in im-
portant private business?”
“But for once, anyhow, they failed,” said the
special detective. “I needed a certain length of
time to collect what facts I was after, and that
time I was bound to stay. They did everything
short of burn the place about my ears, but I
ignored their efforts and talked about my liver. I
got all the information I wanted by last night, and
as Burgess wired me that Fuller's report had ar-
rived, I left this morning.”
“I sort of thought you’d had word from
Mexico,” said Bat. “But before you tell me what
it is, maybe I'd better unload my further experi-
ences at Schwartzberg.”
“Very well,” agreed the other, quietly.
Thereupon the big man proceeded to relate all
that had befallen him since seeing the crime spe-
cialist upon the river bank in the guise of a jaun-
diced man. Ashton-Kirk listened with interest
and with narrowed eyes, and when the other had
finished, he rose to his feet. -
“One of the most curious things in all this
business of investigation,” said he, “is the way


242 ASHTON-KIRK
things have of falling together. At times this is
not only bizarre, but also astounding.”
“Miss Knowles seems to be a fairly industrious
lady, doesn’t she?” said Bat. “Early and late
she's on the job. I couldn’t get anything out of
the business with the harp, though I’m sure she
has a pretty well fixed purpose; but the little
game of the sword was plain enough.”
The detective made no reply, but took a ciga-
rette from a box upon the table, lighted it and
began pacing the floor.
“It’s not easy to believe that a woman with a
face like Miss Knowles could put together a little
job like that, though,” said Scanlon, also lighting
a cigarette. “If I hadn't seen the thing working
itself out, I wouldn’t have believed it. And it
took some nerve, after she failed once, to get him
out there among the hills so that she could take
another swipe at him.”
Ashton-Kirk nodded and went on with his smok-
ing and his pacing.
“But,” said Bat, inquiringly, “why the sword *
If she is leagued with these people to do away
with Campe, why isn’t it enough to do it in the
readiest way? Why must it be done with the big
blade from the tapestry room?”
But the other's mind seemed to be moving in
another channel.
“This parcel,” said he, “which you saw deliv-


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 243
ered, and which Miss Knowles at once took charge
of—you are quite sure it contained only blank
paper?”
“I didn't see it opened,” replied Bat. “But I
saw it repacked, and that's all that went back into
it.” -
Ashton-Kirk smiled in a dreamy sort of way;
the smoke wreathed above his head and his eyes
were half closed.
“Did you notice,” he asked, “how the package
was wrapped ?”
“Just heavy manila paper,” said Bat, “and
tied with a kind of a mixed colored string.”
The dreamy smile deepened; the face of Ash-
ton-Kirk grew out of the smoke wreaths like a
nodding Buddha, so utterly peaceful was it.
“That's very interesting,” said he, in a pleased
tone. “This little matter of yours shows more
and more quality with every step.” He paced up
and down the floor, still smoking and still with
the smile upon his face. “And it was after the
receipt of this parcel that the sword was missed
from its place upon the wall ?”
“It was,” answered Bat, staring. “But look
here ! You seem to be connecting these two
things; for my part, I can’t see them even near to
each other.”
“To-morrow, perhaps,” said Ashton-Kirk, “we’ll
take a few moments to explain things. Just now,


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 247
might possibly have happened and Fuller's report
you've put together very well indeed.”
“But,” ventured Scanlon, “though it might
be clever enough, this guessing at things won’t
get us anything unless we carry it further.” He
looked at the crime specialist inquiringly. “What
do you think we'd better do next?”
Ashton-Kirk pressed one of the series of call
bells, then he lighted another cigarette.
“I’d like to have just a little more information
about this man Alva,” said he. “He interests me
immensely. Atavism is one of the most curious
and fascinating things in the world,” he continued,
as he rested against one corner of the table, his
singular eyes upon the big man. “One never
knows when to expect it, and it sometimes takes
the most peculiar of forms. A strain of blood, a
physical peculiarity will suddenly appear after an
absence of generations, and * *
Here there came a knock upon the door, and a
small compactly built man entered the room.
“Burgess,” spoke the crime specialist, “early in
the morning go down to Parker's and borrow a
surveying outfit—a complete one—tell him not to
miss anything, and also to tell you how they're
used.”
“Enough to go through the motions?” said
the compact man with a grin.
“Exactly. Then take O'Neil and go out on the


CHAPTER XIX
IN WHICH ASHTON-KIRK PAYS HIS SECOND
VISIT TO SCHWARTZBERG
SCANLON was not at all an impatient man, but
the length of time consumed by Ashton-Kirk next
morning over his toilet and his breakfast rather
put him on edge.
“I like to see a man fussy about his appear-
ance,” said he to himself. “It’s a sign that he's
in health. Breakfast is also a good sign. The
fellow that can cheerfully face his morning meal is
usually all right inside. But both things can be
carried to extremes. When there's pressing mat-
ters to be carried through what matter how you
look; when a puzzle of weeks' standing is about
to turn over on its edge and give a last kick, a
chop, an egg and a roll shouldn’t be the things
to interfere with its doing.”
But though the big man was in a highly excited
state, Ashton-Kirk was as calm as an August after-
noon. He smoked a good-sized cigar after break-
fast and read the newspapers. To the amazement
of Mr. Scanlon he even showed interest in such
things as the tariff, the building of a new cup de-
fender, and the international aspect of canal tolls.
25o


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 25 I
However, at about ten o'clock, a long telegram
came ; when he read this his inactivity ceased;
at once he rang for his car, and when it arrived
he and the big man got in. It was a brisk, sunny
November day, and they sped through the city
streets and finally into the country roads with that
smoothness and ease possible to the modern auto-
mobile. They flashed by the little station at
Marlowe Furnace and across the covered bridge;
then, as they climbed the first hill on the west
bank, they sighted the towers of Schwartzberg.
“And also two very industrious surveyors,”
said Ashton-Kirk, his keen eye picking out two
small figures in the distance, who appeared deeply
absorbed in the measuring of some land.
Mr. Scanlon was pleased with the whole idea,
and said so.
“It may be,” said he, “that we'll need a little
help. And this is about as good a way to have
a couple of willing lads hanging around as a fel-
low could think of.”
Sergeant-Major Kretz was upon the wall; when
the car drew up at the gate he scrambled down
inside. A moment or two later the gate was
opened, and Campe, much surprised, made his ap-
pearance.
“Back again,” said the big man, cheerfully, as
he got out, followed by the investigator. “Every.
thing all right?”


254 ASHTON-KIRK
deeply, his position suddenly and legitimately
mended, and in consequence he washed his hands
of all crooked dealing.”
“Go on,” said young Campe, and his face was
pale as death.
“Again let us suppose,” continued Ashton-
Kirk, calmly, “that in so leaving the councils of
the criminals he took with him something vitally
necessary to their success. They demanded it of
him; he refused; and, to still further suppose,
we'll say that one morning a yacht called the
Conquistador was blown into —”
Here the young master of Schwartzberg came
to his feet; his eyes gleamed like those of an in-
sane person, and his voice was husky and broken.
“What do you know?” he asked.
“I think,” replied Ashton-Kirk, quietly, “I have
a fair idea as to what has happened in Mexico, and
what is happening here. And if you care to have
me proceed in the matter, and will lend me what
assistance I need, there is a good chance that by
this time to-morrow you will have left all your
fears and worries behind you.”
For a moment the young man sat staring; then
he reached forward one shaking hand and laid it
upon the speaker's arm. -
“Sir,” said he, “if you can do that, you will
have saved me from death or from the mad-
house.”


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 255
Ashton-Kirk placed his hand upon that of
Campe. .
“Consider it done then,” said he, quietly.
“Scanlon has told you, perhaps, that I have some
small talent in matters of this sort. And I think,”
nodding and smiling “I see a fairly open field
before me.” -
Bat looked impressively at the master of the
castle.
“He’s had this thing cooking only since the
day I first brought him here,” said he. “But he's
got a fire under it as hot as a lower berth in Hades.
And so if he says he'll serve it to-day, all done,
believe him. For he's just the kind of a fellow
to do it.”
“Mr. Ashton-Kirk's first visit here was not all
chance then,” said Campe.
“Not quite,” returned Bat, unblushingly. “You
see, along about the time of that visit I had got it
fixed fast in my mind that everything was not just
what it ought to be around here; and as I didn’t
think myself man enough for the job, I took a day
off and got Kirk.”
“Thank you,” said Campe. “I felt all along
that something of the sort would be the best thing
I could do, but I never quite got up the courage
to take the step. If there had been myself only to
think of,” and his glance went from the big man
to Ashton-Kirk, “I might have done it. But


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 257
to return,” spoke the special detective. “Take
plenty of time. And say nothing to the ladies as
to why I am here. We don't want to startle
them, you know.”
“I will say nothing,” said young Campe, and
then he left the room.
The next half hour was spent by Ashton-Kirk
in smoking and talking with Scanlon upon almost
every other subject than the matter in hand.
Then Campe returned, and with him were Miss
Hohenlo and Miss Knowles.
The former was all in a flutter, but the younger
woman, so Scanlon noticed, was eager-eyed and
watchful.
“She knows that something's doing,” observed
Bat to himself. “And she's wondering just what
it is.”
“It's so very kind of you, Mr. Ashton-Kirk, to
come again so soon,” said Miss Hohenlo, girl-
ishly. “It will do Frederic such a great deal of
good to get his mind into some fresh matters.
He's been so very downcast of late; and I’m quite
sure that interesting himself in Count Hohenlo’s
life and times will benefit him greatly.”
“And it's so kind of you to put your car at our
service,” said Miss Knowles. “We go out so
little since we came to Schwartzberg. Frederic
came swooping into the room just now with the
news, and we were as delighted as children.” Her


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 26 I
“Get a tool of some sort. We'll have to draw
them.”
With a claw hammer Scanlon pulled the nails
without much difficulty. Then the two descended
into the regions below. Ashton-Kirk carried an
electric torch, which shot a small, searching column
of light ahead through the gloom.
“It beats a lamp or a lantern,” said Bat, his
mind going back to the morning upon which their
visit to the cellars was greeted with a volley of
shots. “If there are any volatile parties hanging
around, they can’t get such a fair slam at us.”
The rays of the torch danced along the floor,
the ceiling, the walls and into corners. Satisfied
that there were no prowlers in the vaults, the
light ceased its erratic flashing; it now became
intent, and fixed itself upon some small spaces for
quite long periods of time.
“Again the floor seems to attract him,” thought
the big man. “Footprints and such.”
But the crime specialist seemed annoyed.
“There has been a great deal of tramping up
and down by all of us,” said he “Quite a num-
ber of very definite impressions are to be found in
the dust, but ” he stopped suddenly, the beam
of light held to a place in the floor, fixedly, and
his breath drew in with a sharpness that told of a
discovery.
“What is it?” asked Bat, anxiously.


262 ASHTON-KIRK
“Look!”
The crime specialist pointed to what appeared
to be a long streak in the dust upon the vault
floor. It was broken here and there by footmarks,
but seemed to continue for some distance outside
the radius of the light.
“I see it,” said Bat, mildly. “But what is
it?”
“Here is another just like it,” spoke Ashton-
Kirk, “and running the same way. And there is
still another, but not so heavy, between the other
two.”
Sure enough, as Bat looked, he saw two deeply
marked streaks, with a third not so pronounced
between them; they held their relative positions
and ran away in the same direction as far as his
eye could follow.
“I get the three of them,” said Mr. Scanlon.
“And once again I ask for the answer.”
“It looks,” and the glow of the torch began to
follow the course of the lines, “as though our
friend Alva, from the inn, had been here.”
“It’s got through,” said Bat, tapping his head
dolefully. “It's got through at last. These marks
were made by the wheels of his chair—two big
ones outside, and one small one in the middle.”
There was a silence as the eyes of the big man
followed the spreading rays of the torch. “Alva,
you know, promised to drop in some time,” con-


264 ASHTON-KIRK
He stared at the other. “What's it doing
here P” -
Ashton-Kirk arose to his feet.
“Take hold of the ring,” directed he. Bat did
so. “Now pull.”
As Scanlon put his weight to the pull, he felt
something give; to his astonishment the whole
mass of stone before him turned smoothly upon
an invisible pivot; before him was a dark open-
ing, bricked, and extending apparently for a long
distance underground. For a moment or two
Bat was too dumbfounded to speak, but at length
he thrust his hands deep into his pocket and said:
“Well, I've read about them, and I’ve heard
about them, but this is the first I ever saw.” The
torch lighted up the passage for some distance,
and as the big man peered into it, he went on :
“It's all properly mouldly, and it's got the water
trickling between the bricks, the damp patches
and the fungus, just as Sylvanus Cobb and the
others used to write about.”
But, underneath the astonishment, his mind had
apparently been moving, for he went on in another
tone :
“The crude oil was put on the working parts by
the fellows at the inn when they found that the
stone didn't move smoothly. And now,” turning
upon Ashton-Kirk, “I am wise to all the interest
that's been taken in the river bank of late. This


266 ASHTON-KIRK
“The tunnel was sealed,” said Ashton-Kirk,
“and when the criminals laid siege to the castle
they broke it open.”
Bat Scanlon protruded his head; in a few mo-
ments he drew it back.
“No wonder no one ever got wise to this,” said
he. “It opens right under that big rock that
hangs over the water; and the water runs directly
underneath. They must have had some little time
getting the man of the chair in, unless they have
a boat.”
After they had looked about interestedly for a
while, they left the tunnel, and closed the mass-
ive stone door. Ashton-Kirk then picked up the
wheel tracks with the torch rays, and this time he
followed them in the opposite direction.
“Trying to find out what the crippled party
was up to,” Bat told himself. “Well, it must
have been something important, seeing as he went
to such a lot of trouble to get here.”
Here and there went the special detective, his
keen eyes following the wheel marks. Alva, so it
seemed, had been rolled to all parts of the vaults,
and the track was, to Scanlon's notion, hopelessly
tangled. But Ashton-Kirk seemed to see much
that was interesting and of consequence; at
length, however, he straightened up, stretched the
tightness which the stooping posture had pro-
duced out of his back and shoulders, and smiled at



27o ASHTON-KIRK
ment, “that we have seen about all we want to
see for a space. Inside, that is. But outside there
may be one or two little matters which it would
be well to pick up.” He was about to turn away
from the desk; then pausing, he reopened one of
the drawers and took out a tangled mass of
strings which lay in the bottom of it. “Put these
in your pocket,” said he, handing them to Scan-
lon. “We may need them to tie something to-
gether.”
Reluctantly Bat left the house with him, and
glumly passed through the gate which Kretz held
open.
“Of course,” said he, to himself, “it’s not for
me to kick. But it does seem to me that the
place to get the good going over is the house.
And here we haven't done any more than look at
a few corners of it.”
It was now considerably past noon; the sun
was warm and the brown hills, with here and there
a patch of vivid green, stretched away to the
south, the west and the north, To the east the
river slipped by smoothly, and toward the river
Ashton-Kirk turned his steps. He paused upon
an overhanging mass of rock and looked over its
edge.
“It’s under this, I think, that we found the open-
ing to the secret way.”
“Yes,” replied Bat.


272 ASHTON-KIRK
and form.” He was silent for another space, and
then asked: “You are not acquainted with any of
the tribes further south ?”
“None across the border,” said Bat.
“Mexico has some races of interesting savages.
tler hill people are hardy and independent, and
they've never been subdued.”
“I’ve heard of them,” replied Bat.
“But ancient Mexico possessed still more note-
worthy peoples. Humboldt, Vater and others who
have studied their remains have written very in-
terestingly of them. Auahuac was the ancient
name of Mexico, and the first known race to oc-
cupy the land was the Quinome.”
“Some time ago !” remarked Mr. Scanlon, as
they strode along. “Before even friend Columbus
had a chance to hang up his name.”
“Yes,” replied Ashton-Kirk. “But just how
long the Quinomes remained it is not known, for
a number of wandering tribes seemed to have en-
tered afterward, paused and then took up their
way once more. Afterward the Toltecs came from
the west—later more tribes, to the number of
seven, one of whom was the Aztec.”
“I’ve heard of them,” said Scanlon. “Rather
queer looking old scouts; had heads flattened in
front, and ” but he paused, his eyes going to
Ashton-Kirk in a curious look. Then he pursed
up his mouth, and began to whistle softly.


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 273
The crime specialist's head was bent, and he
stabbed at the stubble and the brown weeds with
his stick; there was an expression upon his face
that told of one deep in speculation.
“The Aztecs, as you suggest, were not a phys-
ically beautiful people. And their civilization was
as deformed as their persons.” There was a halt
as they breasted a hill; then he proceeded: “It
has come down as a sort of tradition that Cortez,
when he burned his ships, marched against a peo-
ple of mild nature and advanced culture. Noth-
ing could be more erroneous. They were a sav-
age race who had conquered their neighbors by
superior brutality; their intelligence was inferior
to the North American Indian of the same time;
it is true that they had a written language, but
their character was greatly inferior to that of the
Hindoos and other peoples.”
“A popular lecture,” was Mr. Scanlon's mental
observation. “But it seems to me it's going to
land somewhere.”
“The Aztecs made no roads,” said Ashton-
Kirk, lifting his head and looking about as though
searching for a given spot; “and they had no
domestic animals. Both these things speak
strongly against them. But the most fearsome
thing about them was their religion.”
He paused in a place between two small hills;
in the ground was a bowl-shaped hollow. Scan-


274 ASHTON-KIRK
lon looked at this and at the surroundings with
interest.
“Some days ago I had occasion to speak to you
of the theory of Gall, the Antwerp empiric, as to
the skull and the brain and their effects, one upon
the other. It was the custom of the Aztecs to
flatten the heads of their children by continued
pressure; this resulted, finally, in the altering of
their skulls as a people. And who knows what
effect this deformity had upon their inclinations.
The horrors of their religious observances may,
perhaps, be traced to it altogether.”
“Like as not,” admitted Mr. Scanlon.
The crime specialist kicked away some brush
which lay beside a log near by, and in this way
he disclosed a huge bundle of something like
parchment. With Scanlon's help he unrolled it;
it was made up of a number of prepared sheep-
skins, and to the edges ropes were attached.
“Huh !” said Bat, as he looked at it.
& 4 Suppose we were to throw this over the hollow
which you see here; then suppose we were to
draw it taut with the ropes after having passed
them around stakes—taut and tauter still until the
skins will stretch no more.” Ashton-Kirk looked
at the big man inquiringly. “What should we
have?”
“A drum !” cried Bat, “An immense drum !”
He returned the look of the other, adding, with


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 275
wonder: “And it’s a drum we’ve heard roaring
in the night.”
“Right,” said Ashton-Kirk.
“You knew it was here,” said Scanlon.
“Yes. I came upon it after a little search one
day while prowling about in the guise of a man
with a disobedient liver.” He regarded the
drumhead in silence for a while, and then went
On :
“The Aztecs' places of worship were shaped like
pyramids, and were composed of terraces, one
above the other. Here their terrible war god,
Huitzilopochtli, was propitiated by human sacri-
fice. A great drum was beaten, notifying all its
the city that an offering was to be made. The
pinioned victim was thrown face upward across
the sacrificial stone, which was green in color and
with a humped up place which fitted into the
small of his back; with a blow of a great, keen
blade his body was laid open.”
The breath caught in the big man's throat.
“No !” said he, his wide open eyes upon the
Other's face. “No l”
He continued to stare, and, slowly, what he had
just heard began to form in his mind.
“The stone,” said he, “green, and with a hump
on it ! The roaring of a great drum ! A cut down
the front l” His hand closed upon Ashton-Kirk's
arm. “I’ve seen and heard things like these, and


276 ASHTON-KIRK
I know a man with a flattened skull. But what's
the answer ?”
“The greater part of the Mexican population is
mixed with Indian blood,” said the crime special-
ist. “And one of the most curious studies I know
of is the atavistic tendency—that is, the tendency
to recur to an ancestral type or deformity. A
thing may lie dormant in ten generations of men
or animals, and then suddenly assert itself in all
its fulness.”
“You think, then —” began Scanlon.
“That the man in the rolling chair, Alva, is a
‘throwback'; that his deformed head is an asser-
tation of the old Aztec strain; that if this deformity
had anything to do with the fiendish character of
the Aztecs, it might naturally be supposed that it
has had some effect upon him.”
“I think I get you,” said Bat Scanlon, slowly.
“Check me off, and see if I’m right. This fellow,
Alva, is the leader of the party at the inn. He's
done for three of the Campe family already, and
is reaching for a fourth. The answer to this, so
you tell me, is that his Indian ancestors loved
blood spilling, and that the thing's broke out in
him.”
“That's a part of the answer. It was only after
failing in something else, remember, that the mur-
der mania took possession of him. And boasting
of his Indian ancestry, as Fuller reports, it is not


28o ASHTON-KIRK
“And that is
“A place of peril,” answered Scanlon, soberly.
“A place where danger is always waiting to reach
out its mit and hand you something when you are
not expecting it. As you know, I’m not the kind
of a fellow to pick up impressions of this kind;
but Schwartzberg's put its mark on me deep and
strong, and I can’t shake it off.”


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 283
hearts of those who knew him, and they wrote
him down in their memories as a gallant soldier,
a true friend and a lover of freedom.”
Then Miss Hohenlo talked of the letters written
by the old hero; of the journals he had kept in
court and camp; of his plans and intentions; of
his adventures. Her eyes were no longer dull;
her plain face was full of spirit; her gestures, no
longer affected, were sharp and stirring. And
while she talked Miss Knowles was very quiet,
listening with attention. And, as she did so, Mr.
Scanlon watched her, speculatively.
“Still on the lookout,” mused the big man,
“still with her eyes and ears open. I never saw
any one stick closer to a job than she does. But
what she hopes to get out of the talk of the maiden
lady I can’t understand.”
After dinner, as Miss Hohenlo was passing from
the room, Scanlon saw Ashton-Kirk overtake Miss
Knowles as she was about to follow. The singular
eyes of the crime specialist were fixed upon her
face intently, and when he spoke his voice was so
low pitched that none but the girl could hear.
But whatever it was he said, she turned pale and
Bat saw her hands tremble. Then without a
word of answer she cast a frightened look about
her and disappeared. Ashton-Kirk turned to
Campe.
“Perhaps you'd care for a game of billiards,”


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 285
face,” answered the girl in a low voice. “But I
did not place you. It was not until I had heard
your name that I knew you. You had been
pointed out to me once at a Departmental re-
ception at Washington.”
“I see,” said the other. Then with a smile :
“You seemed a trifle startled that day when you
recognized me.”
“I was,” replied the girl, “for your appear-
ance at Schwartzberg meant only one thing
to me: That all that I had suspected was
true—that Frederic was fearfully in danger—
and that you had been sent for to trace out his
enemies.”
“Huh !” said Mr. Scanlon, and Ashton-Kirk
glanced at him with a smile.
“I rather thought it was something like that,”
said the latter gentleman. “But there are a
number of other questions I’d like to have you
answer, so that there will be no mistake as to
your position in the matter. Do you mind my
asking them?”
“Why, no,” she said.
“On the night that you heard the thunderous
noise out among the hills and Mr. Campe madly
rushed out to look for his tormentors, how did it
come that you stood beside him when he was dis-
covered, wounded ?”
The girl looked surprised.


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 287
“But I heard 35
“The first woman you heard was not I l”
It was now Mr. Scanlon's turn to stare.
“Miss Knowles,” said he, “I don't want you to
think I’m trying to put anything at your door that
shouldn't be there. But you expected something
to happen that night—I saw it in your face in the
afternoon.”
The girl did not reply for a moment; she looked
at him, steadily.
“I think I know what you mean,” she said, at
last. “It was when you spoke of Mr. Ashton-Kirk
coming that night. I was frightened then, as I
was frightened a while ago when I was asked to
await him here. I felt sure that if he were ex-
pected something was about to happen.”
Mr. Scanlon frowned.
“You see,” said he, “these are queer times,
and when a fellow gets mixed up in such, and
sees things that he don't fathom, about the only
way open to him is to ask to have them ex-
plained.”
“I think I can understand that feeling very
well,” she said. “There are many things for
which I too have sought an explanation.”
“When you left the room that night of the
burglar's visit,” said Bat, “and while I was telling
Campe and his man what had happened, you did
it very quietly.”


288 ASHTON-KIRK
“I had a reason,” said the girl. “I hurried
away to find the person whom I'd been seeking
when you saw me strike the match.”
“Well, were you successful ?”
“I was. I saw who opened the gate and liber-
ated your prisoner.”
Mr. Scanlon mopped his face, which had grown
suddenly heated.
“The wind's changing,” said he to the crime
specialist. “It’s beginning to blow from a new
quarter altogether.”
But Ashton-Kirk was looking at the girl. “You
see how it is ?” said he.
“Yes,” she replied. “And now that I do, I
think it very strange that it did not occur to me
before. But I was so full of the thought of help-
ing Mr. Campe, even though he did treat me like
a child and refused to confide in me, that I never
dreamed any one might suspect me of being one
of those who were threatening him.”
She turned to Scanlon.
“I thought all the time that you would under-
stand. That is why I hinted at this and that, and
called your attention in an indirect way to those
things which excited my suspicions.
“And, oh,” with a gesture, “there were so many
of them. I suspected the people at the inn from
the beginning because I once saw a crippled man
there who had been a friend of Mr. Campe's father


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 289
in Mexico, and who afterward, for some reason,
became his enemy. The strange footprints which
I'd see of a morning upon the river bank put dread
into my heart, and the stealthy figures that I’d
see there sometimes of a night, as I looked from
my window, filled me with fear. I then began to
suspect a traitor in Schwartzberg, and took to
searching and prying and listening; and on the
night when I found the door to the vault standing
open and saw a stranger ascending the stairs, I
felt sure of it.”
“Was that the night that Mrs. Kretz shut the
door, and there was a pistol shot, and you cried
out?” asked Bat.
“Yes,” replied Miss Knowles. “But,” she went
on, “I think I had other reasons to be suspicious.
As you say, Mr. Scanlon, these are queer times.
Things here are odd-strange; like yourself, I do
not understand them. What is there about this
harp,” and she laid her hand upon the instrument,
“which attracts me so strongly—for what purpose
is it being used other than the melody a player of
it could strike from its strings? Take that great
blade upon the wall,” here she turned her face
toward the two-handed sword resting against the
strip of tapestry between the windows. “It seems
evident enough—there does not look to be any-
thing about it of a secret nature. And yet there
is ! But I don't know what, though I have tried


29O ASHTON-KIRK
to discover many and many times; and I have
stolen it away to my room more than once. But
it was no use.” There was a short silence, then
she went on, to Scanlon : “On the night that you
followed Mr. Campe and me out along the path,
and you told the story of the officer whose sword
trailed upon the ground, I felt sure that you had
discovered something about this weapon, and
were, perhaps, trying to convey it to me secretly.
But I saw afterward that this was not so.”
“Tell me,” said Scanlon, who felt much as if
the floor were slipping from under his feet, “what
was the idea of the walk on that night?”
“Mr. Campe was depressed; his spirit was
sinking; he shook with fear of what was outside.
I knew that facing a danger was tonic, while
cowering at the mental picture of it was spirit-
killing. So I thought it would do him good if he
went out, voluntarily, if only for a few moments—
no matter what the danger. Of course he did not
understand why I wanted him to go; neither did
Kretz, who protested very strongly.”
Bat looked at the crime specialist, who smiled
in an amused sort of way; then he said to the
girl:
“You say you took the sword to your room to
examine it? How about the harp ? Ever take
that away with you?”
“I have,” replied Miss Knowles. “Some nights


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 291
ago I secreted it on the floor above, and when
everything was quiet I went there.”
“You sat in an alcove behind some curtains,”
said Bat. “It was dark. The window was open.
You picked at the strings of the harp, but made
no sound.”
“You saw me !” the girl seemed startled.
“I did. What were you doing?”
“What I had seen done more than once before.
And I was trying to understand.”
Once more Scanlon looked toward Ashton-Kirk,
and now that gentleman spoke.
“This interest in Schwartzberg as to the lo-
cation of the wind of an evening. You noticed
it?”
“Yes.” The girl's blue eyes went to the
speaker, full of interest. “But, like the other
things, I could never understand it.”
“You saw some one strike the harp strings at
night at an open window; was it always the same
window P”
66 NO.”
“It depended upon the direction of the wind—
the window selected always opened in the direc-
tion from which the breeze was blowing.”
“Yes.”
“Did that not suggest something to you?”
“It did. A signal. But,” with a gesture, “it
could not have been. There was no sound.”


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 293
said he, and his eyes seemed dreamy as he gazed
at it. “A good bladel.” Then the eyes lifted,
and he continued: “Those strings, Scanlon,
where are they?”
“Here,” said the big man, taking the tangled
mass from his coat pocket, and offering it to the
other.
“Pull one out. That's it. Thanks.”
Ashton-Kirk took the proffered string; it was
quite long, and trailed upon the floor in a soiled
heap. Starting at a point close to the hilt, he
began wrapping the string around the sword
blade.
The big man watched his friend narrowly as he
worked with the string and the sword blade. He
felt that in this, queer as the proceeding seemed,
there was to be an explanation of some things
that had gone before.
“Kirk's the fellow to explain them,” he told
himself, as he watched. “He’s never in a hurry
to do it, of course; and maybe that's the reason
why he never makes a mistake. But explain
them he does; and don’t let that get away from
you.”
Miss Knowles was also intensely interested;
she followed the fingers of the special detective
with the utmost attention. Carefully Ashton-
Kirk wrapped the string about the great blade.
Often he paused and inspected what he had done,


CHAPTER XXII
IN WHICH A MATTER OF MUCH INGENUITY IS
CONSIDERED
“HELLO!” said Bat, his eyes almost bulging at
the sight. “What the dickens is that?”
For answer the crime specialist unwound the
string, drew another from the many in Scanlon's
hands, and wrapped it around the blade in turn.
Once more he held up the weapon and now they
read:
|
“I get it,” said the big man, “not all, but
some. Those packages sent Miss Hohenlo had
nothing at all that was worth looking at inside,
it was outside that their interest lay. In the
string.”
“I think,” said the girl, wonderingly, “I’ve
heard of some such a thing as this before. But it
never occurred to me to apply it in this case.”
296


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 303
silent talk with Schwartzberg.” Then an idea
seemed to strike him, and he frowned again.
“There is one thing that I don’t quite get.
And that is: If these vibrations, or tones, or
sounds, whatever you call them, were too high to
be heard, how did the receivers of them make
them out?”
Ashton-Kirk shook his head.
“As to that,” said he, “I am not prepared to
say just now. A further search into the thing
might bring it out, but I’m not sure. But this I
will say: The sense of touch is marvelously sensi-
tive in some people; one every now and then hears
some wonderful story with regard to it. Fine,
delicate hands may be the answer to your ques-
tion.”
“Another thing,” said the girl. “Why was the
wind required to always be from the direction of
the person sending the vibrations to Schwartz-
berg You'll say to carry them. But what of
the answer to them ? Would not the wind which
carried the vibrations from one quarter hold back
those sent from the one opposite?”
“Only in part, unless the wind was very strong.
And I think if you can remember the nights upon
which this means of communication was used,
they were fairly calm. The fact that the wind at
the time of the signals was always from the direc-
tion of the person outside might be explained by


CHAPTER XXIII
CONCLUSION
ASHTON-KIRK, with Miss Knowles and Scan-
lon, entered the billiard room a few moments later.
Miss Hohenlo greeted them despairingly.
“Frederic's game is disgraceful,” she said. “I
never saw him play so badly.”
“In that case,” laughed Ashton-Kirk, “it will
be a charity to relieve you of him. Miss Knowles,
I am sure, will take his place with credit.”
The girl gave him a quick glance; then she
went to the table and took the cue from Campe's
hand.
“I don’t think I have much of a chance against
Miss Hohenlo,” smiled she. “She's always been
too clever for me.”
“My dear,” cried the spinster, reproachfully,
“you play an excellent game. Indeed, I am
never quite at ease with you.”
“That maiden lady's pretty able,” spoke Scan-
lon to Ashton-Kirk, a few moments later in the
hall; “and in other things besides billiards. She
must be on that something's happening, that you
305


SPECIAL DETECTIVE 307
“Please call your man. We'll need him.”
“Wait!” Mr. Scanlon held out one large pro-
testing hand. “What do you want him to do?”
“We are going into the cellars. I think it best
that some one be left to watch the hall hereabouts,
and the cellar stairs.”
Bat nodded.
“Thought it was something like that,” said he.
“And that's why I wanted to know. Now I want
to say this. Kretz may be all right; then, again,
he may not be.”
Campe gazed at the speaker astonished.
“I should as soon distrust myself as Kretz,” said
he. “I’ve known him for years, and he is in
every way worthy of confidence.”
“Maybe so,” admitted Bat, “Maybe so. But
things break the other way sometimes, you know.
So let's be sure.” He looked at the others inquir-
ingly. “How about that day when we were shot
at in the cellar?” said he “How did the lamp
come to smash It happened, remember, before
a shot was fired.”
Ashton-Kirk smiled.
“If that's all you have against the sergeant-
major,” said he, “I think he will do. As it hap-
pens, I know just what caused the smash; some
one from the darkness struck it. I saw the hand
that did it, but not the owner thereof.”
Scanlon was silent for a moment; then he said:
*


3 Io ASHTON-KIRK
“in my journeying about in the guise of an in-
valid, I came across a boat hidden along the river
bank, and the indications were very strong that it
belonged to the people at the inn.”
“Well ?” asked Scanlon.
“When you told me of your experience with
the man who went through Mr. Campe's papers,”
said Ashton-Kirk, “I thought a paper was the
object of the visit. And so it was—but only as
a thing that would lead to something else. This
latter fact I suspected from the contents of the
telegram received by me this morning; and I was
convinced of it when we made our search of the
vaults a few hours ago. The paper sought was
one which held certain directions; the man with
the cough found it that night before he leaped
through the window. The paper could not have
been clear to them; it pointed to something hid-
den here in the vaults of Schwartzberg; they
searched, but without success. At length, per-
haps last night, Alva came, as we saw by the
wheel tracks of his chair. His superior intelli-
gence at once showed itself, and located what
they sought.”
Young Campe gave a cry.
“So it was in Schwartzberg, as they said l” he
exclaimed, despairingly
“You never knew it, then ?” asked Ashton-
Kirk.


3I 2 ASHTON-KIRK
from asking questions, seemed unable to contain
himself any longer. One query followed another
in rapid succession, and in a few moments Ash-
ton-Kirk found himself deep in statements and ex-
planations. The torch had been snapped off;
they stood in the darkness of the vaults, talking
in low tones.
And when everything had been told him, the
young man was silent for a space. Then he said:
“The way you have gone about this is quite
wonderful—I would not have believed that such a
meagre array of detached facts could be so pieced
together, and made into a whole so direct and sig-
nificant. But even now I do not understand how
you made up your mind as to the nature of the
thing these men seek.”
“When I read Fuller's statement, contained in
his report, that the former head of the Guatemala
police was now that country's representative at
Washington, I wired at once asking information
as to the man Evans and the nature of his offenses
in Guatemala. The telegram I received this morn-
ing,” to Scanlon, “was in answer to that, and it
said 5 *
Here the voice died away; there was silence for
a moment.
“Well,” asked Scanlon, “what did it—”
“Hush !”
Again there was silence. Then, little by little,


316 ASHTON-KIRK
way; he was a wise old fox, as you know. Any-
way, he went back to Mexico; Joe died before he
could get any kind of word to me; and there we
were, up a tree.”
“Well, we are safely down again,” came the
strong voice of the cripple; “but don’t let us
wait here. Get the plates together, and we'll be
Off.”
Shaw obeyed; carefully he placed the plates
one upon another, the layers of oiled paper be-
tween. He had them all nicely adjusted when
they were snatched from his hand, and a voice
said quietly:
“Careful now, gentlemen. Don't do anything
hasty. There are five guns between you and
what you want.”
Startled, amazed, snarling, the seven stared at
Ashton-Kirk. Faintly they saw the burly form of
Scanlon in the shadow, and beside him the master
of Schwartzberg and the two detectives; in the
polish of the black automatics which these held
there was a silent menace.
Ashton-Kirk nodded to the soft man, and
smiled.
“The Guatemala police also admired the work
of your brother,” said he. “They say they never
saw better.” Then without turning his head:
“Scanlon | *
“Right here,” answered the big man, promptly.


320 ASHTON-KIRK
Dumbly she went down the hall, her hands
seeming to grope the way.
“Kretz,” said the special detective, “open the
door.”
The German moved after the woman, and in a
few moments they heard the great gate open and
close.
“Well,” said Mr. Scanlon, with a long breath,
“that's all finished ! And it seems to me,” nod-
ding to Ashton-Kirk, affably, “it’s a pretty fair
kind of a iob.”
The Stories in this Series are:
ASHTON-KIRK INVESTIGATOR
ASHTON-KIRK SECRET AGENT
ASHTON-KIRK SPECIAL DETECTIVE
ASHTON-KIRK CRIMINOLOGIST








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