CHAPTER II SHOWS HOW MATTERS STOOD AT SCHWARTZBERG 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 effect upon you,” said Ashton-Kirk. "He communicated 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 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 impending 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? ’ “‘ 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 getting out to Campe’s place to think of; and as it was late and very dark, I said nothing more except to ask my way. “‘ Take the road down to the river,' says the station man. ‘ Then cioss 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 oudines of the covered 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 shuffling 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 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 have given you will tell its own story.’ “Then I heard the pit-pit-pat of careful feet going back across the bridge. I waited for a little 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; 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 beside 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. “‘
