But that fellow,"and he shook a remonstrating finger at the door of the lodging-house, "thinks himself better'n other people. And mind you,"with a leer, "maybe he's not as good."
"Who do you mean—the Dago?"asked the machinist.
"No; I mean Crawford. A salesman, eh?"The speaker made a gesture as though pushing something from him with contempt. "Fudge! Travels, does he? Rot! He can't fool me. And then,"with energy, "what did he used to do so much in Spatola's garret, eh? What did they talk about so much on the quiet? I ain't saying nothing about nobody, mind you. I'm a gentleman. My name's Hertz. I don't want to get nobody into trouble. But if Crawford was such a swell as not to want to speak to a gentleman in public, why did he hold so many pow-wows in private with Spatola? That's what I want to know."
Seeing that the man's befogged intellect would be likely to carry him on in this strain for an indefinite time, Ashton-Kirk and Pendleton were about to move on. But they had not gone more than a few yards when the investigator paused as though struck with an idea. He stepped back once more and drew a photograph from his pocket.
"Do you know who this is?"he asked, abruptly, holding it up.
The unwieldy man swayed gently and waveringly regarded the portrait.
"Sure!"said he surprisedly, "it's Crawford."
Ashton-Kirk rejoined his friend; and as they made their way to the waiting automobile, the latter said;
"That is a step ahead of me, Kirk, I think. Where did you get a portrait of this man Crawford?"
By way of an answer the investigator held up the photograph once more. Pendleton gave a gasp of amazement.
"Allan Morris,"said he. "Allan Morris, by George!"
CHAPTER XIV
MISS VALE UNEXPECTEDLY APPEARS
Edouard, Ashton-Kirk's cook, was astonished and somewhat grieved that day to receive orders that dinner was to be served an hour earlier than usual. And Stumph, grave and immobile, was betrayed into an expression of astonishment when his master and guest sat down to the same dinner in their work-a-day attire.
And at best Edouard's delicate art that day received but scant attention. Stumph could hardly conceive of a more important thing than the proper and gentlemanly eating of one's dinner. Nevertheless other things engaged the attention of the two young men; they talked earnestly and in incomprehensible terms; mysterious allusions were sprinkled thickly through it all.
"I do not think,"Stumph told the mortified Edouard in the kitchen, "that Mr. Pendleton has tasted the flavor of a single thing he has eaten. He listens to Mr. Ashton-Kirk talk; he is surprised at everything that he is told; there is a trembling in his hands, he is so eager. No, I don't know what it's about. But then, I never know what Mr. Ashton-Kirk is about. He is a very remarkable gentleman."
And no sooner was the dinner completed than Ashton-Kirk's big French car was brought to the door and both young men got into it.
"You've looked up the road to Cordova?"inquired Ashton-Kirk of the chauffeur.
"Yes, sir,"answered the man. "Very good road and almost parallel with the railroad. No trouble getting there by dark."
"All right. Get there as soon as you can."
They cut into a broad asphalted avenue, which eventually led them through the north suburbs into the country. The April dusk was settling upon the fields as they raced along; in the isolated houses, lights were beginning to twinkle; there was a swaying among the trees and roadside bush; the hum of the flying car must have been borne long distances; for far away people raised their heads from the finishing tasks of the day to look at it as it flashed by.
Pendleton lay back comfortably digesting his dinner, and ticking off in his mind the case which engrossed him so much.
"It all tapers down to this,"he said to himself. "Hume was murdered by Locke and a confederate in order that they might gain possession of something, the nature of which is unknown. Kirk is confident of Locke; I think he'd even go so far as to give him into custody, if he had the tangible proofs that the police require.
"But he lacks enthusiasm in the matter of the confederate. To my mind, it's Spatola or Morris, or both. Both bore Hume no good will. Morris has been spending at least part of his time with Spatola under an assumed name; they are known to have been very much engaged in some secret matter. Both visited Hume's on the night of the murder. An Italian purchased the weapon with which the deed was done. A German sentence was written in shorthand by Locke for his confederate. Spatola admits he knows German; he grows suspicious when shorthand is mentioned. And to wind it up, Morris has not been seen at his apartments, his office, or by his friends, since the murder was committed."
At a little unpainted railroad station, the investigator broke in on Pendleton's thoughts by calling on the chauffeur to stop. There were the usual signboards on each side of the structure, announcing that the place was Cordova; and there was the usual knot of loungers that are always to be found about such places watching with interest the incoming trains.
Ashton-Kirk called to one of these. He was a lanky fellow in a wide-brimmed hat and with a sheep-like look of complacency.
"What's the best way to Dr. Mercer's place?"asked Ashton-Kirk.
The lanky man reflected.
"There's three or four ways of getting there,"he stated. "You can go up the pike and turn at Harbison's store; or you can turn down the lane along there a piece and go along until you come to—"
"Which is the nearest?"
"I ain't never passed no judgment on that; but I think the clay road down toward Plattville would get you there the quickest—if you didn't get stuck in the ruts."
"I think we'd better stick to the pike,"suggested Pendleton.
"The pike's the best road,"said the lanky man. "All the people from Mercer's place use it when they drive here to the station."
Once more the big French car, now with its lamps lighted, sped along the road; about a mile further on they came to the store referred to by the man as Harbison's. Here they received instructions as to how to proceed, by the store-keeper; and after running about four miles along an indifferent wagon road, they caught the twinkle of many lights off in the middle of a wide clearing.
"That must be it,"said the investigator. "We'll leave the car here; to flash up to the door in the quiet of the evening would attract more attention than would be good for us, perhaps."
It was now quite dark, but they found a gate a trifle farther on which opened readily; and so they proceeded along a walk toward a building which lay blinking at them with its yellow eyes. A deep-throated dog scented them from off in the distance and gave tongue. As they drew near to the institution they heard a man calling to the brute to be still. A little further on the man himself suddenly appeared from around the corner of a building with a lantern; he flashed this in their faces as he said:
"Well, sirs, this is against the rules. We have no visitors except on Saturdays; and then only within reasonable hours."
"We would like to speak to Dr. Mercer,"said Ashton-Kirk.
"Dr. Mercer is at dinner,"explained the man with the lantern. "He don't like it much if he's disturbed at such times."
"We will wait until he has finished; we are in no great hurry."
The man seemed puzzled as to how to act. With the light held aloft so that not a feature escaped him, he examined them closely. Apparently he could see nothing with which to find fault; and so he sighed in a perplexed fashion.
"He does not care to have people wait for him,"complained the man. "He gets very angry if he is worried by such things while dining."
"You need not announce us until he is through,"said Ashton-Kirk,