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Ashton-Kirk, Investigator

<h2>CHAPTER XXII</h2> <h3>ASHTON-KIRK IS ANNOYED</h3> On the following day, at about noon, Ashton-Kirk's big French car glided up to the curb before the Vale house. A man with a thick neck and a small head nodded to the investigator; another waved a hand from across the street. "Plain-clothes men," he murmured, "and at watch upon the house. That means that this matter can be brought to an end none too soon for Miss Vale's comfort." He was getting out of his car when a brace of eager reporters accosted him. "The Standard would like to have you say a few words for publication," said one. "The Herald will give you what space you require for a statement at any time you see fit to make use of it," declared the other. "I'm very sorry," said Ashton-Kirk, brushing a speck of dust from an immaculate sleeve, "but I have nothing to say that would interest your city editors, or the public. I have no doubt but that the police officials will be glad to acquaint you with anything new that has transpired—if there has been anything new." The newspaper men pulled wry faces. "The police hang onto the Italian musician and profess to think he's the guilty party," said one. "If they have taken any steps beyond this, before to-day, we have not known of it." "Why have the detectives been placed to watch Miss Vale's house?" asked the other. "And what has Osborne gone in to talk about?" "Ah," said Ashton-Kirk, with interest, "Osborne is within, is he?" "Yes; and why are you going in? What has been learned regarding Miss Vale's connection with the case that has not already been made public?" "I would hardly undertake to answer that last," laughed Ashton-Kirk. "So much has been made public in one way and another that I haven't been able to keep track of it all. My own visit is merely a friendly call. Why Mr. Osborne is here I, of course, cannot say." Leaving the newspaper men disappointed and dissatisfied, the investigator rang the bell and was admitted. In the hall, pulling on his gloves, was Osborne. "Hello!" exclaimed the latter. "So you thought you'd have a try, too, eh?" The big man's tone showed that he was none too well pleased with his own visit; he jerked at his gloves viciously, and his brow was creased with vexation. And seeing that the other was disposed to do nothing more than nod, he went on: "Well, you'll have to have a lot better luck than I've had, to have any at all. Miss Vale, it seems, is a young lady who knows very well how to say nothing. I've been here something like an hour and have put her through a regular third degree; but I've had my labor for my pains, as the saying is. She has told me nothing except her opinion of the newspapers and the police." "Miss Vale will see you, sir," said the man servant, returning. "And so you've given it up?" queried the investigator of Osborne. The big headquarters man shrugged his shoulders. "Hardly," said he. "I've set a time on the thing. We scarcely like to go to extremes, as you perhaps know; but unless a clean breast of the matter is made, as far as the party knows," modifying his language because of the listening servant, "the same party will know what the inside of a cell is like by this time to-morrow." "You really mean to make an arrest?" "If we are forced to—yes." Ashton-Kirk followed him to the door: "Extend the time limit," suggested he. "Make it the day after to-morrow, and," elevating his brows, "I don't think that you'll need to do anything unpleasant." "Ah," said Osborne, "you're onto something!" He regarded the other questioningly for a moment, then broke into a grin. "No use to ask what it is, I suppose? I thought not. Well," reflectively, and in a lowered tone, "it won't do any harm to oblige you, if the front office is willing. The party can't make a move that we won't know about; and the fact is, I've just advised that no going out of any kind be ventured on. So long, and good luck." The door closed behind Osborne, and then Ashton-Kirk followed the soft-footed servant down the hall, up the stairs and into the presence of Edyth Vale. The girl received him smilingly. "I'm getting to be a regular occurrence," said he, as he sat down. "But a welcome one, nevertheless," she returned. "Indeed, if it were not for certain other depressing circumstances, I'd find your visits dreadfully exciting." "I suppose Osborne is one of the circumstances referred to. I just met him in the hall, and he seemed to be quite in a state of mind. What have you been saying to him?—or rather," smiling, "what have you not been saying to him?" "He came on what he calls 'police business,'" smiled Miss Vale. "I considered it quite an alarming expression, and said so; but that made no impression on him, for he proceeded with a string of wonderfully conceived questions that must have covered my life from birth to the present time." "The police have about the same method for each case—a sort of bullying insistence that breaks down denial by sheer weight." "I have read of it, frequently, in complaining articles in both magazines and newspapers. I think I have even seen it very earnestly compared to the Inquisition." The smile was still upon the girl's lip, but as she continued, her voice shook a little. "However, I never thought to go through even a part of it myself." "What the police say may be embarrassing and mortifying," said Ashton-Kirk gravely, "but it is nothing at all, compared with what they might do." Miss Vale drew in her breath in a little gasp of terror; but she made an effort to conceal it with a laugh. "I know what you mean," she said, lightly. "You think that they might go so far as to take me into custody as an accessory to the crime, or even as the actual criminal." "Mr. Osborne told me that such was their intention, if you do not explain clearly your connection with the case. I don't think that the Department is at all anxious to draw you into the matter; but some of the newspapers, as you no doubt have noted, have grown very insistent. They say that a poor musician is jailed instantly, while the woman of fashion, who is perhaps equally guilty, is allowed to go free. Such ways of putting things have a great effect upon public opinion; the politicians who conduct the municipal departments know this, and always move to protect themselves, no matter in what direction the movement takes them." "Then," said Miss Vale, "you really think they will do as Mr. Osborne said?" "I have no doubt of it—if the matter is not cleared up before the time arrives for them to act." The girl arose and went to a window as though to look out; the investigator saw her hand pressed to her heart, and noted the trembling that had seized her. Yet, when she faced him once more, a moment or two later, she made a brave attempt to smile as before. "I think this is too bad of you," she said. "Your point of view is almost as pessimistic as the detectives', or the newspapers'. I had expected comfort and encouragement." "And I came to give it—if you'll allow me," said Ashton-Kirk, quietly. She looked at him for a moment, then both hands went out in a mock despairing gesture, and she laughed. But the laugh was unmistakably forced, and a keen ear for such things would have detected a pathetic little catch in it. "Now," she said, "you are becoming mysterious. However, I suppose I must not complain, for it is entirely in character with your profession, isn't it?" He disregarded both the observation and the tone; there was a slight pucker between his keen eyes that spoke of impatience and resentment. "Mr. Osborne has been very plain with you, Miss Vale," said he, "you have perhaps become accustomed to it in a measure. So I shall not hesitate to follow in his footsteps. I am going to make you face some very plain facts." "Mercy!" She laughed. "Mercy, Mr. Ashton-Kirk. I had not thought that you could be so deliberately cruel!" "In the first place, Miss Vale," he began, paying not the slightest attention to her laughter or the mocking light in her eyes, "if you had continued as you began, this matter would have been cleared up before this, the newspapers would never have printed your name in connection with it, and you would have been spared the mortification of a detective at your doorstep." "Is there one—outside?" "There are several. If you venture out you will be followed wherever you go." The girl sank into a chair in a limp, rumpled sort of way; somehow the idea of surveillance affected her more than anything else. Her face became ashen; her hands shook distressfully as she clasped them tightly together. "When you allowed the fears and desires of Allan Morris to cloud your reason, you made a mistake. You admitted as much when you came to me after the murder; but instantly, upon seeing him again, you were as before. He was struck with fear, and he communicated his terror to you; as before you dreaded to trust anyone—even myself." "I think you are inclined to take a great deal for granted," said Miss Vale. But in spite of the words, her eyes were wide with alarm. "He told you of the deaf-mute, Locke," said Ashton-Kirk; "and also other things, which seem to have induced you to visit Locke at the Institute near Cordova on the night before last." Miss Vale elevated her brows in surprise; her attitude was one of wonderment. "I don't think I understand." "And you did not seem to understand yesterday when I called upon you. You fancied that I was not sure that I had seen you, and had come expecting you to admit the visit to Locke. And as I went away, you also fancied that you had thrown me off the scent." He smiled at the recollection, in spite of his evident resentment of her position. "But the fact of the matter was that I knew your fiancé had been the cause of your visit to the mute. You had seen Morris, you knew where he was, and I thought it would be a useful thing for me to be also acquainted with his whereabouts." "But," protested Miss Vale in a faint voice, but still acting her chosen role to the best of her gifts, "if I had known and desired to conceal his whereabouts, surely you did not expect me to tell you of it." "Not directly. But, if you remember, I dropped a hint that his hiding-place was about to be discovered. This was true; you were about to disclose it. I had only to wait and follow as you rushed off to warn him." She leaned back in her chair and regarded him strangely, but he proceeded with evenness: "Your work upon the road was very clever; I congratulate you upon it. But it was scarcely sufficiently inspired to deceive an old hand." Here he waited, apparently expecting her to speak. But as she did not take advantage of the pause, he went on: "I called this morning to acquaint you with these things and to advise you on your future course. I must admit that I rather admire your steadfastness in following out what Allan Morris has desired of you; however, it is a great mistake for a strong nature to submit to the clamorings of a weaker one." She sat suddenly erect; protest was in her eyes, and one hand went up in denial. But, though her lips opened as though she were about to speak, no words came; once more she sank back in the chair with the air of one compelled to admit a bitter truth. "I am not so sure as to how deep Morris is in this murder," continued the investigator, "but I have some ideas on the subject. On the other hand I am quite sure that you are promised to aid him, and that you feel duty bound to do so to the end, according to his not very wise instructions." He arose and stood looking down at her kindly. "My advice to you," he went on—"and I speak with a fair knowledge of the facts—is that you do nothing more. Be content with what you have attempted; allow me to act for you in anything further which you have in mind. Or, if you cannot give me your confidence, let me carry the thing on in my own way, as you proposed at the first." There was a pause of some length; then the girl spoke. "I am just a trifle bewildered at all this," she said; "and I really cannot say, Mr. Ashton-Kirk, that I altogether follow you." He smiled, but the disapproving wrinkle still showed between his eyes. "I see that you are still determined to hold to your attitude," he said. "I am sorry, of course, but then one is called upon at times to do as one thinks best, and I suppose that is what you are doing." He turned toward the door, and she arose and touched the bell. "Good-by." "Good-by," she returned. He stood for a moment in the doorway regarding her with mingled annoyance and admiration. As he caught the steps of the approaching servant in the hall, he said: "Possibly I can save you some little trouble. You need not call at the Rangnow Apartments. Up to last night, Allan Morris had not notified Mr. Tobin as to his new hiding-place. However, if you feel that you must see him, you can call at my place at this hour on the day after to-morrow. I am not sure, of course, but it occurs to me that he will be there." <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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