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[Illustration: Book Cover]

[Illustration: HE TOOK UP THE ENVELOPE]

ASHTON-KIRK
SECRET AGENT

BY
John T. McIntyre
Author of "Ashton-Kirk Investigator," &c.

ILLUSTRATIONS BY
RALPH L. BOYER

THE PENN PUBLISHING
COMPANY PHILADELPHIA
1912

COPYRIGHT
1912 BY
THE PENN
PUBLISHING
COMPANY

_To_
_Helen Ray_

Introduction

Those who have read "Ashton-Kirk, Investigator" will recall references
to several affairs in which the United States government found the
investigator's unusual powers of inestimable service. In such matters,
tremendous interests often stand dangerously balanced, and the most
delicate touch is required if they are not to be sent toppling. As
Ashton-Kirk has said:

"When a crisis arises between two of the giant modern nations, with
their vast armies, their swift fleets, their dreadful engines of war,
the hands which control their affairs must be steady, secret, and sure.
Otherwise an unthinkable horror might be brought about."

It frequently happens that such a crisis arises, the issue is joined and
fought out to the bitter end, and the watchful public press never gets
even a hint of it. Indeed, if the secret archives of the nations were
thrown open for inspection, a long series of appalling dangers would be
shown to have been passed by each--dangers arising from small and
apparently remote things, but capable of swift and deadly growth.

Experience, steady courage, and sure talent are required in dealing
with such things; and these qualities Ashton-Kirk possesses in
abundance. To be sure, the departments of the government have the
"Secret Service" at their hand; but the specialist is called in when the
general practitioner is at a loss, and he is as much a part of the
structure as his regularly employed colleague.

The adventure of the present story is only one of many to be told of
Ashton-Kirk.

CONTENTS

  CHAPTER                                                           PAGE
      I. SOME PECULIAR CIRCUMSTANCES                                  11
     II. ASHTON-KIRK GOES TO EASTBURY                                 33
    III. AN INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR                                      50
     IV. THE TAKING OFF OF DR. MORSE                                  64
      V. THE HOUND STRIKES THE TRAIL                                  76
     VI. THE VISIT OF OKIU                                            89
    VII. THE METHYLENE STAIN                                         101
   VIII. THE HOUSE ON FORDHAM ROAD                                   116
     IX. OKIU ONCE MORE                                              126
      X. SOME STARTLING INTELLIGENCE                                 135
     XI. A RAY OF LIGHT                                              144
    XII. KARKOWSKY GETS SOME ATTENTION                               157
   XIII. OLD NANON SPEAKS                                            167
    XIV. OKIU WRITES A LETTER                                        176
     XV. ALMOST!                                                     181
    XVI. IN THE DARK                                                 195
   XVII. THE SILHOUETTES                                             204
  XVIII. GONE!                                                       214
    XIX. THE TAXI-CAB                                                223
     XX. FRESH DEVELOPMENTS                                          240
    XXI. THE MAN WITH THE DECORATION                                 247
   XXII. THE GERMAN EMBASSY BALL                                     256
  XXIII. WHAT VON STUNNENBERG THOUGHT                                276
   XXIV. SURPRISED!                                                  284
    XXV. CAUGHT!                                                     295
   XXVI. THE TRUTH                                                   308
  XXVII. CONCLUSION                                                  321

Illustrations

                                                                    PAGE
  HE TOOK UP THE ENVELOPE                                 _Frontispiece_
  "WHO BROUGHT THE NEWS?"                                             73
  THE GLITTERING EYES LIFTED                                         197
  "MY TIME IS SHORT"                                                 279

CHAPTER I

SOME PECULIAR CIRCUMSTANCES

Fuller studied the heavy, decided signature at the bottom of the typed
page; then he laid the letter upon the table.

"One who judges character by handwriting," said he, "would probably
think the secretary a strong man."

Ashton-Kirk took the stem of the long German pipe from between his lips.

"From your tone," said he, "you do not so consider him."

Fuller was looking down at the letter.

"With that looking me in the face, how can I? Here is a matter of
tremendous importance--one of the most guarded secrets of the government
is endangered. Yesterday, in what was undoubtedly a panic, he wired you,
begging help. Then, almost immediately after, he weakens and writes,
requesting you to do nothing."

Thick clouds arose from the Coblentz; the smoker snuggled down into the
big chair luxuriously.

"And from these things," said he, "you draw that he lacks force?"

"Yes; he quit before even catching a glimpse of the end."

There was a moment's silence, and then the secret agent spoke.

"There are times," remarked he, "when it is not altogether desirable to
catch that glimpse." He blew out a veil of smoke and watched it idly for
a moment. "It is possible, in pushing a thing to the end," he added, "to
force an entirely unexpected result. Take for example the case of the
Molineux chaplet, some little time since. Could there have been more
fire, more determination than that exhibited by old Colonel Molineux in
this room when he brought the matter to our attention? And yet, when I
showed him that his own daughter was the thief, he instantly subsided."

Fuller regarded his employer with questioning eyes.

"You think, then, that some one concerned in the government has been
found out as----"

But the other stopped him.

"Sometimes," said he, "we are even more anxious to spare an enemy than a
friend. And the reason usually is that we do not care to force the said
enemy into such a position that his only resource would be an open
blow."

"Ah!" Fuller's eyes widened. "They hesitate because they fear to bring
about a war." He looked at the secret agent, the question in his face
growing. "But with whom?"

Ashton-Kirk put aside the pipe and got up.

"For years," said he, "the specialists of the Navy Department have been
secretly working upon a gun designed to throw a tremendous explosive.
That it was delicate work was shown by the quality of the men employed
upon it; and that it was dangerous was proven by the lives lost from
time to time in the experiments. Six months ago the invention was
completed. The news leaked out, and naturally the powers were
interested. Then to the dismay of the heads of the department it was
learned that a most formidable plan to obtain possession of the secret
had been balked by the merest chance. The agents of the government were
at once put to work; not satisfied with this, the secretary wired me to
come to Washington at once. But I was in no haste to do so, because I
foresaw what would happen."

The questioning look in Fuller's eyes increased.

"I knew that the agents of a foreign government laid the plan,"
proceeded Ashton-Kirk. "Who else would desire information upon such a
point? And at this time there is but one government sufficiently
interested in us to go so far."

"You mean----"

Ashton-Kirk yawned widely and then asked:

"Have you seen the morning papers?"

"Yes."

"Perhaps you noticed a speech by Crosby, the Californian, in Congress.
Rather a slashing affair. He continues to demand a permanent fleet for
the Pacific and increased coast defenses."

The windows were open; the high-pitched complaint from the mean street
drifted up and into the room. A bar of sunlight shot between two
up-rearing brick bulks across the way; it glittered among the racks of
polished instruments, slipped along the shelves of books and entered at
the door of the laboratory; here the vari-colored chemicals sparkled in
their round-bellied prisons; the grotesque retorts gleamed in swollen
satisfaction.

A knock came upon the door, and Stumph, Ashton-Kirk's grave-faced man
servant, entered with a card.

"It is the gentleman who called yesterday while you were out," said
Stumph.

The secret agent took the card and read:

"Mr. Philip Warwick."

"He asked me to say," proceeded Stumph, "that his business is urgent and
important."

"Let him come up."

Stumph went out. Fuller began fingering a packet of documents which he
took from the table.

"I suppose," said he, "that I may as well file these Schofield-Dempster
papers away."

"Yes, the matter is finished, so far as we are concerned. It was
interesting at first, but I'm rather glad to be rid of it. The piquancy
of the situation was lost when the 'forgeries' were found to have been
no forgeries at all; and the family despair is a trifle trying."

"Mr. Philip Warwick," said the low voice of Stumph, a few moments later.

A big, square-shouldered young man entered the room; he had thick, light
colored hair and wide open blue eyes. That he was an Englishman was
unmistakable. For a moment he seemed in doubt as to whom he should
address; but Fuller indicated his employer and the caller bowed his
thanks.

"Sir," said he, "if I am intruding, I ask your pardon. I was directed to
you by Professor Hutchinson of Hampden College, with whom I have become
acquainted through our mutual interest in the Oriental languages."

"Ah, yes. Hutchinson is a very old friend of mine, a splendid fellow,
and a fine judge of tobacco. Will you sit down?"

"Thank you."

Mr. Philip Warwick sat down, and looked very big and strong and ill at
ease. There was a perplexed expression upon his handsome face; but he
said, quietly enough:

"I take this occasion, Mr. Ashton-Kirk, to express my appreciation of
your book upon the Lithuanian language. I spent some years in the Baltic
provinces, and am fairly familiar with the tongue."

Ashton-Kirk smiled, well pleased.

"A number of people have been good enough to notice that little book,"
said he, "though when I wrote it I did not expect it to get beyond my
own circle. You see, the Lithuanians have grown rather thick in this
section of the city; and the great similarity between their language and
the Sanskrit interested me."

"The work," said the young Englishman, "is very complete. But," and his
voice lowered a trifle, "much as I am delighted with it, still, that is
not why I have ventured to call upon you."

"No?" The secret agent settled himself in the big chair; his singular
eyes studied the visitor with interest. Fuller having finished with the
papers at the table now asked:

"Will you need me?"

"Perhaps."

The assistant thereupon sat down, took out a pencil and laid a pad of
paper upon his knee. Philip Warwick shifted uneasily in his chair; his
powerful fingers clasped and unclasped nervously.

"Professor Hutchinson informs me," said he, "that you take an interest
in those problems which spring up unexpectedly and confound the
inexperienced. Have I been correctly informed?"

The secret agent nodded.

"Am I to understand that you have brought me such a problem?" he asked.

The visitor bent forward a trifle.

"Perhaps," he said, "it will prove no problem to you. It may be, to some
extent, that our imaginations have been playing tricks upon us. But,
however that may be, the whole matter is utterly beyond our
comprehension. I have done what I can to get to the bottom of it and
failed. If you will be kind enough to hear and advise me, I shall be
profoundly grateful."

Ashton-Kirk gestured for him to go on.

"The affair," began the young Englishman, "is not my own, but that of my
employer, Dr. Simon Morse." He caught the look in the eyes of the secret
agent, and added: "No doubt you have heard of him; his theories
attracted wide attention some time ago."

"I recall him very well," said Ashton-Kirk. "A sort of scientific
anarchist, if I'm not mistaken; he had many daring ideas and
considerable hardihood in their expression."

"Any sort of government, human or divine, has in him an outspoken
enemy," said Warwick. "I know him to be a man of great learning and
splendid ability, but somewhere in his brain there is a something which
nullifies it all."

"You say the matter regarding which you came to see me is that of Dr.
Morse. Did he ask you to come?"

"No, no," young Warwick held up his hand, hastily. "He knows nothing of
it; and I much prefer that he should not. You see, he is a man of
peculiar temperament. He is very silent and secretive regarding his
private affairs; also he has," drily, "a somewhat violent temper."

"You picture a rather unpleasant character."

"But I do him no injustice," protested the young Englishman. "Frankly,
he is not at all my sort; and I should not remain with him a day, were
it not for Stella--Miss Corbin."

"I see."

"She is his niece--the only child of a younger sister; and the things
which I am about to relate have caused her much alarm. She fears that
some strange danger threatens him. He has always been kind to her, and
she is very much attached to him.

"Dr. Morse is an Englishman and a graduate in medicine; but having large
means has given but little time to the practice of his profession. As
his published works have shown, he detests all governments; however,
that of Russia has always been his pet aversion. He has declared it the
most corrupt system extant, and maintained that not a patriotic pulse
was to be found among the ruling class throughout the vast empire. Its
mighty army, he predicted, would crumble before the first determined
foe.

"When the war broke out between Japan and Russia, Dr. Morse at once
placed his niece in safe hands; then he disappeared for more than a
year. Upon his return it was learned that he had, somehow, managed to
have himself enrolled upon the medical staff of the Russian army, and
had witnessed most of the operations in Manchuria. Though he came back
rather worn and with a slow-healing wound, he seemed much elated.

"'I now have the direct proof which I desired,' he said. 'The Muscovite
army reeks with chicanery; and the book that I'm going to write will set
the whole world talking.'

"But before beginning the book he determined to have a long rest; he
took a fine old house, just outside Sharsdale, in Kent; and with him
were his niece and an old French woman servant who had been in the
family for many years. They lived very snugly there for some three
months; then there began a most singular train of incidents. Of these I
have but a slight personal knowledge, for, as I have said, Dr. Morse is
a secretive man. But, little by little, Stella and I gathered up the
fragments and put them together; the result was rather an alarming
whole. Odd happenings became of daily occurrence; a peculiar, nameless
something seemed hovering about the place; a vague agency was felt in
the commonest things; the household began to live in the expectation of
some indefinite calamity."

"Pardon me. You were at Sharsdale at the time, I take it?"

"Yes; stopping at the village inn. My excuse was that I was doing some
sketching; but," with great simplicity, "as a matter of fact, I was
there in order to be near Stella Corbin."

"I see. Please go on."

"Gradually we came to know, from the doctor's manner more than anything
else, that he fancied himself watched. Indeed, more than once I
personally noted traces of what I can call mysterious visitations. And
twice within as many months the house was broken into and ransacked from
top to bottom."

"A moment ago," said Ashton-Kirk, "you spoke of odd happenings. Just
what were the nature of these?"

"What I consider the first," answered Warwick, "was the visit of
Karkowsky. He drove up one morning in a high-seated pony cart--a
round-bellied, fresh-faced, smiling little man with eyes that stared as
innocently as a child's. He seemed in most urgent haste, gave his name,
said that he was a Pole and gave as his business that of confidential
adviser in those delicate matters which one hesitates to bring to the
attention of a solicitor. I was with Dr. Morse at the time, and I recall
that Karkowsky's manner was most important and his time apparently of
much value. But, queerly enough, his methods were singularly futile;
they led in no particular direction. Several times Morse hinted
concerning the nature of his errand, but he avoided the subject. Finally
he arose, and I fancied that he wore a disappointed look; and upon
taking his leave gave the doctor his card bearing a London address and
begged that he be communicated with should his services ever be needed.

"On the night following this visit, Dr. Morse dined with me at the inn;
Stella was away from home and the old French woman was with her. About
nine o'clock I walked with the doctor to his garden gate. Just as we
were saying good-night we noticed a dim light shine in his study window.
As we stood surprisedly watching, it disappeared. A moment later,
however, it returned, a faint fluttering sort of light which maintained
itself with difficulty. Again it disappeared and once more returned; and
then we understood. Some one was lighting his way about the room with
matches.

"At first we thought it must be Stella returned unexpectedly; but
instantly we knew that this could not be, for she would have turned on
the lights had she had occasion to visit the room. We entered and softly
ascended the stairs. But all was dark and still; we searched everywhere,
but found no one.

"A week later, Stella and the servant having returned, they all awoke
one morning some hours later than usual. The bedrooms were heavy with
the fumes of a drug; locks had been broken, chests, desks and cupboards
had been opened, and their contents strewed the floors. But, strange to
say, nothing had been stolen.

"Two nights after this Dr. Morse was struck down in a lane; he was found
by some workmen and brought home. Of this incident he refused to speak
other than that he had not been robbed.

"Stella now became frightened. At night she saw shadows flitting in the
garden; that these were not fancies was proven by the strange
foot-prints which I found in the soft mould. The dog died of poison;
another was procured, a savage, crafty creature; but she went the way of
the first. One day, and at broad noon, the doctor arose from his desk
and went into an adjoining room for a book. He was not gone above a
minute; but upon returning he found a loaded revolver lying upon the
tablet upon which he had been writing. This apparently drove him
frantic, for he seized the weapon and rushed through the house. But
there was no one save Stella and old Nanon.

"Then once again they were drugged and the house ransacked, but this
time the attention of the intruders seemed directed toward Dr. Morse's
papers only. They showed every indication of having been exhaustively
examined; but nothing was missing.

"As these things continued, the tension began to tell; the face of
Stella's uncle became drawn and his eyes quick and feverish. At the
least sound he would start; and it became almost as much as one's life
was worth to approach him from behind. Then suddenly and secretly he
made up his mind to come to America; at the last moment he made me an
offer to accompany them as his secretary.

"'The work upon my proposed book will be heavy,' he said, 'and I shall
require aid.'" Here young Warwick nodded and smiled. "Nothing could have
fallen in better with my desires than this," he said. "And so, of
course, I accepted the proposal. This was three years ago; at first we
occupied apartments in the city here; but some five months back, Dr.
Morse took a house on Fordham Road, Eastbury; and there the work upon
the book, the idea of which had greatly expanded, went on without a
halt.

"But," and the young man gestured oddly, after the fashion of one
curiously impressed, "though the doctor had crossed the sea he had not
traveled beyond the reach of his mysterious persecutor. The happenings
at Eastbury are every bit as queer as those at Sharsdale; and they began
in the same way. As the doctor and I sat working in the library one day,
a taxi-cab stopped and Karkowsky, as cheerful, red cheeked and
comfortable as before, alighted. And as before, he seemed in great
haste. Apparently Dr. Morse had never marked, as I had done, Karkowsky's
first visit as the beginning of his strange troubles. At any rate he
showed no resentment, but merely seemed surprised at so unexpected a
visitor. The Pole talked volubly about the new country and of his
prospects; the delicate matters, so he said, which it was his business
to handle were vastly greater in number in America. And I noted that he
kept to this point; no matter what unexpected turn was given the
conversation he always came back to it. And all the time he kept his
eyes fixed eagerly upon the doctor. But at the end of a half hour he
arose; again I sensed that he was disappointed; but he said nothing,
merely handing my employer another card and begging that he be summoned
any time his services were needed. Then he took his departure.

"It was next morning that I entered the library rather quietly and
found Dr. Morse with a heap of mail before him; in his hand he held a
square of white paper at which he looked fixedly. Upon this was a
roughly drawn device done in brown crayon. I could make nothing of it.
When he discovered me looking over his shoulder he uttered an impatient
exclamation, tore the sheet into strips and tossed them into the waste
basket. That same day I opened some mail matter, as was my habit when
the doctor was not about; and in one of the envelopes I came upon a
duplicate of the drawing that I had seen in my employer's hands. When I
handed this to him a little later I fancied that I caught a gleam of the
old haunted look which I had so often noted at Sharsdale."

"Have you, by any chance, one of these drawings?" asked Ashton-Kirk.

"I have." Philip Warwick took out a wallet and from it selected a paper.
"It is the third that came--and in every respect like the other two."

The secret agent looked at the paper carefully; it bore a rough, hurried
tracing done with a brown material--and looked much like this:

Attentively Ashton-Kirk examined the drawing. But if it bore any meaning
for him, he gave no indication of it; for placing the paper upon the
table, he said:

"Go on."

"As I had suspected upon sight of Karkowsky," resumed Warwick, "the
persecution of Dr. Morse was resumed. But, so it seemed, the matter had
entered into a new phase. There was no more mysterious prowling,
waylaying and housebreaking; the mail only was used. But, so far as I
know, duplicates of this drawing," pointing to the one which the secret
agent had just laid down, "were the only things sent up to yesterday.
The outline of the thing never varied; but, oddly enough, the color
has."

"Ah!"

"At first the design was always in brown. Then, finally, one came in
light blue, and for a space they were all of that color. The next change
was to black, then to red, and finally to white--drawn upon neutral
tinted paper. But yesterday," and once more the young Englishman opened
the wallet and took out a paper, "this came."

Ashton-Kirk took the sheet and glanced at it. In the same brown material
that had been used in making the other drawing he found the picture of a
woman.

"Apparently meant to represent a person of some consequence," he said.
"There is a sort of tiara, or coronet upon the head." He laid the
drawing upon the table with the other. "Was there never any accompanying
writing with these?"

"None that I ever heard of."

"Have you any of the envelopes in which they came?"

"No."

Ashton-Kirk arose and took a few turns up and down the long room; then
pausing at a stand he opened a case of heavy looking cigars, one of
which he offered Warwick.

"Thank you, no," said the young man.

The secret agent, however, selected one, lighted it and resumed his
pacing.

"That is about all I can tell you," said Warwick. "And now if you can
offer any explanation of it all, I beg that you do so. I shall be
perfectly frank and say that I am not greatly interested in the matter
beyond natural curiosity. But," and here the strong fingers began to
intertwine once more, "Miss Corbin is filled with fear, and it is for
her sake that I appeal to you."

Ashton-Kirk shot a quick look at him.

"Your personal regard for Dr. Morse's possible safety is not very great,
then?"

"I wish him no harm. But there is no warm feeling between us. If you
knew him you would understand the reason for this readily enough." He
paused for a moment and then went on. "Perhaps," he said, "the matter,
as I set it before you, seems absurd. But to Miss Corbin it is a
continuous menace--a thing which throws its shadow across her uncle's
daily path. To her, it is impossible that what has happened and is
happening has not a deep significance; the apparent resolution behind it
inspires her with awe. It is her firm conviction that if something is
not soon done, unspeakable things will happen."

Ashton-Kirk paused by the table; the smoke from the heavy cigar curled
pungently upward.

"What address did Mr. Karkowsky's card bear?" he inquired.

"It is in the Polish section. Corinth Avenue and Fourth Street."

"Do you know whether Dr. Morse has called upon him?"

"I do not. But I am inclined to think that he has not done so. However,
I have taken it upon myself to pay the man a visit. He lodges upon a
third floor, over a harness-maker; and when I entered he received me
eagerly and with delight. But when I began to question him he grew
enraged and ordered me from the place."

"You have never repeated the visit?"

"No."

The secret agent drew softly upon the cigar; its spicy aroma filled the
room.

"Coming in personal contact, so to speak, with this matter," said he,
"it is but natural to suppose that you have formed some opinion as to
the cause of it."

The young Englishman nodded.

"Yes," he said. "I have. It is my opinion that the Russian government is
behind it all. They have heard of the proposed book."

But Ashton-Kirk shook his head.

"The Russian government," smiled he, "is charged with a great number of
things; and the foundations of most of them are as light as this.
According to your story, Dr. Morse's papers were once examined very
minutely. Were the notes for the book among them?"

"Yes."

"That then places Russia outside the probabilities. If that government
had been sufficiently interested in Morse to have done the
housebreaking, rest assured that the notes, if considered harmful, would
have disappeared."

"I have thought of that," said Warwick. "But," with a shake of the head,
"St. Petersburg being denied me, I am at a loss."

"There are two common causes for most things of a criminal nature," said
Ashton-Kirk. "These are robbery and revenge. The fact that nothing is
known to have been stolen in either of the nightly visits to the house
at Sharsdale seems to eliminate the first of these; and that Morse was
twice drugged and once waylaid and still not seriously injured, does
away with the other."

"It would seem to."

There was another pause. The secret agent regarded Warwick intently.

"Think carefully before answering the question I am now about to ask.
What is there in the doctor's possession that you have seen, or have
even heard hinted at--that is in any way remarkable or unique?"

Warwick pondered, but finally shook his head.

"Take your time--think deliberately. What does he own that would excite
the cupidity of persons of much power and great wealth?"

"I know of nothing," replied the young man.

"It would scarcely be a thing to be measured by a money value,"
encouraged the secret agent. "It might be, and the fact that the
doctor's papers were once searched seems to indicate it rather
strongly--a document."

Again Warwick shook his head.

"As I have said, Morse is not of a confiding nature. He keeps his
affairs to himself."

Ashton-Kirk laid his half-burned cigar upon a bronze shell; and as he
did so his eyes fell once more upon the drawing of the crowned woman. A
sudden tightening about his mouth showed a fresh interest; taking up the
drawing he examined it with eager attention. At length he said:

"Previous to the first visit of Karkowsky at Sharsdale--Morse had never
experienced any of the things of which you told me?"

"No."

"You are sure of this?"

"Positive. Old Nanon would have been sure to have heard of them. She has
been with him since he was a child."

"You have mentioned that Dr. Morse is possessed of means. Did he inherit
this, or did he accumulate it himself?"

"He inherited it from his father."

"Have you ever heard anything uncommon of the father? Any of the sort of
things which you have just mentioned?"

"No. According to Nanon he was an extraordinarily gentle and
simple-minded man."

"Has Dr. Morse ever traveled in the East?"

"In Egypt and the Holy Lands when a young man, seeking material for his
anti-religious lectures. Then, of course, there was the war in
Manchuria."

"Have you ever heard him express any opinion as to Orientals?"

"Only that they were intelligent and in many ways capable. The Japanese
he only came within musket shot of, but," with a smile, "he thinks them
very competent fighters."

Ashton-Kirk joined in the smile.

"A remarkable race," he said, "and one of whom the last word has not yet
been spoken."

Here Warwick arose and Ashton-Kirk pressed the bell for Stumph.

"This," said the secret agent, "promises to be a very interesting
matter; and, it so happens, one that falls in with my inclinations at
this time."

"You will undertake it then?" eagerly.

"With pleasure."

Stumph held open the door that the caller might depart.

"In behalf of Miss Corbin," said Warwick, earnestly, "I thank you." He
hesitated a moment, and then said: "Before making a definite start in
the matter, I suppose it will be necessary for you to visit us at
Eastbury. I confess that rather puzzles me. You see, I would not have
Dr. Morse----"

"Rest easy as to that," Ashton-Kirk assured him; "we need tell him
nothing."

"When will you come?"

"To-night."

Philip Warwick smiled.

"You are prompt," said he. "But Miss Corbin will be delighted."

And with that he took his departure

CHAPTER II

ASHTON-KIRK GOES TO EASTBURY

Ashton-Kirk turned to Fuller.

"Read what you have taken down," he directed.

Fuller did so, and while he read, the secret agent stood by the window,
listening. When the assistant finished the other did not speak; he
remained gazing down at the shabby hordes which eddied and murmured in
the street. There was a strange look upon the keen, dark face of the
watcher; the eyes were full of singular speculation. At last he spoke.

"Queer things come out of the East," he said. "Even these people below,
who have merely lived upon the western fringe of the Orient, are tinged
with its mystery. Every now and then an Occidental eye gets a flash of
something among them for which we have no explanation."

"I have felt that frequently," said Fuller; "but never gave much thought
to it. Orientals, somehow, have always impressed me uncomfortably; they
seem, so to put it, to have something in reserve. It is as though they
had a trick or two up their sleeves which they have never shown us."

Ashton-Kirk nodded.

"A strange and interesting people," said he. He crossed to the book
shelves and took down a thin folio; placing it upon the table, he began
to rapidly turn the leaves; a series of Japanese prints fluttered before
Fuller's eyes.

"There are numberless things which are held as marking the line of
division between the races of the East and West," remarked Ashton-Kirk.
"But," with a smile, "I have an idea that food and the cooking thereof
has more to do with it than anything else. The mental and physical
differences are the results of this. And in nothing does the Japanese,
for example, show the result of his nourishment as in the matter of art.
His hand in a drawing is unmistakable."

He closed the volume of prints; and from a stand took a telephone book
and opened it at Eastbury. This was a "Boom" suburb, and as yet had no
great population; down the list of subscribers ran the inquiring finger;
at length it paused and a slight hissing intake of the breath told of a
discovery.

"Good," said he.

Tossing the book to Fuller, he added:

"Find Dr. Morse's number in Fordham Road."

While the deft fingers of his assistant ran through the pages,
Ashton-Kirk turned to a sort of rack; throwing open one of the huge
rolls which it contained, he displayed a section of a marvelously
complete map of the city and suburbs. It was done by hand and in
variously colored inks; every street, avenue, court and alley were
clearly traced; each house and number was microscopically set down. This
map was the growth of years; each month it was altered in some small way
as the city expanded; the care taken with it was the same as that which
a business house gave its ledgers. Again the long, inquiring finger
began to move.

"Ah! Fordham Road is the first street east of Berkley."

"Dr. Morse's address is 2979," said Fuller, looking up from the
directory.

"The same block!" cried Ashton-Kirk, his finger searching among the
lines. Then he burst into a laugh and allowed the spring to whisk the
map out of view. "Their houses stand back to back," said he.

Fuller's expression indicated curiosity; but he had been with
Ashton-Kirk a number of years and had grown to know that his utterances
were not always meant to be heard. The secret agent took up a bit of
brown rice paper and a bulging pinch of tobacco; as he delicately
manipulated these, he said to Fuller:

"Do you recall the name of Okiu?"

"It seems familiar," replied the assistant, after a moment's thought.
Then suddenly: "Wasn't he one of----"

"Look in the cabinet," said Ashton-Kirk.

Fuller went to the filing system and pulled open the drawer marked "OK."
After a search of a few moments he turned.

"Yes," said he, eagerly. "Here he is, and underscored in red. The
details are in Volume X."

Ashton-Kirk touched one of a row of bells. A buzzer made reply; through
a tube the secret agent said:

"Bring up Volume X at once."

He threw himself into the big chair, stretched his legs contentedly and
drew at the cigarette. In a little while Stumph entered, bearing a huge
canvas-covered book; this he laid upon a small table, which he then
pushed toward his employer. The latter looked at his watch.

"I'm not to be disturbed again to-day," said he. "And I'll dine
earlier--at five o'clock."

"Anything more?" asked Fuller, when Stumph had left the room.

"Look up the trains stopping at Eastbury after seven o'clock. And stand
ready to go with me. I may need you."

Fuller went out; and Ashton-Kirk, with a cloud of blue smoke hovering
about his head, opened the canvas-covered volume, found the name he
sought, and at once plunged into the finely written pages. The minutes
went by, and the hours followed; cigar succeeded cigarette and pipe
followed cigar; the table became littered with burnt matches, ash, and
impossibly short ends. When Stumph finally knocked to announce dinner,
he found tottering mountains of books, maps and newspaper cuttings
everywhere and in the midst of them was the investigator, lying back in
his chair with closed eyes; the only indication that he was awake being
that a thin column of smoke was ascending from the pipe.

At seven-twenty that evening a local paused at Eastbury Station; and
among those who got off were Ashton-Kirk, and the brisk looking Fuller.

The station lamps were lighted, but were pale as yet, for deep splashes
of reddish gold piled high on the horizon line, and long, shaking lines
of light shot down the sparsely built streets.

Fordham Road was one of the newest of these latter; its asphalted length
showed hardly a trace of travel and its grading was as level as that of
a billiard table. The buildings were even fewer here than elsewhere in
the suburb; and upon the vacant spaces huge signs reared themselves,
announcing the sale of choice sites.

Number 2979 was a brick and brown-stone house with a wide veranda and a
smooth lawn which ran all around it. Skirting the lawn was a hedge
fence; and a cemented path led to the front door. A tall, angular old
woman opened this in answer to the ring. Her eyes were sharp and gray;
her face was severe--crossed and recrossed by a thousand minute
wrinkles; her hands were large and the veins were blue and swollen.

"Is Mr. Warwick at home?" asked Ashton-Kirk.

The sharp, gray eyes seemed to become partly veiled, the thin lips only
moved a trifle when she spoke.

"You would see him?"

Ashton-Kirk nodded; and as the old woman admitted them, he said:

"You are not English, then?"

For an instant she seemed to bristle with indignation; her eyes, wide
open now, snapped.

"English! No; I am a French woman, thank God!"

She showed them into a somberly furnished but spotlessly kept
sitting-room; a single window overlooked that portion of the lawn which
lay behind the house.

"If you will sit down," she said, "I will speak to Mr. Warwick."

Ashton-Kirk, whose first glance had been through the window, said:

"You have Japanese for neighbors, I see."

The woman's eyes also went to the window; there was a long, narrow
stretch of lawn between the house and the one behind it; and this was
divided in the center by a hedge fence. Upon the opposite side of the
latter, engaged in uprooting the encroaching weeds, was a small, dark
man with spectacles and grayish hair. At sight of him the old woman made
a gesture of aversion.

"The good God hates all pagans," she said, resolutely, and went out.

The secret agent smiled.

"I think I should have known her for a zealot even without that," he
said. "The type is perfectly expressed in her."

"She has no love for the Japs, at all events," said Fuller, as he went
to the window.

"The man clipping the hedge," said Ashton-Kirk, "is a member of the
household of whom Warwick neglected to speak."

Fuller looked at the person indicated; he was upon the Morse side of the
fence and wielded a huge pair of shears diligently; in spite of the
mildness of the evening he had a heavy coat buttoned to the chin. Near
him frolicked a small terrier.

"He may be a gardener called in to do the trimming," suggested the
assistant.

"I think we'll find that he belongs here," said Ashton-Kirk. "That is a
Scottish terrier running about there; and that breed is never friendly
with strangers."

There was a piano being played somewhere in the house; the touch was
sure and soft, the air mournful and full of minors. They had listened
but a moment, however, when Warwick entered the room.

There was a flush in his cheeks and an excited sparkle in his eyes; as
he spoke his voice shook a little as though not perfectly under control.

"Thank you," he said, eagerly, as he shook hands. "I am glad that you
have come."

"Something has happened?"

"Yes. A special delivery letter came for Dr. Morse about an hour ago. A
few moments after receiving it I heard him shouting aloud in the
library, and apparently smashing things in his rage."

"Did you go to him?"

"No. When he is that way, we have found it a better plan to leave him
alone. After venting his rage in the way I have just mentioned, he
rushed from the place."

Ashton-Kirk did not immediately comment upon this; his eyes were upon
the man clipping the hedge.

"Who is that?" asked he.

Warwick followed his glance.

"Oh, a young fellow whom the doctor employs about the place. He is a
Pole, and came about a month ago; he seems very intelligent, and I know
he is hard up. Morse knew his father somewhere, I believe."

"I see." The speaker turned from the window.

"You were saying that Dr. Morse rushed from the house in a passion."

"Yes. And I went at once into the library. Upon his desk I found this,
which was, more than likely, the cause of the outburst."

He handed Ashton-Kirk a sheet of paper; in the center was a cross, the
only peculiarity of which was that the down stroke was red, and the
other was blue. This the secret agent inspected with interest.

"I believe you said that he cried aloud in the library--did you catch
any words?"

"No. But Miss Corbin did. She told me that----"

"Wait!" Ashton-Kirk halted him. "I would like to speak to Miss Corbin
personally."

"Ah, yes. I suppose it would be best."

Warwick left the room. Instantly Ashton-Kirk was at the window, and
after a glance, he laughed softly.

"Fuller," said he, "if you saw a man weeding a garden and another man
clipping a hedge near by; and if you noticed that they gradually and
almost imperceptibly worked toward each other, what should you think?"

Fuller looked out at the two stooping figures; the terrier had stopped
his capering and lay gnawing one of the cuttings from the hedge, which
he held between his paws.

"They _are_ nearer to each other," said Fuller. "And look! they never
exchange a glance. It seems to me," in the low, rapid tone of one to
whom an idea had just occurred, "that they desire to speak to each
other, but would rather not be observed."

Before the secret agent could reply to this, Warwick reëntered, and with
him was a girl. She was slight and dark and dressed in white. Her most
remarkable feature was her eyes; they were big and black and wonderful.
Her manner was hushed and fearful; her voice, when she spoke, was sunk
almost to a whisper.

"Philip tells me that you are a very gifted man," she said, after
Warwick had spoken the words of presentation. "He says that hidden
things are plain to you. I do not understand how or why this is, but
nevertheless I am glad that you have come. And I only hope," here one of
the slim, white hands trembled upon his sleeve, "that you have come in
time."

"I think," said Ashton-Kirk, quietly, "that you had better make an
effort to control yourself. You are cold with fear. It is necessary that
you answer a few questions; so try and calm yourself--even if only for
that reason."

"I can't! I can't!" She made a despairing sort of gesture, the great
eyes filled with a thrilling terror. "How can I be calm when I read such
things in his face?" One hand was upon the arm of the secret agent, the
other upon that of young Warwick; she looked first at one and then the
other. "Death is near to him," she said. "It is very near to him."

"No, no!" cried the young Englishman.

"I tell you, yes! And, perhaps, it is even nearer than I dream. It may
be upon the very threshold."

"My dear girl," cried Warwick.

"Have you been blind, Philip?" she asked in the same whispering voice as
before. "Have you been blind that you have not seen? But no," her tone
changing tenderly, "it is not to be expected of you. He has not been a
father to _you_."

"No," said Warwick, and somehow a second meaning seemed to lurk behind
the words, "he has not."

The girl turned to Ashton-Kirk.

"Never," she said, "has any one been better or kinder than Dr. Morse has
been to me. Everything that I have I owe to him. And so can you wonder
that _I_ have been quick to see?"

"Quick to see--what?"

"The fear," she answered, "the fear which has gradually taken possession
of him. You have seen some of it," to Warwick, "but not all. It is
terror of the unseen, of the unknown. It is fear of a danger which he
does not understand."

"You think, then, that Dr. Morse does not know the meaning of these
grotesque messages which he has been receiving?"

"I know that he does not. I have always known it; but just how, I cannot
say. This evening, upon opening the letter, he rushed out of the
library. I happened to be passing the hall, and heard him cry out: 'Be
plain! Who are you? What do you want?'"

"Is that all you heard?"

"Yes; for with the last word he threw open the front door and was gone."

Ashton-Kirk glanced at the two-colored cross.

"Perhaps," said he, "if we could find the envelope which this came in,
it would tell us something."

"Will you come into the library?" said Warwick.

As they were moving toward the door, Ashton-Kirk whispered a few quick
words to Fuller; the latter nodded and took a seat by the window, partly
screened by a hanging and apparently much interested in the lawn.

The library was a large, high ceilinged room, darkly paneled and with a
smoothly polished floor. The chairs were massive oak affairs and there
were two huge, flat-topped desks. The bookcases were stuffed with
serious, well-handled tomes; at one side was a highboy, the many drawers
of which were furnished with glass knobs. Upon the top of this was a
large English traveling bag, the strap of which was tightly buckled.

From the floor near one of the desks Warwick picked up a torn envelope.

"That is what the paper came in," said he. "I know, because it was I who
handed it to him."

"Postmarked at three o'clock this afternoon at the central station,"
said Ashton-Kirk. "And the address was written on a typewriter." He
threw the envelope upon the desk. "We'll learn nothing from that,
except, perhaps, that the sender is one who understands the value of
keeping hidden."

Just then a door was heard to open and close heavily. At the sound
Ashton-Kirk noted the girl go swiftly to Warwick's side and whisper
something hurriedly.

"No," said he, and there was just a trace of sharpness in his tone. "Of
course not."

Quick steps were heard in the hall, then a man entered the room.

"Uncle," said Stella Corbin.

She went to him and put an arm about him, but his feverishly burning
eyes singled out the stranger.

"It is a friend of Philip's--Mr. Ashton-Kirk. He has been kind enough to
visit us."

There was a disagreeable smile about the thin lips of Dr. Morse as he
said:

"Kind, indeed. We are charmed." Then to Warwick he added, "It is not
every one, my dear Philip, who has the power of attracting friends."

Dr. Morse was a tall man, with high, narrow shoulders and a long,
pasty-white face. There were deep, sour-looking lines about his mouth;
the short black hair stood up on his head like bristles.

"To attract friends," said the secret agent, "is rather an enviable
knack."

"It denotes a perfect nature, I have no doubt," replied Dr. Morse, still
with the disagreeable smile.

"And if such a knack exists," said Ashton-Kirk, evenly, "it argues the
existence of a counter condition, don't you think, in some others--that
of attracting enemies?"

For a moment there was a dead silence in the room; a look of
consternation appeared in the face of the young Englishman. Dr. Morse
smoothed back his short, stiff hair and sat down; the smile was still
present, but his red-lidded eyes were narrowed in a way that was not at
all pleasant.

"Perhaps you are right--things are usually balanced in some such way.
We all have our enemies," he added. "I have read somewhere that the
fewer the personal foes, the weaker the man. And since we must have them
in order to prove our personality," with a laugh which sounded
peculiarly unnatural, "why, we can consider ourselves fortunate if they
but stand out where we can see them."

"Your businesslike enemy seldom fights in the open," commented
Ashton-Kirk with the air of a man merely making talk. "Our American
politicians could teach you that fact."

The physician nodded.

"The ambuscade is effective," he agreed. "I learned its use in the
Russo-Japanese war."

"So!" The secret agent's brows went up. "You served in that war then?
What regiment?"

"The 47th infantry, Siberians."

"It is peculiar how things come about," smiled Ashton-Kirk. "While
waiting for Warwick I noticed that the house in your rear is occupied by
Japanese. Rather close quarters for old opponents, is it not?"

"The Japanese," spoke Dr. Morse, "were the opponents of Russia."

"I see. You are on good terms with your neighbors, then?"

"No. They have been there almost as long as I have been here; but I
have never spoken to one of them."

Just then there came a tap upon the door; the old servant woman entered,
but at the sight of those present, she halted.

"I beg your pardon, Simon," she said to Morse. "I did not know you were
engaged."

He looked at her coldly.

"Well, Nanon," said he, "what is it now? Out again? There is no service
at your church to-night."

There was a jeer in his voice, but the old French woman paid no
attention to it. That she addressed him by his first name indicated that
she felt no sense of inferiority. Indeed, as Ashton-Kirk regarded her,
he detected a look of contempt upon her severe face.

"No," she answered, "there is no service to-night, as you know very
well. I came to speak of Drevenoff."

A peculiar look came into the eyes of the secret agent; it was as though
he were groping about for something hidden away in his memory; then like
a flash, recollection seemed to come.

"Well, what of him?" asked Dr. Morse.

"He is no better. Even now while he clips the hedges, he shakes with
cold; again he burns."

The physician gestured impatiently. Arising he went to a small cabinet
and took out a jar partly filled with whitish pills. While he was so
engaged, Warwick whispered to Ashton-Kirk.

"Don't wonder at Nanon's manner. You know I'd told you she'd been in the
family for years--before the doctor was born. He has the bad taste to
sneer at her religion; and I really think that she considers him somehow
evilly possessed. It's a sort of truce between them."

Dr. Morse placed some of the pellets in an envelope upon which he
scrawled some lines.

"Tell him to take these," he said, handing them to the old woman. "The
directions are on the envelope."

"I hope it is nothing serious," said his niece.

"He needs some quinine, that is all," returned the physician.

Old Nanon moved toward the door. Her withered, large veined right hand
hung at her side; Ashton-Kirk noted her dart a sidelong glance toward
Morse; then the bony forefinger made a rapid sign of the cross between
them.

And so the door closed behind her

AN INTERNATIONAL AFFAIR

Next morning Ashton-Kirk's car was drawn up at his door; in the hall,
the secret agent pulled on a pair of gloves; at his side stood the alert
Fuller.

"You carried out my instructions?" asked the former.

"Yes," answered Fuller. "I telegraphed the secretary that you would
reach Washington by 11:40 and would call upon him at once."

"You urged him that the matter was possibly one of much importance?"

"Yes."

The secret agent turned to Stumph, who stood at the front door.

"Have Dixon meet every Washington train after dark," said he. "We shall
be on one or the other of them."

Stumph threw open the hall door and then that of the car; the soft throb
of the engine changed to a startled snort, and then the huge vehicle
glided away.

A little later the two men sat facing each other upon the heavy
"Limited"; Ashton-Kirk turned the pages of a magazine. For a time
Fuller was silent and thoughtful. But at length he said:

"Do you know--I don't just understand those two fellows behind the house
last evening, the Jap, you know--and the one who acted as though he were
cold. What are we to make of men who edge toward each other, apparently
bent upon some sort of a secret communication--and then when they get
within speaking distance, work away doggedly and at last depart without
exchanging a word?"

"You are quite sure that there was no message dropped across the hedge,
or stuck among its branches?"

"Positive. I did not take my eyes off them for a moment; and later I
made it my business to go out and look. That they exchanged signals is
scarcely possible, unless they were remarkably ingenious ones. And then,
had they desired to signal, they could have done so at a distance; it
would have been unnecessary for them to risk attracting attention by
drawing so closely together."

Ashton-Kirk did not reply; and after another period spent in cogitation,
Fuller spoke again.

"The feeling which you have spoken of as existing between old Nanon and
her employer is rather queer, isn't it?"

"Somewhat."

"But that she should remain with him--even accompany him to a new
country--and all the time hate, or fear, him is perplexing."

Ashton-Kirk nodded, his eyes half closed.

"Yes," he said, "it is rather so. But," and he opened his eyes, "don't
forget that this woman is, by her trace of accent, a Breton, and the
peasantry of that section have very rigorous notions as to duty."

"They must have if she's borne with his quips and sneers all these
years. I can see very readily what Warwick meant when he said you'd not
wonder at his lack of interest in Dr. Morse if you knew the man."

"When Warwick came into the room where we were awaiting him last
evening, did you notice anything in his manner?"

"He _did_ seem rather agitated, now that I think of it. His face was
flushed and his voice trembled a bit--just as though he had been
quarreling with some one."

Again the secret agent nodded.

"But with whom?" said he. "Not Miss Corbin, I feel sure; and scarcely
the old servant woman."

"You think it was with Dr. Morse?" eagerly.

"I don't know. But when Morse was heard entering the house, the girl
whispered something to Warwick, rather pleadingly I thought, and he
brusquely denied having any intention of doing--whatever it was that she
spoke of."

"Humph," said Fuller.

After some hours the train drew into the station at Washington; at once
they took a taxi-cab and whirled to a government building. Ashton-Kirk
was shown through a spacious suite and into a room where a handsome
white-haired gentleman sat at a huge mahogany desk.

"It was kind of you, Mr. Secretary, to put yourself out," said the
secret agent.

The white-haired gentleman arose and shook his hand cordially.

"I have had such telegrams from you before," he said, "and they have
never failed to be followed by matters of some interest."

Ashton-Kirk sat down; the secretary pushed a box of long loosely wrapped
cigars toward him.

"They are Porto Ricos," said he. "You may fancy their flavor."

For a little time after lighting the cigars they sat in silence watching
the smoke drifts and enjoying the aroma. Then Ashton-Kirk spoke.

"Yesterday," said he, "my attention was called to a rather interesting
train of circumstances."

"If _you_ class it as interesting," said the statesman, "there is
nothing more to be said. I recall several matters which you handled in a
somewhat bored fashion; and yet, to me, they were in many ways really
amazing."

"That is, perhaps, because you held to the point of view of the
spectator. There is a broad element of drama in most things of this
sort, and as a looker-on, this appealed to you. But this present
affair," leaning a trifle forward, "may have a greatly increased
interest for you, for the indications are that it will lead directly to
your department."

The secretary knocked a narrow rim of ash from his cigar; he examined
the red end carefully, and then said:

"Indeed?"

"All countries have had their secrets," said Ashton-Kirk, after a pause.
"Some never see the light--others are only made known after centuries.
If the hidden archives of the nations were thrown open to the world,
history, perhaps, would have to be rewritten. Of course," with a wave of
one long finger, "some governments have more of these state secrets than
others; the Italian republics probably were in the lead; the United
States I should place almost last."

"You are very good," smiled the secretary.

"But, still, we have some. Even in a democracy, it is not possible to
make public all the details of government. Things are handed from one
administration to another which must await the time of ripening and
fulfilment."

The secretary smoked quietly, but he said nothing.

"These matters," continued Ashton-Kirk, "are not, of course, to be
disclosed--they are scarcely to be hinted at. But the case which I bring
to your attention perhaps involves a delicate point of international
relationship; if my reasoning holds, I do not require you to make any
admissions. That you consider the affair important and worth following
out will be enough."

"Go on," said the official.

Ashton-Kirk reflected for a moment; then with a smile, he said:

"Don't be alarmed if I date the beginning of my story back quite a bit.
I merely desire to glance at one or two facts which I consider of some
importance; then I will come as swiftly as I may to the present." There
was another pause, but in a moment he resumed. "Have you ever noticed
that there are individuals who, without any great intimacy, seem to
cherish a steady regard for each other? There are families which do the
same thing. And there are nations.

"Now, I'm going to take a running view of such a friendship between two
countries. When George III was puzzled as to how he should put down the
rebellion of England's American colonies in the year 1775, he turned to
Russia and tried to borrow an army. Catherine was then Empress of
Russia; and her answer to the request was a most biting one. And George
growled that she was a barbarian and contented himself with Hessians
and Brunswickers.

"When the second war of independence began, John Quincy Adams was United
States Minister at St. Petersburg; and to him the Czar expressed the
keenest regrets. And he did not stop at this. Through his
representative, Daschkoof, and by personal letters, the Czar strove to
bring the war to an end; he failed, but through no fault of his own. The
friendly manner in which Russia ceded Alaska to the United States needs
no comment.

"During the blackest period of the Civil War, when practically all
Europe favored the Confederacy and were upon the verge of giving it
official recognition; when France had gone so far as to throw troops
into Mexico in defiance of the Monroe doctrine, Russia still stood our
firm friend. To the wonder of the nations she sent a fleet across the
Atlantic; it entered our northern ports and lay grimly waiting. What the
admiral's orders were, only St. Petersburg and Washington knew; but that
they warranted his stripping his ships for action in the event of
certain conditions arising, I have no doubt.

"When the famine swept Russia a score of years ago, what people so quick
to respond as our own? And when that same nation, because of
geographical disadvantages, was outclassed in her war with Japan, it
was the United States that stepped in and called a stay which resulted
in the treaty of Portsmouth."

There were some few moments of silence; the secretary leaned back in his
chair, his fingers pattering upon its arms; that he was interested was
shown by the quick little jets of smoke which rose above his head.

"Well?" said he.

"We now come to the matter of present interest," said Ashton-Kirk. "The
early defeats of Russia at the hands of Japan demonstrated her
unpreparedness; and upon the heels of the news, the Russian Count
Malikoff, with some military officers, came to Washington. At once a
scarcely audible murmur ran through the more daring of the newspapers,
but almost instantly died away. However, one with his ear to the ground
could detect the falling into place of the ponderous parts of some
international arrangement; but just what this arrangement was has not
been made known."

"Well," said the secretary again.

Slowly and with great care, the secret agent then began the story of Dr.
Morse. Starting with the visit of Warwick, he related the queer
happenings at Sharsdale; then came the flight to America and the
grotesque messages which had so startled Stella Corbin. He proceeded:

"A second glance at the picture of the crowned woman handed me by
Warwick, and my attention was caught. It was the work of a Japanese."

"Ah!" said the secretary. And he sat a trifle more upright.

"It was a Japanese with a thoroughly Western training; but that his
point of view was still Oriental was plain in the drawing. It then
occurred to me that if a Japanese were vitally interested in Dr. Morse
he would be likely to live as near to him as he could. And the telephone
directory informed me that the house directly behind that of Morse was
occupied by one Okiu."

The secretary laid down his cigar.

"Okiu!" said he. "I think I recall that name."

"And more than likely it is the same person," said Ashton-Kirk; "though
as yet I am not assured of that fact."

"Well?" said the official, expectantly.

"As you have seen, the persecution of Dr. Morse began only after his
return from Manchuria, where he had served in the Russian army. This in
itself seemed to tell something; but when I add to it that he had never
before come into contact with Japanese, and that one of the race was
plainly involved, you will see that I had a fairly good reason for
supposing that the thing had its beginning in Manchuria.

"But what was the thing? Plainly it was not a personal matter, for his
person and effects had been spared more than once. Then I got a faint
gleam of light; for just about now the name of Drevenoff comes into the
case."

"Drevenoff!" The official repeated the name quietly; his ruddy face was
entirely devoid of expression.

"It is the name of a young Pole who is employed by Morse as a sort of
gardener. He is educated and, I understand, capable of filling a much
higher position in life. A few weeks ago he came to Eastbury entirely
destitute. I recalled that a Colonel Drevenoff made one of the party
which bore Count Malikoff company upon the mysterious mission to
Washington in the early days of the Russo-Japanese war; I remembered
also that Philip Warwick had told me that Morse had known young
Drevenoff's father.

"This suggested an amazing possibility. After leaving the house on
Fordham Road I consulted the files of a newspaper; from this I learned
that Colonel Drevenoff had, some six months after leaving Washington,
joined the army in Manchuria and had been killed in battle."

The secretary nodded.

"Well?" said he.

"Morse told me, in the brief talk that I had with him, that he had been
attached as surgeon to the 47th Siberian infantry; and I learned from
the newspaper file that Colonel Drevenoff had been commander of that
very regiment."

The official shifted his position; his face was still unreadable; his
voice, when he spoke, was even.

"You appear to attach some significance to that," said he.

"Suppose," spoke Ashton-Kirk, "that Colonel Drevenoff were possessed of
something of great value; when brought in wounded and dying, what more
likely thing than that he should be attended by Dr. Morse? Also it is
not without the range of possibility that he should entrust this
precious possession to the physician's keeping."

"You are not deficient in imagination." And as the secretary said this
he smiled.

"Imagination is a vital necessity in my work. Without it I could make
but little headway. And now I will venture still farther upon the same
road; but, remember, I am claiming nothing substantial for what I am
about to say. I merely place it before you as what might have happened
and ask you to fit it to any facts of which you may be possessed. That
Colonel Drevenoff was in the party of so eminent a diplomat as Count
Malikoff shows him to have been a person of some standing; that he
should so suddenly be packed off to the Orient to head a provincial
regiment indicates a fall in favor.

"What was the cause of this? I have no means of knowing, but in view of
what I do know, I can build up a structure which may be more or less
composed of truths. Suppose, after Malikoff left Washington, he missed
something--a document, perhaps, in the hand of some person high in this
government. Suppose Drevenoff were suspected of taking it, but could not
be charged with the act because of lack of proof. There we have a reason
for his banishment. Now we will suppose that Drevenoff did actually take
this paper. Why did he do so? In order that he should profit by it. In
what way? The answer follows swiftly: by selling it to the Japanese
government."

The secretary arose and crossed to a window.

"It is rather close here," said he. "But don't stop."

"Suppose the mission of Malikoff had already suggested the existence of
this paper to Tokio; but upon Drevenoff getting into communication with
them, they learned for the first time of its reality. But before the
matter could be closed, Drevenoff met his death; and after Dr. Morse
returned to England, the enemies of Russia in some way discovered that
he had been made the custodian of the secret. What followed has been in
the nature of attempts to gain possession of the coveted thing."

"But if this is so, how do you account for the bizarre--almost
nonsensical methods employed? And how do you account for the apparent
ignorance of Dr. Morse as to the meaning behind this persecution of
him?"

Ashton-Kirk shook his head.

"I do not account for it," he said. "That is a thing which I have not
come to, as yet."

The secretary recrossed to his desk, took another cigar and pushed the
box toward his visitor; after he had the long roll burning freely, he
began pacing up and down. After quite a space, he resumed his chair.

"As you said in the beginning," he spoke, "there are things which cannot
even be hinted at before the time of ripening and fulfilment. Therefore,
I can say only this: Count Malikoff _did_ lose a document of most
tremendous importance. Colonel Drevenoff _was_ suspected. The paper in
question, should it fall into the hands of those unfriendly to this
government, might cause a nasty diplomatic complication. That it has not
done so as yet, we feel sure; because the conditions are such that
immediate and open steps would be taken. But official Washington has, so
to speak, been living over a volcano for several years."

"This is all you can say?"

"In an official way, yes. But, assuming the point of view of a mere
spectator, of which you lately accused me," and here the secretary
smiled, "I should say that this matter of Dr. Morse holds all the
elements of an interesting case."

"I agree with you," said Ashton-Kirk, as he arose to his feet and looked
at his watch, "and as there is a train in another half hour I think I
shall return at once and take up the study of it.

CHAPTER IV

THE TAKING OFF OF DR. MORSE

As it happened, Ashton-Kirk was too late to get the train which he had
mentioned. The next did not leave until 7:30; and even this was delayed
on the way, so that it was rather an unusual hour when they stepped into
the motor car which the waiting Dixon held ready for them.

The mean street, with its high smells and grimy buildings, was strangely
quiet; the venders' carts, along the curb, were empty; the stands were
shrouded, and the stores dim-looking. As the automobile stopped before
the secret agent's door, a bell in a neighboring tower struck one.

"Hello," cried Fuller, "what's Stumph doing?"

The hall door stood open to the fullest extent; the light was switched
on, and beneath it stood Stumph with a roughly-dressed man whom
Ashton-Kirk an once recognized as young Drevenoff. Stumph, aroused out
of his usual gravity, was gesticulating determinedly. Drevenoff seemed
insisting upon something doggedly. As Fuller spoke, the two heard the
car for the first time, and turned.

"Thank goodness, here he is now!" cried Stumph. He dashed excitedly
down the step. "Here is a man who desires to see you, sir," he said to
Ashton-Kirk. "He would not leave, though I told him a dozen times that
you were not at home."

The secret agent, followed by Fuller and the man, entered the hall and
the door closed behind them.

"Well?" asked the former of Drevenoff.

"You are Mr. Ashton-Kirk?"

"I am."

"I was sent to fetch you at once to Dr. Morse's place on Fordham Road,
Eastbury."

"Who sent you?"

"Miss Corbin."

Ashton-Kirk looked at the young man; his face was pale, his eyes were
brilliant with excitement.

"Has anything happened?"

"Dr. Morse has been murdered."

Ashton-Kirk turned to Stumph.

"Tell Dixon to wait."

Instantly the man opened the door; the chauffeur was upon the point of
starting away, but halted upon hearing Stumph's voice.

"What trains are there?" asked Ashton-Kirk of Drevenoff.

"No more to-night," answered the man. "I had hoped to find you before
the last one left."

"No matter--the motor will do."

Followed by the others, he hastily reached the car; Fuller seated
himself beside Dixon and Drevenoff entered the tonneau with the secret
agent.

"Fordham Road, Eastbury," directed Ashton-Kirk. "The number is 2979."

The car wheeled in its own length under the skilful hand of Dixon; then
it went speeding away.

"When did this happen?" asked Ashton-Kirk, of Drevenoff.

"The murder?"

"Of course!" sharply.

"I don't know the hour. Some time to-night."

"How was it done?"

"He was shot through the chest."

"Where?"

"In his library."

It is natural, under such circumstances, for an informant to become very
voluble; but not so Drevenoff. His answers were brief; his manner, too,
was sullen and unwilling.

"Tell me what you know about it," requested Ashton-Kirk.

"I know very little," said the man. "This evening about dark I ate my
dinner and looked at the evening paper; then I went to my room, which is
on the third floor. I go to bed early these nights; I am not well, you
see. It must have been about half-past ten when I heard a knocking at
my door. It was Nanon, and she was crying out that Dr. Morse was dead. I
dressed and hurried down-stairs. Dr. Morse was sitting all huddled up in
his chair; his face was smeared with blood. Miss Corbin was kneeling
beside him; the old woman stood by the door."

"Is that all?"

"Nanon told me to go for the police; but Miss Corbin got up at once and
warned me not to. There was a train almost due; she told me to take that
and go get you."

"I see."

The big car rushed along at high speed through the silence of the night;
in a surprisingly short time Eastbury was reached and they turned into
Fordham Road. The residence of Dr. Morse was silent and dark; the blinds
were closely drawn; not even a glimmer of light was to be seen around
their edges. Ashton-Kirk touched the bell; almost instantly the door
opened and through the darkness a voice asked:

"Is that you, Drevenoff?"

"Yes," replied the Pole.

"Have you brought the gentleman?"

"Here he is."

The light was switched on; they saw the seamed face of the old Breton
woman, harsh and emotionless. She spoke to Ashton-Kirk.

"Miss Corbin will see you at once, sir, if you please."

The secret agent followed her down the hall; they passed the library
door, which was closed; and the old servant paused at the room into
which she had shown them the evening before.

"I will tell her that you are here," she said.

Ashton-Kirk entered the room; it was dim, for only one light was
burning; the atmosphere was hushed and breathless; a sort of terror
seemed to have settled over everything. He had waited but a few moments
when he heard a light, hasty step. Then Stella Corbin came in.

Her face was white and the great eyes were dry and dumb with fear; the
corners of her mouth twitched. Silently she held out both hands to the
secret agent; they were deathly cold and he felt them tremble.

"I came as soon as I could," said he.

"I called and called upon the telephone, but they told me that you were
not at home. Then I sent Drevenoff." She spoke in broken, sobbing
sentences; and the fear in her eyes crept into her voice as she went on.
"You see, it is as I expected. He is dead. They have killed him."

"Are you quite strong enough to tell me what you know?" he asked. "It is
important that we act quickly; the police will, of course, be in the
house before long, and they are sometimes disposed to stand in the way."

"The police!" He felt the small, cold hands tighten convulsively, and,
if possible, her face went still whiter. "The police! Oh! I had
forgotten them."

He got her a chair, forced her to sit down, and then took another,
directly facing her. The light fell dimly upon the dark, loosely coiled
masses of her hair and brought out the clear perfection of the face. Her
slight figure seemed almost childish in the long enveloping robe which
she wore.

"I have heard the manner of your uncle's death," he said. "When you
entered the library did you see any sort of firearms lying about near to
his hand?"

Instantly she grasped the meaning behind the words.

"No, no," she said hastily. "It was not suicide! Tried as he was, many
would have resorted to that; but my uncle was not of that sort. He was
murdered."

"There were no firearms, then?"

"No."

"Who discovered the body?"

"Nanon."

"If I may I should like to ask her a question or two."

The old servant was summoned; she entered, angular, severe and sharp of
eye.

"Miss Corbin tells me," said the secret agent, "that it was you who
discovered the body of Dr. Morse."

"It was."

"Would you mind telling me how you came to do so?"

"When he worked at night, he always drank coffee to keep himself awake.
I always made and took it to him. When I went into the library to-night,
I found him sitting in his chair--dead."

"You heard no shot?"

"No."

"When did you last see the doctor alive?"

"About half past nine. I had just finished locking all the windows and
doors when he rang for me."

"Is it your custom to lock up every night?"

"Yes. I have always done so at nine o'clock by the doctor's orders."

"He was so urgent about this," said Stella, "that I have thought he
feared a repetition of the entrances which occurred at Sharsdale."

"You had seen that everything was fast, then?" said Ashton-Kirk, looking
at the old woman.

"Yes; every door and every window upon the lower floor and every window
overlooking the porch on the second floor. As there was no way by which
the house could be entered by any of the other windows we never bothered
with them."

"You say Dr. Morse rang for you as you finished locking up?"

"Yes, sir; and I answered. He was in the library, and I was surprised to
see that he was dressed as though he meant to go out--perhaps upon a
journey. He had on his hat, an overcoat lay across a chair and he was
trying to turn a key in the lock of his traveling bag. The key was bent
and he had rung for me that I might bring him something to straighten it
with. But as he was speaking to me, the lock turned, and he told me that
I need not mind."

"You say he was dressed as though to go out. Did he do so?"

"No, sir. I am sure of that, because I went to the hall door and sat
upon the step for some time. It was a fine night. So if he had gone out
I should have seen him."

"How long did you sit there?"

"About ten minutes. Then I went to prepare the coffee."

"While you sat upon the step did you see or hear anything?"

"I heard Dr. Morse talking."

"With whom?"

"I don't know. I heard a second voice, but not distinctly. I thought it
must be Miss Stella or Mr. Warwick."

Here the girl drew a deep, audible breath, and Ashton-Kirk saw the old
woman fix her sharp eyes upon her.

"But," resumed Nanon, "Miss Stella tells me that it was not she."

"You went directly from the library to the hall door after speaking to
Dr. Morse, you say?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did you close the door while you sat upon the step?"

"No; I left it open, thinking to hear if the doctor rang again."

"No one else was in the library when you spoke to the doctor regarding
the key?"

"No one."

"Was there a light in the hallway while you sat at the door?"

"There was."

"Should you have seen any one entering the library?"

"I should. To go into that room he would first have to come through the
hall."

"There were no visitors in the house at any time during the evening?"

"No," said Nanon. "I should have heard them ring, even if some one else
had admitted them."

Ashton-Kirk turned to the girl.

"It is necessary that I know everything that can be told me as to what
took place in the house to-night. So you will pardon a question or two,
I know."

She inclined her head in answer to this; but her mouth twitched
nervously, and her hands held tightly to the chair upon which she sat.

"Where were you when you learned that Dr. Morse was dead?" proceeded
Ashton-Kirk.

"In my sitting-room, where I had gone to read immediately after dinner."

[Illustration: "WHO BROUGHT THE NEWS?"]

"Who brought the news?"

"Nanon. She stood at the foot of the back stairs and called to me."

"Where is your sitting-room?"

"On the second floor at the back; the door was open and I heard her at
once."

"Did you hear or see anything else, previous to this?"

"Very early in the evening I saw Drevenoff going to his room on the
third floor; I sat facing the doorway and had a view of the stairs."

"He did not come down again?"

"Not until Nanon called him."

"You are quite sure of that?"

"Quite. I should have seen him had he come down."

There was a pause of some length; the secret agent looked from one to
the other of the two women, and finally he said to Nanon:

"You say that you are not sure that the second voice you heard in the
library was Mr. Warwick's?"

Again came the quick, deep drawn breath from the girl; and again the
gray eyes of the old woman sought her face. At the same time she
replied:

"I heard a voice. Whose it was, I cannot say."

There was another pause; then he turned to Miss Corbin.

"At all events," said he, smoothly, "I should like to speak to him."

She arose a trifle unsteady.

"I am sorry," she said in a low voice, "but I am afraid that is
impossible, just now."

"Impossible?"

"He is not here--he has gone away."

"Gone away!" It was old Nanon's voice, and it was pitched a shade higher
than usual. She took a step toward the girl, the thick gray brows bent
over the sharp-sighted eyes. "Where has he gone? Why did he go?"

The girl did not reply; she put her hands to her face, and the secret
agent as he looked at her saw that she shivered as though struck with a
chill.

"I do not know," she said.

For a moment the old woman stood looking at her, something like menace
in her face; it seemed as though she were about to burst forth into a
torrent of words. But Ashton-Kirk rose.

"If you don't mind," said he, calmly, "I should like to go through the
house."

Slowly the stern eyes turned from the girl to the speaker.

"You will not see _him_?" indicating the direction of the library.

"Not until afterward."

Without another word she walked toward the door. Ashton-Kirk followed
her; as he was stepping into the hall he looked back. Stella Corbin was
standing erect, her hands clasped, her face white and drawn with what
seemed suspense; and the great dark eyes, filled with terror, were fixed
steadily upon him.

CHAPTER V

THE HOUND STRIKES THE TRAIL

Old Nanon led the secret agent through the rear of the house and then up
the stairs from floor to floor and room to room. His eyes seemed to take
in everything, gauging, measuring, speculating; now and then he asked a
question to which she returned a brief, illuminating answer. Finally
they descended and Ashton-Kirk examined the front door. Beside the
ordinary spring lock it had a heavy bolt.

"When you left the step and went back into the kitchen to prepare the
coffee, did you close this door?" he asked.

"I did; and bolted it."

"Did you look at it after the body was found?"

"It was I who opened the door for Drevenoff when he started after you.
It was still bolted."

Both Fuller and Drevenoff stood in the hall; and as old Nanon paused at
the library door, Ashton-Kirk said to the Pole:

"How far away is the nearest police station?"

"About half a dozen blocks," answered the other.

"I want you to go there at once and report what has occurred."

"I can call them upon the telephone," suggested Drevenoff.

"I prefer that you go in person," said Ashton-Kirk, smoothly. "More than
likely they will send a man or two; if so, please wait for and return
with them."

Nanon opened the library door, turned the switch which controlled the
library lights, and then stepped back.

"He is there," she said, one lean finger pointing to the empty doorway.

"Will you not go in?" Ashton-Kirk looked at her keenly.

"No." She drew back further, and he noted her make the same furtive sign
that he had caught upon his first visit. "He has filled the world with
evil," she went on, "and you see the end of it. Who knows but what that
room swarms with things that the soul should fear?"

With this she turned and retraced her steps down the hall, and they saw
her reënter the room where the girl had been left.

"A queer sort of old party," commented Fuller. "And one that seems to
stick to her opinions."

The two went into the library and closed the door behind them. The
hideous thing which sat huddled in the desk chair compelled their
instant attention; the head lay tipped back and the face was caked with
dry blood. From one thing to another the secret agent swiftly turned his
attention; his singular eyes were narrowed, his nostrils widened like
those of a hound searching for the scent.

"He was killed while he sat," said he to Fuller. "His position in the
chair is too natural for it to be otherwise. And from the size of the
wound I should say the weapon was a small one; the fact that no one, not
even a woman seated just outside the door, heard a report, also
indicates the same thing."

Around the library went the secret agent; the side windows were tried,
but were fast, as were those opening upon the porch. A raincoat lay upon
the floor; upon the top of the highboy rested a dark, soft hat.

"The bag!" said Ashton-Kirk in a low voice.

"Was there a bag?" asked Fuller.

In a few words the other related what old Nanon had said. Fuller
whistled through his shut teeth as he searched the room with a glance.

"It's gone," said he, "and a hundred to one the thing we want is gone
with it."

"Perhaps," said Ashton-Kirk quietly. "But we are not at all sure of
that. The person who is keyed up to the pitch of a desperate deed such
as this seldom is in the state of mind to make an intelligent search.
If the desired thing is at his hand, well and good, but if it is hidden
the chances are decidedly against him. Witness the attempt upon the
rubies of Bostwick's wife, in which her butler lost his life; also the
astonishing matter of the numismatist Hume.[1] A miscalculation spoiled
the criminals' chances in the first case; and a misunderstanding with a
confederate was fatal in the second. The beast in a man is uppermost
when he can do murder; and even the most intelligent of beasts is not a
reasoning thing."

"That sounds like truth," said Fuller. "But this is the way I look at
it. Dr. Morse was clearly in a state of dread; all about him agreed that
these queer things, which were continually recurring, had broken his
nerve. A servant enters a room and finds him preparing for a journey.
Yet apparently he has not mentioned his intentions in this regard even
to his niece, to whom he is much attached. To my mind this indicates
that he was about to run off somewhere without saying anything to any
one. He feared to remain and he feared to tell that he was going,
thinking it would, somehow, leak out."

"Well, and what next?"

"The most natural thing for him to do under the circumstances,"
proceeded Fuller, "would be to take with him the article which created
all the fuss. It would be against human nature to leave it behind. He
was about to put it into the bag, or he had already done so, when the
servant saw him endeavoring to turn the key."

"That," smiled the secret agent, "is rather well thought out. But you
have overlooked one thing. That Dr. Morse intended doing as you state
would necessitate his knowing definitely what his mysterious
communicants desired. His own acts and especially his own words, as
overheard by his niece, indicate the reverse of this. And if he did not
know what they wanted," with a twinkle in his eye, "it is certain that
he could not pack it away in a bag."

Fuller looked perplexed, but nodded understandingly.

"That's so," said he. "I forgot, for a moment, that the case had that
peculiar phase." Again he looked all about. "However," he continued,
"the bag is not here, and if the murderer took it with him, you can bet
that he had an excellent reason for so doing."

While Fuller was speaking, Ashton-Kirk lifted the coat from the floor;
several of the pockets were pulled out. At once he examined the coat
worn by the dead man; the inside pockets of this were also turned out,
as were those upon the lower outside.

"There was a search," said he. "But, as before, when the house at
Sharsdale was broken into, the personal valuables were not its object.
Here is his watch in his fob pocket, and this," taking up a torn card
case from the desk, "lies just where the criminal flung it in his anger
at not finding what he wanted. Its contents," pointing to a tightly
wadded heap of bills also upon the desk, "are there."

"Suppose," doubted Fuller, "that the paper wanted was in this pocket
case. The murderer would have taken it. As it stands, you do not know
whether he found it or not."

"I think I do," replied Ashton-Kirk. "A man who has sought for a thing
for a long time is delighted at finding it. The man who threw those
bills upon the desk," holding up the tightly twisted lump, "was angry.
That is plain in the vehemence of the act."

He stooped and pulled open drawer after drawer in the desk; their
contents were tumbled, showing that a rough and hasty hand had been
plunged into them. Fuller was gazing in fascinated silence at the long,
supple, inquiring fingers as they deftly ran through everything; then
suddenly he noted them halt. At once his glance went to the owner's
face; Ashton-Kirk, his eyes turned in a sidelong look toward a door at
the rear of the room, stood in an attitude of listening. Fuller was
about to speak, but the other lifted his hand in a warning gesture.
There was an instant's silence, the secret agent listening as before;
then he bent toward Fuller and said softly:

"Switch off the lights!"

Stealthily Fuller crossed the room and did so; then he stood waiting. In
a few moments he heard a slight creak from the hall, and a muffled sort
of jar. A minute or two passed; he was then astonished to hear the voice
of the secret agent speaking in an unconcerned tone of voice.

"Hello," muttered the young man, "he is mighty cool about it, whatever
it is. Turning off the lights to hold a conversation is rather new, I
should say, outside of a spiritualistic seance."

A short time passed; then steps came along the darkened hall, and
Ashton-Kirk's voice said:

"Now, Fuller, the lights, if you please."

Fuller turned on the lights once more, and again the two entered the
library.

"I thought I heard you speaking to some one," said Fuller inquiringly.

"Over the telephone," said the other, quietly. "There was a little
matter that I desired information upon."

Again he resumed his inspection of the room. The furniture, piece by
piece, passed under his keen eye; the floor, the walls, the hangings,
the books and writing materials--nothing escaped him. At length he came
once more to the highboy with its numerous drawers and glistening glass
knobs.

First one and then another of the drawers he pulled open; like those of
the desk, they told of the same hasty hand. However, this seemed to be
all they had to tell, for the secret agent did not spend more than an
instant over each. But as he was about to open the last but one, Fuller
saw him pause and bend nearer. Then out came a morocco case and from
this was produced a powerful magnifying glass. It was the knob upon the
left hand side of the drawer that had caught his attention; putting the
lens on this it threw up a thick, dark splotch.

"Blood!" said Ashton-Kirk.

Fuller bent forward with great interest.

"In searching the body after the shooting," said he, "the fellow,
whoever he was, probably came in contact with the flow from the wound.
And in opening the drawer he transferred it to the knob."

But Ashton-Kirk shook his head.

"No," said he. "It is his own blood. Look!" and he ran the glass from
knob to knob upon the other drawers; "there are no marks here. And yet a
man making a search would invariably start at the top, as I have done."
Then the lens shifted back to the knob with the splotch. "Mark this one
closely," he added, "and tell me what you see."

"The knob has been broken," said Fuller at the first glance.

"Exactly. All along its top there is a keen ragged ridge. Probably
seizing this to tear open the drawer, the criminal cut himself."

For a moment the speaker stood studying the broken knob with its
particle of dried blood; then like a flash he turned to Fuller, his
singular eyes ablaze, and snapped:

"On the desk there is a paper-weight. Get it."

Fuller, astonished, did as he was bidden.

"What now?" he inquired.

"Throw it through a bookcase door," was Ashton-Kirk's astonishing reply.

Fuller stood amazed.

"What?" gasped he.

"Throw it through a bookcase door," repeated the secret agent, busy with
his lens.

Fuller stood a moment, hesitating; the other arose impatiently, took the
heavy paper-weight from him and sent it crashing through the door of the
nearest case. The glass splintered and fell jingling to the floor;
Ashton-Kirk selected two small pieces and handed them to Fuller.

"In the kitchen you will find hot water and soap; wash and dry these
carefully."

The assistant went hastily, and while he was gone, Ashton-Kirk bent
once more over the broken knob. With the thin blade of a pocket-knife he
picked at the fragment of dried blood; finally he worked it loose and
caught it upon a card as it fell. Carrying this to a small table above
which hung a light, he examined it carefully. Then to Fuller, as the
latter returned, he said:

"Are they ready?"

"All ready," replied Fuller, and he placed the two pieces of glass ready
to his employer's hand.

Once more Ashton-Kirk looked at the blood clot; selecting that portion
of it which appeared to be thickest he pressed the back of the knife
blade carefully against it; then taking it up with the tip of his
fingers he carefully broke it in two at the exact place. Sharply he
brought the pieces under the light; two crimson, shining spots of
uncongealed blood showed within the outer crust.

"Excellent," said the secret agent. "I thought it possible, but scarcely
dared hope for it."

One after another and with delicate care he applied the newly exposed
surfaces of the clot to one of the bits of glass; a fair sized smear of
red appeared upon the smooth glaze. Then he drew the second glass across
the top of the first; the result was that he now possessed two distinct
smears of the blood.

With much satisfaction he placed these upon the top of the highboy.

"Now we'll leave them to dry," said he, "and in this place they'll not
be likely to be disturbed."

Fuller was filled with curiosity as to the meaning of the foregoing
performance, but the other had already resumed his prowling up and down,
and the aide understood that this was no time for questions.

After a little, Ashton-Kirk opened the door at the back of the library,
and they entered the rear room. There was a long window overlooking the
lawn, and a door opening into the hallway. The room was scantily
furnished; but upon the shelves were a stack of books in wrappers; also
there were a number of filing cabinets.

The secret agent looked at some of the books.

"Remnants of editions," he said. "Morse was his own publisher, it
seems."

Fuller examined the window.

"All tight," said he. "A Caspar window holder."

The door leading to the hall was fitted with a large old-fashioned lock,
from which protruded a copper key.

"That looks safe enough," said Fuller, as he glanced at this.

"If it were fast it might be," said the other, drily. "But I had
occasion to use it while you had the lights out, and found it unlocked."

Nanon was summoned and Ashton-Kirk met her in the hall.

"This door," said he; "is it usually left unlocked?"

"Never," she answered. "Dr. Morse always had it fast from the inside. He
kept his books and papers there, and did not care to have them
disturbed."

"That will do," said Ashton-Kirk. The old woman was just about to turn
away when there came a loud peal at the door-bell.

"The police," said Fuller.

"Go and see," said Ashton-Kirk to Nanon.

Grimly she went along the hall, her spare, strong figure iron-like in
its rigidity; Fuller's eyes followed her and then turning to the secret
agent, he said:

"The thing looks queer, doesn't it? Everything tight as wax, but a very
effective job done for all." Then, lowering his voice, he added: "There
were only four of them inside; and from my way of thinking the thing
rests between them."

The front door had opened in the meantime; they heard the murmur of
voices and then it closed sharply. The old Breton woman hurried back to
where they stood; and as she came the hall lights showed that her lined
face had gone a livid yellow; her bony, large veined hands were
outstretched.

"Who is it?" asked Ashton-Kirk.

She pointed toward the door quiveringly.

"The Japanese," she answered

FOOTNOTES:

[1] For the details of the case of the numismatist Hume, see the first
book of this series: "Ashton-Kirk, Investigator."

CHAPTER VI

THE VISIT OF OKIU

For a moment there was a silence; then Fuller spoke.

"Japanese!" exclaimed he. "At this time of the night? They are original
in their choice of hours, anyhow."

"Let them come in," said Ashton-Kirk, quietly.

The old woman turned her startled face toward him; her hands went up
rebelliously.

"No," she said. "They must not come in--at this time above all others."

The singular eyes of the secret agent fixed themselves upon her
steadily.

"Show them into the room across from the library," said he in an even
tone. "It is necessary that I should speak to them."

The stern gray eyes met the dark ones squarely. There was no sign of
weakening in them; the yellow tinge left the old face; the hands fell at
her side.

"Very well," she said, after a moment. "But let it be understood that I
lifted my voice against it."

Again she went to the door; they heard the bolt shot and a rush of air
told them the door had opened. From where they stood they had no view of
the entrance, as the stairway shut it off. Again there came the voices,
then footsteps and once more the door closed. In a moment the old woman
returned. She pointed down the hall.

"I have done what you ordered," she said. Then in an ominous tone she
added: "And I trust no harm comes of it."

With that she went on, and they saw her enter the rear room once more.
Ashton-Kirk spoke quietly to Fuller.

"Stand in the hall and busy yourself somehow."

"I understand," answered Fuller.

Ashton-Kirk approached the room into which the visitors had been shown,
and went in.

Two men arose upon the entrance of the secret agent. One was the small
gray-haired man Ashton-Kirk had seen weeding the lawn two days before;
the other was larger in girth and taller; his face was yellow and as
devoid of lines as that of an infant.

It was the latter who spoke.

"Do I see Dr. Morse?" he inquired. The accent was perfect, the voice
soft, smooth and almost caressing. Ashton-Kirk, as he looked at him, saw
that the lineless face was singularly expressionless; however, a pair of
jetty eyes looked out piercingly from between the drooping lids and the
chin protruded with much natural resolution.

"I am a friend of the family," said the secret agent. "If there is
anything that I can do I shall be pleased."

The Japanese smiled.

"You are very good," said he. "But it is Dr. Morse whom I wish to see."

The voice was soft and purring; it was as though he were speaking to a
child.

"If you will be kind enough to call him," suggested the speaker, "I will
be obliged to you."

"That," said Ashton-Kirk, "is a thing which I should readily do if it
could have any effect. But it would not. Dr. Morse is dead."

There was complete silence for a moment; a tall clock ticked solemnly at
one side; its strokes now seemed to grow quicker and louder, like the
heart-beats of a man fighting down an increasing excitement.

"Dead!" said the small man in a throaty voice.

"Not that, surely!" spoke the other, and one hand went out, as though in
protest.

"He is dead," said the secret agent. "And more, he has been murdered."

"No, no," cried the small man. "That is horrible!"

The other approached a step or two; both hands were gesticulating as
though he found it difficult to find words. And the hands were quite
wonderful, slim and strong and beautifully shaped. Their color was a
bright saffron, the fingers were long and as supple as those of a
magician; their tips were delicately pointed, the nails rounded and
gleaming.

"This what you tell us," said he, "is a frightful thing! Murdered! And
by whom?"

Ashton-Kirk shook his head.

"That," said he, "is yet to be learned."

"But the police? They are not here?"

"No."

One of the wonderful hands touched the smaller man upon the shoulder.

"Humadi," said the gentle voice, "murder has been done and the police
are not here."

The eyes of the gray-haired Japanese sought those of his companion; and
a look as rapid as lightning passed between them.

"The West prides itself on many things," said Humadi, "but in Tokio,
this would not be so."

"The officers will arrive in due course," said Ashton-Kirk, quietly.
"But, in the meantime, if there is anything that I can do, I shall be,
as I said before, much pleased."

"Will you permit me to sit down?" asked the taller of the two. "Thank
you; and you will sit there, will you not?" As he spoke he smiled and
pushed a chair toward the secret agent in such a way that it would bring
his back toward the door if he sat in it. But Ashton-Kirk took it
readily, without a sign that he noticed anything studied in the act.

"My name," said the Japanese, as he seated himself facing Ashton-Kirk,
"is Okiu. My house is on the next street; the back you can see from the
rear windows of this. On the second floor there is a room where I read
and smoke and study. It is at the back, and there," with a wave of the
hand, "I sat to-night."

Ashton-Kirk nodded.

"It is in the blood of all lands," proceeded Okiu, "to love its native
literature. I have many quaint books and rare manuscripts; they are full
of the, as you of the West call it, folk-lore of my people. I love it;"
the soft voice seemed to caress the subject on which it dwelt; "I sit
and smoke and dream for hours. The bright legends of the Samurai sound
like music to the mind; and forgotten heroes rise before me in all their
ancient power." Here he laughed gently. "You see," said he, "how filled
I am with the subject, when I drift unconsciously into it at a time like
this.

"To-night I was so engaged. I was deep in a book lately sent me by a
friend, a reprint of a precious writing that I had never before seen. I
became lost in its pages; two, three hours slipped by before I knew it.
But when the clock struck ten, I got up and turned off the light, for I
live very strictly," smilingly, "much as one of the recluses of the
waste places of our own island. The night was beautiful, however, and I
stood for a little looking out. The shadows fell in long lines and
finally upon the edge of one of these--the shadow cast by this very
house--I saw something stir."

The last word had hardly left his lips when there came a sharp swift
rustle in the hall, an exclamation and the sound of a closing door.

"What is that?" cried Okiu, as he came to his feet.

"I'm inclined to think it's your friend," said Ashton-Kirk, as he
lounged back in his chair. "I rather wondered why he went out into the
hall."

Humadi appeared in the doorway, his manner apologetic, but a heavy
furrow between his eyes. Fuller glanced in, over his shoulder.

"The gentleman made a mistake in the room," said he. "If I startled him
in putting him right, I'm sorry."

"It is my place to ask pardon," said Humadi to Ashton-Kirk. "While you
talked to my friend I stepped into the hall thinking to observe
something which might be of value to the police when they came."

"I thank you for your interest," said the secret agent. "It is kind of
you to trouble yourself. The door across the way leads to the room where
the body lies, and it is as well that it be kept closed."

"It is for you to say," agreed Humadi, as he sat down, wearing a
somewhat baffled look.

Okiu laughed softly, and the wonderful hands gestured appreciation.

"You do not know Humadi," he said to Ashton-Kirk; "you do not know him,
or you would not wonder at him for this. His is one of the helpful
natures; always is he desirous of being of assistance. To aid others is
his one ambition."

"Ah, yes, to be sure." And Ashton-Kirk's fine white teeth shone in a
smile of understanding. "One meets people of that sort now and then, but
upon the whole such natures are rare."

"Rare, indeed! But the world," caressingly, "would be greatly the better
if there were more." There was an instant's pause, then Okiu went on:
"As I was saying, while I stood at my window, I saw a stirring just upon
the edge of the shadow cast by this house. It was not a very marked
movement, and at first I thought it must be something waving in the
breeze. But after a little I knew that this was not so; the movement was
too intelligent; I felt that there was some one lurking about on the
lawn. Then I called Humadi; and when he came he said--what was it you
said, Humadi?" turning to the gray-haired man.

"I said it must be men," said the other Japanese promptly. "And I said
that there were more than one, and that they appeared to be thieves."

"He has such excellent vision," said Okiu, approvingly, to Ashton-Kirk.
"He is many years older than I, but his eyes are like those of a boy.
Yes, he said that they must be thieves, and I agreed with him. We
watched for some time, but the shadows were so dense that we could make
out little or nothing. Then suddenly we saw a man emerge into the
moonlight."

"A tall man," said Ashton-Kirk, "broad in the shoulders, and carrying a
leather bag."

Both Japanese turned their eyes upon him with swift surprise.

"You saw him?" cried Humadi.

"No, I merely fancied that it might be so."

The surprise died quickly out of Okiu's eyes; and in its place came a
look that was peculiarly speculative; from the beginning he had regarded
Ashton-Kirk with interest; but to this was now added surmise and,
perhaps, quickening dread. But when he spoke his voice snowed no trace
of this.

"Your imagination is excellent," purred he, gently; "indeed, it amounts
to something like second sight. You are quite right, sir," his glance
running over Ashton-Kirk; "he was tall and well set, and also young,
judging by the ease with which he leaped over the fence. After this, as
nothing more happened, I went to bed. But I could not sleep. I felt sure
that something had occurred, and it troubled me. At last I got up,
called to Humadi and came here to speak to Dr. Morse."

Here the Japanese arose; the smooth chubby face expressed no emotion,
but the eyes, the hands, the whole body showed evidences of shock.

"I thought," said he, "to tell of a mere robbery; but I find something
more terrible!" Then as though a thought had occurred to him. "But the
others--the young lady? the young man? They met with no harm?"

The secret agent shook his head.

"No," replied he.

"That is well! The other is a frightful calamity, but even that could be
worse." He seemed to hesitate for a space, then added in another tone:
"You will express my sympathy to them?"

"I will," said Ashton-Kirk.

"I would not disturb them now," and Okiu gestured the idea from him.
"No, that would not do. But I will leave my sorrow with you. It is
fitter that it should be mentioned by an old friend of the family like
yourself." Again there was a slight pause; the speaker looked at
Ashton-Kirk inquiringly as he asked:

"Am I right in understanding you to say that you are an old friend of
the family?"

"A friend, yes," answered Ashton-Kirk, readily. "But scarcely what could
be called an old one."

"Ah!" The drooping lids almost hid the searching black eyes. "Then you
have not known them long?"

"For two days merely."

"Two days!"

Again the glances of the yellow men met, and again did a rapid
intelligence pass between them.

"Two days," repeated Okiu, softly. "That is odd, is it not?"

"Acquaintances must begin some time," protested the secret agent.

"To be sure. But that your acquaintance with Dr. Morse should begin last
night, and that he should die to-night----"

"Well?" The keen eyes of Ashton-Kirk met the peering ones of Okiu
inquiringly.

"Fate seemed determined that the friendship should not grow," answered
the Japanese, gently. "It is strange how things come about, is it not?"

Ashton-Kirk also got upon his feet.

"Fate seldom consults us," he said, drily. "If it did, perhaps things
would happen differently."

Just then there came the growing sound of voices without; the shuffle
of feet was heard upon the walk and then more noisily upon the porch.
The bell rang in long streams of sound.

"The police," said Ashton-Kirk, looking at his watch. "Their methods are
as distinguishable as their uniforms."

Fuller looked in; the secret agent nodded and the young man stepped
briskly toward the hall door. In another moment a thick-set man in a
sergeant's dress entered the room, and with him were two patrolmen.

"How are you?" said the sergeant, nodding to the three men. "Members of
the family?"

In a few moments the status of the Japanese was explained; the sergeant
listened to their story of the prowler with satisfaction.

"There's the party we want," said he. "Had a bag, did he? Humph! Full of
swag, I'll bet." He then took Okiu's name and address. "A headquarters
man will go on this case, of course," continued the sergeant, "and he'll
want to hear you tell about that. And in the meantime," stuffing his
note-book into his breastpocket, "I'll have to ask you all to go. We've
got to look things over, and get the hang of it all, and you can see how
too many people would be in the way."

As Ashton-Kirk and Fuller emerged from the house, they found the two
Japanese standing by the gate. Dixon, who had been waiting all this
time, threw on the power at sight of his employer, and the engine of the
big French car began to hum in the silence.

"Good-night," said Okiu, gently, a smile upon his smooth face. "I shall
see you again, sir."

Ashton-Kirk waved his hand in answer; and as the car started off, and he
and Fuller settled themselves back, the latter said:

"Did you notice the way that fellow said that? It sounded to me much as
though he had something against you, and meant to get square."

"Perhaps," returned Ashton-Kirk quietly, "that _is_ what he meant. One
can never tell.

CHAPTER VII

THE METHYLENE STAIN

The following morning the secret agent sat in his study immersed in the
newspapers. Each contained a circumstantial account of the murder of Dr.
Morse, and each, according to its policy, commented thereon. Much was
made of the mysterious happenings at Sharsdale and the equally
mysterious communications at Eastbury; the police had gone to apprehend
Karkowsky at his lodgings, but he was missing.

The _Star_, true to its enterprising spirit, contained front page
reproductions of the three drawings which young Warwick had shown
Ashton-Kirk.

"The pictures," said this newspaper, "will in the end be found to
contain the solution of the entire matter. What they mean and why the
colors varied so is just now a puzzle. The crowned woman and the cross
with the different colored strokes are at this stage of the case
absolutely without meaning. But the police are working upon this phase
of the affair with much interest and zeal; and any hour may bring forth
amazing results. Osborne, a talented man from the central office, has
the matter in hand; and judging from past performances, he should
accomplish wonders."

"Well, there are worse than Osborne," commented Fuller when his employer
pointed out the latter passage, "but he'll never set the earth to
rocking, at that."

"He has a healthy brain," said Ashton-Kirk, "but he seldom centers it
properly. And if his mind is kept constantly between the narrow barriers
of police procedure, its possessor cannot hope for moments of
inspiration."

The _Standard_ dwelt at great length upon the missing bag and the
disappearance of Philip Warwick. The story of the two Japanese convinced
this newspaper that with Warwick discovered the case would end there and
then.

"There can scarcely be any doubt that it was he whom Messrs. Okiu and
Humadi saw leaping over the hedge fence in the moonlight," declared the
_Standard_. "The leather bag which he carried was more than likely the
same that Dr. Morse was fumbling with when the servant last saw him in
the library. To be sure, the old woman does not definitely state that it
was Warwick's voice which she heard later as she sat upon the step. But
circumstances fail to point to any other possible person. The house was
absolutely secure, except for the street door, and the servant sat in
front of that. It would have been impossible for any one to have passed
in and she not be aware of it. The young man, Drevenoff, was in his room
from first to last; we are sure of this because Miss Corbin saw him go
up the stairs before Dr. Morse sent for the servant about the key, and
is absolutely certain that he did not come down until after the body was
discovered. Warwick, therefore, is the only person unaccounted for; and
the fact that a person answering his description, even if only vaguely,
was seen stealing away shortly after the time the crime must have been
committed, seems almost convincing evidence of his guilt. And that this
dimly seen person also carried a hand-bag, the only article learned to
be missing, and that Warwick's present whereabouts is unknown, almost
clinches the supposition."

Fuller nodded his head at this.

"They make a good case against him," said he. "I'm also of the opinion
that Warwick, when found, will tell a mighty illuminating story--if he
has the mind."

Ashton-Kirk threw the papers from him with a yawn.

"As usual," said he, "they grasp the obvious and apparently sensational
features. The trouble with some of the journals and their staffs,
however, is not lack of acuteness; it is the desire to get in on a good
story before their rivals--to flame out into broad-faced type which
will give the prospective purchaser a blow between the eyes as it lies
upon the stand, or allow the newsboys a fine line to fill the streets
with. But the real things are not brought forward with such a dramatic
rush; they filter gradually through a mass of extraneous matter and
their quality appears only to a person seeking an absolutely convincing
result."

He pulled off his coat and turned up his sleeves; entering the
laboratory, he opened the drawer of a stand and took out the two pieces
of glass broken from the front of Dr. Morse's bookcase. Holding these up
to the light he said:

"We secured two very satisfactory blood smears under most unpromising
conditions. That the clot was not altogether hard was fortunate; and
that I was able to take advantage of the fact without accident was
doubly so."

Lighting a Bunsen burner he passed the glass once through the flame;
then he took a shallow vessel and poured out a quantity of liquid; in
this he immersed one of the bits of glass with its dry stain.

"Some sort of a test?" inquired Fuller.

"Yes. This bath of alcohol will fix the smear."

"I see."

Fuller's curiosity prompted him to inquire as to what would follow this
fixation; but knowledge of the other's habits of mind forbade this.

"About all that is known of the parasite for which I am going to seek,"
said Ashton-Kirk as he stood by the tray, watch in hand, "is due in the
first place to a French army surgeon named Laveran. After him came the
Italian, Marchiafava, the German, Koch, and a number of others. There is
a monograph upon the subject by Mannaberg which is most comprehensive."

"What sort of a little beast is it?" asked Fuller.

"A lively, wriggling atom--a unicellular organism, directly upon the
border-land between the animal and vegetable kingdoms."

"That sounds very exact and scientific," said the other. "But it means
little to me."

"The young specimens of the plasmodia, as this particular germ is
styled, develop in the red blood cells; and as they grow they destroy
their habitation. I could tell you of interesting changes of color in
the blood corpuscles, of the active, joyous dancing of the parasite, and
of its multiplication by sporulation. But not now. All this, however, is
repeated again and again; and each sporulation of the parasite is
usually associated with marked symptoms in the person whose blood it
inhabits."

"You speak as though you expected to find some such condition in this,"
and Fuller nodded toward the blood smear.

"I expect nothing. I am merely about to prove or disprove a
suggestion."

At the end of twenty minutes, Ashton-Kirk took the bit of glass from the
fixing bath, threw the alcohol into a waste pipe and ran some water into
the vessel.

"It will take some ten minutes for the slide to dry," said he. "And in
the meantime we shall prepare the next step in the process."

He took down a bottle filled with a dark blue liquid. This he held up to
the light that poured in from the window.

"Here," said he, "is the bloodhound upon whom I depend to find and mark
the parasite. It bears the rather formidable name in its present state
of aqueous methylene-blue, and is in a two per cent. solution. Combined
with it is a five per cent. solution of borax. I had a druggist send it
in this morning."

This mixture he poured into the small vessel until the bottom was barely
covered; then he added water until there was a layer of perhaps one
centimeter in thickness, and the blue began to become transparent.

The alcohol had dried off the bit of glass by this time; and Ashton-Kirk
took the fragment up with a pair of forceps and dipped it several times
into the methylene stain; after this he passed it through clear water
until the blue paled to a greenish tinge. Then he took up a white disc
of filter paper; placing this upon a stand he laid the glass upon it
and carefully dried both sides, much as one would blot ink from a letter
sheet.

"This process is what is called staining," said Ashton-Kirk, "and the
method I have used is one recommended by Koch; it is somewhat similar to
the older one of Mannaberg, but more rapid in result."

Out of a tube he dropped a single gem-like globule of cedar oil upon the
blood smear; then he covered it with a small square of glass; upon this
in its turn fell a second drop of the oil.

The whole was then placed in position under a microscope and fastened.
Then the secret agent brought out the lens. It glittered like a tiny
diamond in a huge setting, and Fuller gazed at it fascinated.

"How you can see anything through a glass as small as that I can't
understand," said he. "It looks like the point of an awl."

"It is a one-twelfth objective," replied the other, as he screwed the
lens firmly down upon the cover glass, and thus embedded it, so to
speak, in the globule of cedar oil.

"It is necessary," said he, "that the specimen be observed through the
oil because the lens must be brought down directly upon the glass;
without the oil the glass would be scratched and the whole thing
ruined."

Then he set himself to the close study of what the tiny lens made
plain; in a few moments he lifted his head with an exclamation of
triumph.

"I have it!" he cried.

"What have you found?" asked Fuller eagerly.

"Evidence," answered Ashton-Kirk, triumphantly, "that will enable me to
lay my hand upon the person who searched the library and clothing of Dr.
Morse."

"The murderer?"

"Perhaps he is that also--who knows?"

"But," demanded Fuller, "I don't quite understand."

Ashton-Kirk waved his hand toward the microscope, and Fuller applied his
eye to it.

"What do you see?" asked the secret agent.

"A pale green circle," answered the other, "and it is crowded with
irregularly shaped spots."

"Compare the circle with the dial of a watch and look closely at the
point where the six should be."

"Yes," said Fuller.

"What do you see--at a very little distance from the edge?"

"There are some small blue spots; some are dark, the others lighter and
more intense."

"That last is my proof," said Ashton-Kirk. Then as Fuller turned upon
him a still inquiring look, he added:

"The indications have been that some member of Dr. Morse's household
had a hand in his death. The house was secure at all points; it was not
possible for any one to gain an entrance after the locking up. You might
say: Suppose the criminal had entered the house before the time for
locking up and remained concealed until he saw his opportunity? To that
I would answer that we would have detected his method of departure. He
should have left something unfastened behind him unless he had a
confederate in the house. That the doors and windows, in every instance,
were fast proves that this must be the case."

Fuller nodded his head.

"That's so," said he.

"Now let us take the members of the household one at a time. Miss
Corbin----"

Fuller waved his hand.

"Oh, she's out of it," said he.

"Very well," said Ashton-Kirk, his white teeth showing in a smile. "Then
let us take up Nanon. Here we have a severely religious woman--one who
evidently detested her employer, but who served him well and had been
many years in the family."

"It looks as though we'd have to pass her, too," said Fuller. "There is
no reason why _she_ should murder Dr. Morse that I can see."

Again the other smiled.

"In this you agree with the newspapers, at any rate," said he. "None of
them have found occasion to associate her with the matter, either."

"I also agree with the papers in the matter of Warwick," said Fuller. "I
know that it's best to start without preconceived notions, but I can't
help thinking that, if he's not exactly the man, he knows quite a bit
about it all."

"That he has unaccountably disappeared is a bad point against him,"
admitted Ashton-Kirk. "And that some one resembling him was seen
stealing away in the night, carrying a hand-bag, is another and most
damaging one. However, as you say, it is best not to start with
preconceived notions; and until we are sure that the unknown _was_
Warwick, and that the bag he carried _was_ the missing bag, we'd better
not accuse him."

There was a pause; the secret agent looked at the stained blood smear
for a moment and then continued:

"There is still another person--the fourth and last. This person
possessed the marked symptoms of a common complaint--chills followed by
fever. To this person I know Dr. Morse gave quinine."

"Well?" asked Fuller, eagerly.

"Chills and fever are indications of malaria--quinine is the invariable
remedy for that complaint. And the light blue spots which you see in
that smear of blood," pointing to the microscope, "are the germs of that
same disease."

For a moment Fuller stood as though transfixed.

"You have the man!" he cried at last. "You have him beyond the shadow of
a doubt! To think," in great admiration, "that he should be found out in
such an unusual way. Why, it is one of the----" Here he paused, the
enthusiasm died from his face, and he added slowly: "But suppose that
blood clot was not left upon the drawer pull at the time you think. The
man may have been in the library during the afternoon upon a perfectly
legitimate errand."

But Ashton-Kirk shook his head.

"No," said he. "It happened last night about the time of the murder. If
it had been earlier the blood would have been dry and hard to the core."

"I see," said Fuller. "I recall that you were surprised at its having
retained any softness, even at that. But there is something else. If
Miss Corbin is sure that Drevenoff did not descend from the third floor,
after once going to his room, how do you account for his presence in the
library at that time?"

"Miss Corbin was in position to see Drevenoff as he ascended the back
stairs. She did not see him descend, and so concluded that he could not
have done so. As a matter of fact he could have gained the first floor
without any trouble by passing through some unoccupied rooms upon the
third floor, and using the front or main staircase."

"Then that's it," declared Fuller. "He came down that way while the old
servant was in the kitchen seeing to the coffee, did his work and went
back to his room by the same route. But," with a puzzled look upon his
face, "what in the world ever drew your attention to Drevenoff in the
first place--that is, what made you think it might be his blood upon the
handle of the drawer?"

"Do you recall that while I was examining the desk I stopped to listen?"

"Yes, and told me to put out the lights."

"The sound that I heard came from the room in the rear of the library;
when I asked you to switch off the lights it was because I wanted to
open the door between the two rooms without the knowledge of the person
who may have made the sound."

"You saw no one?"

"No. But I heard something like quick footsteps going down the hall, and
then the soft closing of the street door."

"By George, I heard that, too," said Fuller, remembering.

"Some one had been in the room in the rear of the library," said
Ashton-Kirk. "What I heard in the first place was perhaps some sort of
sound made as he was stealing away. Drevenoff was the last person I had
seen in the hall, and naturally he was suggested to me as the cause of
the sounds."

"But you had told him to go to the police station."

"Told him--yes. But if you will remember, he had not yet gone when we
entered the library. He said that the police station was a matter of
four blocks; if he had gone at once he would have reached there long
before I heard the sound in the back room. I at once went to the 'phone,
which I had noticed in the back hall, and called up the station in
question. No; he had not yet reached there. Would the sergeant kindly
make a private note of when he did? The sergeant would."

"And did he?"

"He whispered it to me as I was leaving the house later. Drevenoff
reached the police station less than ten minutes after I called them
up--just about the length of time it would take him to get there if it
were he who had been in the rear room."

"Ah!"

"The man's actions seemed suspicious, even before I received this
apparent verification; also I had not forgotten the intelligence we had
gathered concerning his father. So when I came upon the blood clot I
naturally had him in mind; the symptoms of malaria and the quinine came
back to me, and I at once determined upon this test on the chance that
it would turn out as it has."

"I think you have sufficient evidence to have him taken at once." But
Ashton-Kirk shook his head.

"It would be enough to hold him on, at any rate," protested Fuller. "And
if he's not arrested now, he may escape, and Dr. Morse's murder will go
unavenged."

The secret agent took up his big German pipe.

"The murder of Dr. Morse," said he, "is a most frightful crime against
society. I am perfectly willing to do what I can to trace the criminal,
but don't forget that the important matter with us is another thing
entirely."

"You mean the document, or whatever it was, which was stolen by
Drevenoff's father?"

"Which _may_ have been stolen by Drevenoff's father. Exactly. The murder
of Dr. Morse is only incidental to this." Here the pipe was lighted and
heavy clouds of smoke began to rise. "And even though young Drevenoff
_should_ prove to be the murderer, I don't think we need fear his
attempting to escape."

"No?"

"No. For some little time, at any rate, it will be perfectly safe to
give him a free foot; indeed, it may prove to be of great advantage to
us to do so. He has not yet found the thing of which he is in search.
That is plain. If he had, he would have been off before now. So, for a
time at least, it will be highly interesting to watch his movements; for
who knows but what it is through him that we are to save the government
much embarrassment."

Fuller regarded his employer, the huge pipe and the smoke clouds which
rose lazily above both; there was much speculation in his eye.

"You have not lost sight of the Japanese?" said he.

"The Japanese!" Ashton-Kirk took the amber bit from his mouth and his
white teeth gleamed as he laughed. "Oh, no! I have not forgotten them.
Mr. Okiu and his friend Mr. Humadi interest me exceedingly.

CHAPTER VIII

THE HOUSE ON FORDHAM ROAD

It was a few hours later that the big car drew up at the house on
Fordham Road. There was a crowd of loiterers at the gate, open-mouthed
and marveling at everything they saw; and these at once gathered about
the car, scenting a possible sensation.

But Ashton-Kirk, followed by Fuller, pushed his way unceremoniously to
the gate; and a few words to the policeman on guard there admitted them
to the lawn. One of the first persons they saw at the house was Osborne,
the burly central office man, who stood upon the porch smiling
expansively and talking with a couple of alert young fellows who
listened with interest.

"I see that friend Osborne has the ear of the reporters," said
Ashton-Kirk amusedly; "and to all appearances he is not losing any
advantages which the situation might have."

"He looks good-natured enough to have had some luck," commented Fuller.

When Osborne caught sight of them he broke into a laugh.

"Hello," cried he. He came forward and shook the secret agent by the
hand. "I rather thought you'd poke your learned head above the horizon
this morning."

"It pleases me to be borne in mind," smiled Ashton-Kirk, good-naturedly.
"But what are the developments?"

"Oh, several little things have taken occasion to occur," replied
Osborne, his broad face beaming. "One of them is that we have nailed the
man with the bag. It was Philip Warwick, beyond a doubt."

"Ah!"

"He was seen a block from here, walking rapidly along the road, the bag
still in his hand, by a market gardener driving into the city. The
gardener knows Warwick very well by sight, having been in the habit of
selling greens to the Eastbury people along this way. He says he spoke
to the young man in a friendly way as he went by; but Warwick paid no
attention; the gardener says he went right on without even turning his
head."

"That seems to be definite enough," commented the secret agent.

"But that's not all," stated Osborne, with a widening of his already
broad smile. "You see, I got to thinking over what the market man said,
and an idea struck me. Warwick was going north, while the Eastbury
station is south from here. I asked a question or two and learned that
Hastings is the next station north--and a much more important one than
this, by the way. A time-table told me that a New York train stopped at
Hastings at 11:15. It was about 10:35 that Warwick was seen on the road.
Suppose he was making for this train. I called up the Hastings station
and found that that's just what he was doing. The night operator sold a
ticket to a tall young man, in a light suit, who carried a big leather
bag, and boarded the 11:15."

"That," said Ashton-Kirk, "sounds rather neat and complete. I
congratulate you."

Osborne coughed self-consciously.

"I thought it was rather good myself," he said. "The New York police
have a detailed description and are looking out for him. I'm trying to
dig up a photograph or two to send them, because they're a little shy of
picking people up on a description alone."