But after a little, the investigator sat upright.
"When does Miss Cavanaugh have a matinée?"he asked.
"Not until Saturday,"replied Scanlon.
A look of annoyance came into the face of Ashton-Kirk.
"Too bad,"said he. "Then we shall have to arrange something."He reflected for a moment, snapping his fingers impatiently, as though for an idea. Then his countenance suddenly lighted up. "I have it! Young Burton is in the county prison awaiting action of the Grand Jury. What more natural thing than that she should visit him there to offer sympathy and encouragement—say between two and five to-morrow afternoon."
"You mean——"and Bat looked at him, only dimly grasping what was behind the words.
"That I depend upon you to suggest this to her,"said the other. "It's the sort of thing she'll do, once it's in her mind."
"But,"asked the astonished big man, "what's it for?"
"I want to pay another visit to her house,"said Ashton-Kirk, coolly, "when she is not there."
CHAPTER V
THE HOUND AND THE SCENT
The next morning at a trifle past nine, Bat Scanlon once more presented himself in Ashton-Kirk's study. He found the investigator attired in a well-fitting suit of rough, gray material; a light stick and a cap lay upon a table, while their owner, his hands deep in his trousers pockets, paced the floor.
"I've been through a half dozen newspapers since breakfast,"said he. "The reporters and the city editors have had a great deal to say about what they call the 'Stanwick Mystery'; but they have unearthed nothing that's at all suggestive."
"Not a thing,"verified Bat. "At least, nothing that I haven't seen or heard myself—except that the sick girl—Mary Burton—has taken to her bed."
"That's bad,"said his friend. "But, you see, the arrest of her brother was sure to have some such effect."
"Well, it's turned a little trick for me, anyway,"said Bat "The girl being suddenly taken down has got to Nora; and she called me this morning to talk about it. She's going down there this afternoon. It was her own idea. And so I won't have to do any 'under cover' stuff with her."
"Good,"said the investigator. "It's always much better to have a thing come about naturally, if possible."
A big motor car waited for them at the door; it carried them swiftly out of the city proper into the suburb of Stanwick, and finally drew up in front of 620 Duncan Street.
The same policeman stood at the gate who had guarded it the day before.
"Hello, back again!"he saluted at sight of Scanlon.
"Yes; thought another look would do no harm,"returned Bat. "Any one inside?"
"Osborne's there,"replied the policeman. "But no one else—outside the family."
"Were you present when young Burton was arrested?"asked Ashton-Kirk.
"A little,"grinned the policeman, "seeing as I was the party who brought him out to the wagon."
"Did he have anything to say when accused?"
"Not much. He didn't seem surprised, though. Osborne says to him: 'We'll have to hold you in this case till we get further evidence.' And he says: 'I didn't do it. If I had thought of it, maybe I would. But I didn't do it.'"
The investigator and Bat Scanlon walked up the path; as they reached the door, it was opened for them, and they saw the burly form of Osborne standing in the hall.
"How are you?"greeted the headquarters man, good-humoredly. "Saw you from the window, and felt so honored that I'm letting you in myself."He shook Ashton-Kirk by the hand, warmly enough. "Kind of a surprise to see you down here."
The two men entered and the door closed behind them; then they made their way into the sitting-room, following Osborne. The body of the murdered man was no longer there; the rug stiffened with blood was gone; the room was now quiet and conventional—a peaceful calm filled it.
Ashton-Kirk's keen glance went about; he talked steadily to Osborne all the while, but Bat Scanlon observed that not a single detail of the apartment escaped him. The headquarters man wore a look of frank curiosity as he, too, watched the investigator, and saw him fixing the position of things in his mind.
"Just where did the body lie when the policeman arrived on the night of the crime?"he asked.
"Right here,"and Osborne indicated the spot "The head was here. The wound was made with a candlestick—quite a heavy one; and the blow was meant to stop the victim for good."
"Any further marks on him besides the one on the head?"
"No,"said Osborne. "We looked for something of that kind, but there was none."
Ashton-Kirk went to a window overlooking the stretch of green sod at the side of the house.
"I understand you found the candlestick just under this?"
"Yes. The window was a little open; and I guess, after he'd finished the job, the murderer wanted to get rid of the weapon. So he dropped it outside."
"Nothing to be had here,"said Ashton-Kirk, after a few moments' study of the sitting-room. "At least not just now."
He threw up the window and stepped out, followed by Scanlon; standing upon the paved walk the investigator looked about. The Burton house, like the others on Duncan Street, sat fairly in the center of a plot of ground perhaps two hundred feet square. Along the division fence between that and the next house was a stretch of smooth sod, with grass, still green. At one place upon this was a sort of rose arbor, the browned, hardy shoots of a perennial twining thickly around it.
"There have been a half dozen policemen walking about here,"said Ashton-Kirk, pointing to the soft earth under the window. "And that is fatal to any sort of close work, even had there been anything in the first place."
However, in spite of this, he went over every yard of the space about the house; at the rose arbor he paused.
"Directly in line with the sitting-room window,"he said. "No doubt young Burton placed it with that in mind; the invalid sister would love to see the roses in early summer."
He walked behind the structure, and then Bat Scanlon saw him pause suddenly and bend over, rigid with eagerness.
"What is it?"asked the big man.
For answer the criminologist pointed to the ground; sharply indented in the sod were the marks of a small, high heeled shoe; and Scanlon stood staring at them perplexed.
"What do they signify?"asked he. "There are likely to be footprints all over the place—male and female. I'll venture to say that half the residents of the street have been prowling about in this space since the murder was done."
"That is a possibility always to be guarded against,"said Ashton-Kirk, quietly. "But there has been a policeman on guard all the time, so, you see, the chances are greatly reduced."He studied the narrow imprints with great care; they were firmly pressed into the damp sod, the high heels making a decided puncture. "The night before last was a bright one,"he added, finally, as he straightened up and looked at Scanlon. "At about the time the murder was committed the moon hung about there, full and unobstructed, if you remember. Now, suppose you, for some secret reason, entered the grounds at that time. The whole space on this side was flooded with light; and yet you desired to get