Ashton-Kirk, Criminologist (Musaicum Murder Mysteries). John T. McIntyre

to do in a case like that,"said he, "would be to take cover behind this rose arbor."

      "Right!"approved the investigator. "And now, consider: once behind it, the only place from which you could fully overlook the window desired would be here,"indicating a certain spot; "the vine has 'made wood' too heavily at all the other points to permit of uninterrupted vision. And right here, you will notice these footprints are the most often repeated; they are also deeper, showing that the woman, whoever she was, stood here for some little time."

      Scanlon was impressed; but at the same time there was a dubious look in his eye.

      "A woman did stand there,"he agreed; "and maybe she was looking in at the window. But what do you draw from that?"

      Ashton-Kirk smiled.

      "Nothing—as yet. We'll just note the fact, old chap, and pass on to the next. Later we'll put the two together, and see if any meaning is to be had from the combination."

      He was silent after that, moving here and there over the ground, his head bent and his attention fixed. Scanlon chuckled as he watched him, and marveled at the similarity between the movements of his friend and those of a thoroughbred hound.

      "And almost with his nose to the ground,"observed Bat. "He's so fixed in what he's doing that the European war could move into the next county, and he'd never know it."

      Once more the investigator came to a stop; from beneath the division fence where the grass was rather long, he picked a shining object which at once brought Bat Scanlon to his side.

      "A revolver!"exclaimed the big man, amazed.

      "With every chamber loaded,"said the investigator. "It's a Smith and Wesson; it's of a small calibre, commonly called a 'ladies' revolver.'"

      "Funny how it got there, ain't it?"said Bat. "For it couldn't have had anything to do with the killing of the 'Bounder,' seeing that he passed out through being bumped with a candlestick."

      "Nevertheless,"said Ashton-Kirk, as he slipped the weapon into his pocket, "the thing being here, and at this time, is rather interesting."

      He proceeded with his inspection of the ground, striking off toward the front of the house as though following a trail. Bat lost sight of him for a few moments; then, as he, too, reached the front of the house, he saw the other standing, his hands in his pockets, a puzzled look on his face.

      "Well,"said Scanlon, "what now?"

      "Suppose we have a look at the other side of the building,"replied the other.

      Here the police had also done some going to and fro; the broad foot of Osborne was distinctly marked everywhere.

      "And here is the sergeant's,"said Ashton-Kirk, pointing. "The policeman's shoe is not to be mistaken, and Sergeant Nailor always wears soles that have been pegged."

      Under one of the windows the investigator came to a halt. It was a window smaller than any of the others and much higher in the wall. Beneath it was a cellar opening with an iron grating.

      "Look there,"said the investigator, as he pointed to this latter.

      Bat Scanlon looked, and saw a little ridge of mud upon one of the bars.

      "From some one's foot,"declared he. "It scraped off on the grating when they climbed up on it, maybe to reach the window."

      Ashton-Kirk studied the particles clinging to the bar with much interest, an eager look in his eyes.

      "It may be a coincidence,"said he, "but I'm inclined to think not."

      "What may be a coincidence?"asked Scanlon, as the other carefully scraped the particles from the grading into a compartment of a paper fold. But Ashton-Kirk made no reply except:

      "Give me a 'boost' up to that window."

      The big man obediently did so; on the ledge were the marks of fingers in the dust which damp had caused to stick there.

      "And newly done,"said Ashton-Kirk, as he dropped to the ground, a glint in his eye. "Very little dust has attached itself since they were made."

      He began searching the surface of the ground under the window; finally he took a strong lens from his pocket and with increased interest resumed the inspection.

      "Very likely one of the cops did this,"said Scanlon. "Wanted to see if the window was fast."

      Ashton-Kirk got up from his stooping position and slipped the lens back into his pocket.

      "They would have tried the window from the inside in that case,"said he. "It would have been easier to get at."He stood for a moment, reflecting; then he continued: "There seems to be very little more to be hoped for. Let us speak to Osborne before we go."

      The big headquarters man was in the room across the hall from the one in which the crime had been committed.

      "Well, all through?"he asked, genially, and with the manner of one whose position is assured.

      "Yes, I think so,"said Ashton-Kirk.

      "We covered it all pretty well outside there,"nodded Osborne, complacently, "and we got nothing from it. Depend on it, this thing was an inside job. The party that did it belonged right here in the house."

      "Too bad,"mused Ashton-Kirk, as he looked about the comfortable, homelike room. "Too bad! That will mean that another home is wrecked; and this one seems decidedly worth keeping together—nice etching and rugs and some very good bits of old brass."He took up a candlestick from the end of a shelf. "Here is a real old Colonial candlestick which must weigh at least five pounds."

      Osborne looked at the piece, grimly.

      "If Tom Burton were alive,"said he, "he might be able to tell you something about the weight of such things. It was with just such another he was killed."

      "Oh, indeed!"Ashton-Kirk replaced the candlestick upon the shelf and dusted his fingers with a handkerchief. "Well, we'll be running along, Osborne."They shook hands with the detective. "Sorry we hadn't any better luck."

      "So am I,"said Osborne, still complacently. "But it breaks that way sometimes. We can't turn up new stuff where it doesn't exist."

      "True,"said Ashton-Kirk, as he descended from the porch to the paved walk. "That's very true. But thank you just the same. And good-bye."

      And so with Scanlon at his side, he set off at a smart pace toward the railroad station.