"You did not see the body?"
"Yes, sir; as I said, the sitting-room door was partly open. I saw the body, plainly."
The assistant coroner asked a number of other questions, but nothing of value was brought out.
"Very well,"said the questioner finally, to the two women. "That will be all for the time being. Thank you."And then, as they left the room, he added to Osborne, "And now, let us have a look in the next room."
The two went out into the hall; promptly, Mr. Scanlon followed. The sitting-room door was exactly opposite, and they entered silently. Through the shutters a dim light was admitted, and fell across the floor; almost in the center of this a huddled form lay in a twisted, sidelong fashion; the head rested upon a rug, one end of which was thick and hard with blood; a white cloth covered the dead man's face.
"Just as he dropped when hit,"said the police sergeant, who was in the room. "Nobody has stirred him an inch."
Osborne's practiced eye went about the apartment.
"Is everything else as it was?"he asked.
"Not a thing touched,"the sergeant assured him. "I got here an hour after it happened, and I made it a point to see that there was no tramping in and out. The room's been under guard ever since."
Osborne nodded his approval of this, and then turned toward the assistant coroner, who had knelt beside the body and was now lifting the cloth.
"What's it look like?"he asked, bending over.
"A frightful blow,"said Dr. Shower. "And it was a strong arm that struck it."Then, with suddenly increased interest, he peered still closer at the terrible wound in the side of the head. "Hello,"said he, "this is rather unusual in shape."He looked up at the sergeant who was passing his hand behind a row of books upon a shelf. "What sort of a weapon was used?"he asked.
The police sergeant turned a look at the questioner over his shoulder.
"We haven't been able to find any,"said he, "and we've looked everywhere. I've been over this room a dozen times myself, and I'm going over it again. It wasn't done with the kind of a thing a man would carry in his pockets—I'm sure of that."
"Right,"said Osborne, who had also closely examined the wound by this time. "The cut's too wide for a blackjack, or what the English call a 'life-preserver'; and it's too deep. It was made with something with a sharp edge—something wide and heavy."
"Are you quite sure of that?"The voice was that of Frank Burton, and looking in the direction of the door, they saw that the young man had entered the room. "Is it not possible that the wound was caused by a regulation weapon of some sort after all; is the shape of the cut an infallible test as to the character of the instrument used?"
There was an anxious eagerness in the voice; the gray pallor of the face, and the feverish eyes were those of a man whose nerves were clamoring, but whose roused mind refused to give them rest.
"Such is the case in the great majority of instances,"said Dr. Shower, firmly. "We are seldom led astray."
"There has been no weapon found,"persisted young Burton; "and that being the case do you not think it possible——"
But here a sudden exclamation from Osborne, who had gone to one of the windows and stood looking out, interrupted the speaker. In spite of his bigness the detective was in excellent training; with a spring he went through the window which opened upon a walk fringed with autumn-brown bushes; and in another moment he was back in the room.
"Don't be too sure about no weapon being found,"said he, triumph in his face and voice. "What would you call this?"
As he spoke he held up a heavy brass candlestick; it had a solid base of metal, and the edge of this was darkly clotted with blood.
CHAPTER IV
ASHTON-KIRK MAKES ONE VISIT, AND PLANS ANOTHER
Ashton-Kirk sat cross-legged upon a sofa, the amber bit of his Coblentz pipe between his teeth, and the wreaths of smoke curling above his head. About him were scattered bound volumes of police papers; and upon his knees rested a huge book, canvas covered and seeming full of carefully spaced entries done in a copper plate hand.
"I knew the 'Bounder' had gone along without much friction with the police,"said the investigator; "but I'll admit that I'm a bit surprised at the completeness of the thing."
A dapper young man who stood at a filing case, going over a thick inset of cards, laughed a little.
"I'll venture to say that there is not a police blotter in any large city in the country that holds the name of Tom Burton,"said he. "But there are dozens of other names—poor devils, rounded up in some risky operation of which the 'Bounder' was the instigator."
Ashton-Kirk nodded.
"One might call that 'dogging it,'"said he, "or it might be viewed as exceedingly clever work. It altogether depends upon the point of view. To maintain such an attitude in the background over a long period of time calls for a rigorous self-repression. Burton was evidently a criminal of some parts."
"Well, looking at it from that side, I suppose it's so,"said the dapper young man. "But I've been accustomed to seeing Burton and his kind as a sort of dregs, and I was just a little surprised when you began to look him up."
Ashton-Kirk smiled and drew a long draft of smoke from the big pipe.
"It is, very likely, time wasted,"he said; "for it's a hundred to one that nothing——"
Here there came a long "blurr-r-r"from the lower part of the house, and the investigator stopped short.
"I rather think,"added he, "that I'll reduce the odds. For, unless I am much mistaken, that is Bat Scanlon's touch at the door-bell."
A few moments later, Stumph, Ashton-Kirk's man servant, entered the study, gravely.
"Mr. Scanlon, sir,"he said.
The big form of Scanlon filled the doorway and then advanced into the room.
"Didn't expect to see you again to-day,"said he. "But there's a little matter came up that I thought I'd get your advice on before I went any further."
"Good,"said the investigator, briskly. Then to the grave-faced servant: "Stumph, get these books away. And Fuller,"to the dapper young man, "I'd like to have transcripts of those Treasury Department papers at once."
"Very well,"said Fuller.
When the investigator and his caller were alone, the former offered the other some cigarettes.
"These are Porto Ricos of unusual flavor,"he said. "Sent me by a planter for whom I chanced at one time to do a small service."
He put aside the Coblentz, and with Scanlon lighted one of the cigarettes. The full rich aroma of the island herb drifted through the room like a heavy incense; and under its influence the troubled look which Scanlon's face had worn lightened a trifle.
"I guess I'm a little up in the air,"admitted he, finally. "It's always that way with me when things begin to break wrong in anything I'm interested in. Just when I need all my nerve and judgment, I get as anxious as an old lady who's been sold the wrong kind of tea."
"You have no monopoly on the condition,"smiled Ashton-Kirk. "It comes to all of us, and in just the way you've described."His singular eyes were studying the big man's face, and in their depths was a sort of calm expectancy. "The personal equation has many queer results. But what is the cause of your present upheaval?"
Bat shook the ash from the cigarette into a pewter bowl at his elbow.