XXV
Approaching the Finish
Pendleton spent the night at Ashton-Kirk’s; and after breakfast he wandered into the library, a newspaper in his hand and an inquiring look on his face.
The investigator was seated in his usual big chair, buried to the knees in newspapers, and making vigorous inroads upon the Greek tobacco. Fuller was just leaving the room as Pendleton entered, and nodding toward the disappearing form, Ashton-Kirk said:
“There is some rather interesting news. I have had Locke, as you perhaps know, under observation for some time. Last night he took the train at Cordova, and Burgess followed him. When he reached the city, he went directly to Christie Place and was seen lurking about in the shadows.”
“Humph,” said Pendleton, “what time was this?”
“Perhaps about eleven o’clock. Burgess, so Fuller tells me, never lost sight of him. He acted in a queerly hesitating sort of way; finally, however, he seemed to form a resolution and went to the door of the Marx house. He was about to pull the bell, then paused and tried the door instead. It was evidently not locked. He seemed both surprised and pleased at this; he lost no time, however, but went in at once.”
Pendleton sat down.
“What do you suppose all this meant?” he asked.
“Well, we can’t be too sure,” replied Ashton Kirk, “but I think it probable that he, also, saw the news of the withdrawal of the police in the papers. Perhaps he came to Christie Place with the intention of informing Sagon of the opportunity that then presented itself. Or it might be that he had hopes of somehow overreaching his companion in crime.”
“His lurking about would seem to point rather in that direction,” said Pendleton.
“And his preferring to enter the lodging house without ringing also indicates some such idea. As I see it, he hoped to gain the roof unobserved. He knew the house and the habits of the people quite well. No doubt he had a plan, and a good one. He’s a thinker, is Mr. Locke.”
“If he was noticed, he could indicate that he had called to see M. Sagon.”
“Exactly. But I very much doubt his gaining the roof. Perhaps, after all, he was detected; for a few minutes later Burgess saw him leave the house.”
“Humph!” said Pendleton. Then after some few moments spent in the examination of his paper he threw it down. “It’s full of all sorts of allusions to monoplanes and suchlike,” grumbled he. “As I had to take Edyth home last night, and you went bravely away with the police and Sagon, I find myself, as usual, trailing some distance in the rear.”
Ashton-Kirk regarded the litter of newspapers ruefully:
“I gave them the heads of the case very plainly,” said he, “but as it was almost the hour for going to press, I suppose they did not get the finer points of my meaning. Some of them have made a sad mess of it. However, the evening papers will have a coherent account, I suppose.”
“If you think I am going to wait until the evening papers are issued to get to the bottom of this thing, you’re much mistaken,” declared Pendleton. “I demand a full and detailed explanation immediately.”
Here a tap came upon the door; Stumph entered and handed Ashton-Kirk a card.
“Let him come up,” said the latter; and, as the man went out, he continued to Pendleton. “We will both probably be much enlightened now. It is Allan Morris.”
“Just as you said,” spoke Pendleton. “It’s really almost like second sight.”
The investigator laughed.
“A small feat of reasoning, nothing more,” said he. “However, an enthusiast might find some of the elements of second sight in our conversation in this room about a week ago.”
Pendleton looked at him questioningly.
“It was on the morning that you called to announce the coming of Miss Vale. We were speaking of how it sometimes happened that very innocent things led to most weighty results; and I remarked, if you will remember, that your visit might lead to my connection with a murder that would dwarf some of those which we had spoken of.”
“So you did,” agreed Pendleton. “That is rather remarkable, Kirk.”
“And further,” smiled the investigator, “I recall that I expressed great admiration for Marryat’s conception of a homicide in the matter of Smallbones and the hag. The weapon used by Smallbones, it turns out, was identical in character to the one used by Sagon.”
“A bayonet,” cried Pendleton. “By George! So it was.”
Just then Stumph announced Allan Morris.
The latter was pale and haggard; his clothes were neglected, and there were some days’ beard upon his chin. He seemed astonished at sight of Pendleton; however, he only nodded. Then he said inquiringly to the investigator:
“You are Mr. Ashton-Kirk?”
“I am. Will you sit down, Mr. Morris?”
Morris sat down dejectedly.
“Tobin advised me to come see you,” he said. “I refused at first; but in view of what the newspapers contain this morning, I reconsidered it.”
Ashton-Kirk nodded.
“If you had come to me in the first place,” said he, “you’d probably not have fallen into this mess, and you’d have saved yourself a great deal of suffering.” He regarded the young man for a moment, and then went on. “Miss Vale, I suppose, has told you of her dealings with me.”
“She has,” said Morris. “She’s been very candid with me in everything. If I had been the same with her,” bitterly, “I should have acted more like a natural human being. You see, we were to be married; she was very rich, while I had comparatively nothing. But this in itself would not have been sufficient to have prevented our wedding for so long. The fact was that I had gotten myself into trouble through speculation; I had a fear that my position might even be considered criminal from some points of view. And I allowed myself to get nervous over it.
“However, there was a way by which it was possible for me to extricate myself. To explain this I’ll have to go back some years.”
“Take your own time,” said Ashton-Kirk.
“Well, my father had worked for years perfecting the plans of a heavier-than-air flying machine,” Morris resumed. “At the time of his death he told me that it was all complete but the constructing, and that I had millions within my reach. But Hume had the plans—my father had borrowed money of him—a considerable sum—and had given him the plans as security.
“Hume had always derided the idea of the monoplane. Tobin, who knew them both, tells me that he was forever mocking my father upon the subject. And when the time came when the plans could be redeemed, Hume denied having them. There was no receipt, nothing to show that the transaction had ever occurred. The man declared that the whole thing was a drunken dream. He had never seen any plans; he had never paid out any money; he knew nothing about the matter. Time and again the man reiterated this; and each time, so I’ve heard, he would go off into gales of laughter. I have no doubt but that the entire performance on his part was to afford himself these opportunities; he seemed to love such things.”
“Was it not possible for your father to duplicate the plans?”
“At an earlier time it would have meant but a few weeks’ application at most. But at this period the thing was impossible. The last long debauch seemed to have sapped his intellect; it also was the direct cause of his death.”
“I see,” said Ashton-Kirk.
“I took the matter up with Hume at once,” went on the young man. “But I had no more success than my father. In the man’s eyes, I had but replaced my father; I was another patient subject for his mockery, derision and abuse.
“There were some scattered drawings of the monoplane in father’s office; I began a study of these, thinking to chance upon the principal idea. But I was unsuccessful.
“All this, you understand, was before I had met Miss Vale, and before I was tangled up in the trouble I have just mentioned.
“The fear began to grow on me that Hume meant to use the plans to his own advantage; I knew that he had long been familiar with Locke, who was reputed to be a mechanical genius, and between them, I fancied they’d take action. I began a watch upon the reports of the Patent Office, thinking that that would finally give me something tangible to use against them. However, I never gave up my visits to Hume, or my efforts to make him admit possession of my father’s property.
“It was during one of these visits that I first met Spatola; and I was much struck by the performance of his cockatoos. My father had always held to the idea that the problem of flight would be finally solved by a study of the birds; this gave me an idea, and I took to visiting Spatola in his lodgings in Christie Place. He’d have the cockatoos fly slowly round and round the big attic, and I’d watch them and make notes.
“It was about this time that I met Miss Vale and asked her to be my wife; a very little later, in an effort to raise money, I got into the financial trouble which I have referred to. After a little the question of a time for our marriage came up; I was filled with fear and put it off; this occurred several times, and I was at my wits’ end. I could not marry with that thing hanging over me. Suppose it should turn out as I feared; imagine the shock to a high spirited girl to discover that she had married a defaulter.
“It was then that I turned to the matter of the plans as my only hope; with a perfected idea I could readily secure a large sum of money in advance. So I redoubled my efforts to have a settlement with Hume; but he only derided me as usual. Continued visits to Spatola to study the flight of the birds, showed me that the Italian was a fine fellow, well educated and with much feeling and appreciation. We became fast friends and so, little by little, I told him my story.”
“About the invention?” asked Ashton-Kirk.
“Yes.”
The investigator turned to Pendleton.
“I think,” said he, “that I now understand why Spatola grew so uncommunicative and suspicious toward the end of our interview at City Hall. We both thought it was because I spoke of shorthand. But it was perhaps because I mentioned an invention in the way of writing music. He feared that I was trying to incriminate Mr. Morris in some way.”
Pendleton nodded.
“That,” said he, “I think explains it.”
“As you no doubt know,” went on Morris, after the investigator had once more given him his attention, “Spatola liked Hume none too well. And he had reason for his hatred, poor fellow. Well, he became interested in what I told him; and when he learned that I believed my father’s papers were in all probability somewhere in Hume’s apartments, he suggested that I come to live in Christie Place under an assumed name. He thought that in time an opportunity would present itself to cross the roofs some night, enter Hume’s place by the scuttle and so possess myself of the plans.
“On the day preceding the murder, I had made up my mind to have one more try with Hume; and if that failed I intended to follow Spatola’s advice, break in and take the plans by force. I was so full of this resolution that I could not contain myself; I hinted at it to Miss Vale; and the result of that hint, you know.”
He leaned his face forward in his hands and seemed to give way to a bitter train of thought. He was evidently despondent.
“It was also some such hint upon your part that induced her to visit Locke at Dr. Mercer’s place, wasn’t it?”
Morris raised his head and nodded.
“Yes,” he said. “After the murder I suspected Locke at once of having something to do with it. I told Miss Vale; she went there without my knowledge—seeing that I had not the courage to go myself,” he added bitterly—“and demanded the plans.”
“And she learned that they were still at Hume’s—behind the portrait?”
“Yes. Locke told her—he was overcome with horror at the murder. He had merely desired to secure the plans—having somehow learned their hiding place. He had no intention of killing Hume.”
“But why did Sagon do it?—he must have had it in mind when he bought the bayonet at Bernstine’s,” said Pendleton, looking at Ashton-Kirk.
“He had. Do you recall how Burgess’ report spoke of a league of smugglers in Europe of which Hume was a leading spirit, and also of how they had been captured and nearly all but Hume were tried and convicted?”
“Yes.”
“Sagon was one of those convicted. The diamonds which Hume tried to smuggle into this country were to have been turned into money at the time of the gang’s arrest and the proceeds spent in their defense. But instead of doing this, Hume left his comrades to their fate and absconded. When Sagon gained his freedom he began a search for Hume, meaning to have revenge. This search finally led him to Locke as a person who had known Hume, and who would be likely to be able to tell where he could be found.”
“Sagon has told you this?” queried Pendleton.
“Yes; he talked freely, after he saw that his case was hopeless; and he, too, insisted that Locke did not intend to commit murder. Locke, even at the time of his meeting Sagon, was looking for someone to aid him in gaining possession of the Morris plans. The workshop which we saw beside Locke’s house contained a monoplane in course of construction; but there was something lacking which he felt Morris’s plans could supply; and so he was anxious to get hold of it by hook or crook.
“Sagon, whose purpose from the first was murder, was not at all averse to combining it with something else. He took the room at Mrs. Marx’s place, after he had perceived that an entrance could probably be made at Hume’s by way of the scuttle. The well dressed ‘business guys’ that the machinist on the first floor spoke about to us, were no doubt Locke, who frequently called upon Sagon, and Mr. Morris here, whom the man did not suspect of being a lodger.
“To prove a theory that I had formed, and which I have mentioned in a vague sort of way,” went on Ashton-Kirk, “I asked Sagon why he had used a bayonet. And it turned out as I had thought. Sagon and Hume had first met at Bayonne; the greater part of their operations had been carried on there; the band had been finally rounded up and convicted there. The bayonet, so legend has it, was first made in Bayonne, and Sagon conceived that it would be a sort of poetic justice if the traitor were to die by a weapon so closely connected with the scene of his treachery.”
There was a pause after this, and then young Morris got up slowly and painfully.
“I don’t want it to be thought,” said he, “that I was directly responsible for Miss Vale’s adventure of last night—or for any of the others, for the matter of that. If I had known at the time that she proposed visiting Locke’s, or Hume’s, either upon the night of the murder, or last night, I would have prevented it.”
Ashton-Kirk nodded kindly; the young man’s position evidently appealed to him. But Pendleton sat rather stiffly in his chair and his expression never changed.
“I will now come into possession of whatever value there is in my father’s invention,” went on Morris, “and added to that, it turns out that the—the other thing, of which I stood so much in fear, has turned out favorably. But,” in a disheartened sort of way, “I don’t care much, now that my engagement with Miss Vale is broken.”
“Broken!” exclaimed Pendleton.
“I saw her this morning,” said Morris. “During the past week,” he continued, “it gradually came to me that I was not the sort of man to make her a fitting husband. I hid like a squirrel while she faced the dangers that should have been mine. I knew that she realized the situation as well as I, and I did what I could by making it easy for her.”
He paused at the door.
“If there is anything that I can do, or say in the final settlement of this case,” he added, to Ashton-Kirk, “I will gladly place myself at your services, sir. Goodbye.”