Читать книгу Ashton-Kirk, Special Detective (Musaicum Murder Mysteries) - John T. McIntyre - Страница 4

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Scanlon paused for a space; he examined a loose place in the wrapper of his cigar, while Ashton-Kirk sat waiting, upon his rug, his hands clasping his knees.

“When I first grabbed at this fact,” said the big man at length, “I gave it a good looking over. But I kept still, mind you; I said no more than the folks at the castle—and they were saying nothing at all. I tackled the thing from every angle, but nothing came out of it And yet, all the time, young Campe shivered; and, somehow, I felt that he had cause to do so. I could feel the thing, whatever it was, at every turn, in every shadow, in every sound.”

“The condition of Campe probably had its effect upon you,” said Ashton-Kirk. "He communicated his state of mind to you.”

“In other words,” said Mr. Scanlon, “I was stuck full of suggestion. Well, don’t burden yourself with that notion any longer. I’ve had some brisk experiences of my own from time to time; and a man with a tobasco past don’t fall for mental influences, not even a little bit But, be that as it may, I hadn’t been at Schwartzberg five days before I, too, began to feel like putting out a hurry call for help. And now, in a little more than twice that time, I come knocking at your door and urging you to do something.”

“I get a general atmosphere of fear—of an impending something—of an invisible danger,” said Ashton-Kirk. “But there’s nothing in what you’ve told me which permits of a hand-grip, so to speak.”

“I told you,” began Scanlon, “there isn’t a single thing which—”

“I don’t expect anything definite,” said the special detective. “Give me the details of your stay at Schwartzberg. Perhaps we can draw something from those.”

“Right,” said Mr. Scanlon. “Well, as soon as I put my foot on the station platform at Marlowe Furnace, the thing began. The station man said to me:

“‘You going to Schwartzberg? ’

“‘ Yes,’ says I.

“' A party’s been asking about you,’ says he.

“‘ One of Campe’s people, I guess.’

No,’ says he. ' I know all them. The party was a stranger.’ ,

“I thought this a little queer, but I had my getting out to Campe’s place to think of; and as it was late and very dark, I said nothing more except to ask my way.

“‘ Take the road down to the river,' says the station man. ‘ Then cioss the bridge and turn to your right You’ll see a lot of lights that look as if they were hanging away up in the air. That’s the castle.’

“So, bag in hand, I starts off. It was a starry night; but there was no moon and starlight isn’t much good on a road where the tree branches meet on either side. But I was headed right, and in a little while I made out the oudines of the covered bridge.

“‘ Like a Noah’s Ark,’ says I, as I started across. Footsteps inside covered bridges on a still, dark night are apt to stir up a lot of other sounds; so when I began to hear a kind of shuffling alongside of me, I wasn’t surprised. ' An echo,’ says I, and didn’t even turn.

“But when an electric hand torch shot a little tunnel of light through the darkness and hit me in the ear, I came about, quick enough.

“‘I ask your pardon,’ says a smooth kind of a voice.

“‘ That I hand you, willingly,’ says I. ‘But, believe me, friend, you’ll have to go some to get anything else.’

“The worst of an electric torch in a dark place,” complained Mr. Scanlon, “is that the party holding it has a good slant at you; but all you can do to him is wink and look foolish. These being the conditions I didn’t lash out at the party as I felt like doing, not knowing just how he was heeled; so I waited for him to show what he had.

“‘You are on your way to Schwartzberg, I think,’ says the voice. '

“‘ On my way is right,’ says I, as confidently as I could. ‘And, stranger, I figure on arriving there all safe and with everything standing.’

“The party with the torch appeared to be tickled at this; for he began to chuckle.

“‘I’m very fortunate in meeting you,’ says he.

“‘ Fine,’ says I. ‘ I always like to find people in luck. And now, if it’s no trouble, suppose you come through with your reason for stopping me.’

“' Of course,’ says he. ‘ To be sure. I’ve a small favor to ask of you,’ he says. ‘ If you’ll be so kind, I’ll have you carry this to young Mr. Campe.’

“And like that,” here Scanlon snapped his fingers, “the light went out, and I felt the party put something into my hand.

“‘No explanation will be needed,’ says the voice, if anything a little smoother than before. ‘ What I have given you will tell its own story.’

“Then I heard the pit-pit-pat of careful feet going back across the bridge. I waited for a little to see if there was to be anything further; but as there wasn’t I put the thing the stranger had given me into my pocket, and took up the journey once more. At the end of the bridge I looked up the river; there was a sort of mist lifting from the water, but high above this a battery of lights twinkled and blinked in the distance.

“‘If that’s Schwartzberg,’ says I, ‘Campe’s got her well lit up.’

“I struck along a road which led over the hills; and in half an hour I was thumping at the gate of the castle.

“There was a little empty space after my knock,” said Scanlon. “Then I heard footsteps and the sound of whispering. Suddenly I was flooded by a light from somewhere over the gate; I heard a man mention my name in a kind of a shout; then the gate opened, I was dragged in, and it swung shut after me, the bolts and things falling into place with a great racket. Young Campe had me by the hand and was shaking away for dear life.

“‘ I’m glad to see you, old chap!’ says he. ‘Glad as I can be. But I never expected you on a train as late as this!’ He left off shaking my hand and took to slapping my back; it all seemed feverish to me; but like a boob, I took it all for just plain delight in seeing me. ‘You see,’ says he, ‘ it’s a pretty quiet kind of a place out here; and when you came a-knocking, we couldn’t imagine who it could be.’

“After which,” continued Mr. Scanlon, “I was led across a courtyard and through a high narrow doorway like a slit in the wall. A few steps down a stone paved corridor and we turned into a room that was a ringer for Weisebrode’s Rathskellar. And while I was looking around at the place, Campe went on talking as if he’d never stop. This wasn't usual, and as I now had a good view of him under the light, I noticed that he was pinched looking; there were hollows in his face and neck that I’d never seen there before.

“‘ Well,’ says he, ‘ here you are, old man, and there never was a person so welcome anywhere before. You see,’ and his voice sank a little, ‘there’s been things about here that—’

“‘ Take care,’ says some one. And as I looked around I saw a short, blocky German standing beside us, his hand at a salute. He was sort of gray around the temples and he had as grim a face as I ever saw.

“Young Campe gave a sort of gulp. ‘Quite right, sergeant,’ says he. Then, to me, he goes on: ‘ This is Sergeant-Major Kretz, once of the Kaiser’s army, and an old friend of my father’s.’

“The sergeant-major salutes once more, but his face was like granite.

“‘ I will take your hat and coat,’ says he; and then a thing happened which, for suddenness, has got anything I ever saw whipped to a standstill; and I’ve seen some sudden doings in my day. I pulled off my overcoat and gave it to the sergeant-major. He took it kind of awkwardly; something dropped from one of the pockets and slid across the sanded floor.

“‘Don’t be so confoundedly clumsy, Kretz, says Campe, and he stooped and picked the thing up. But when he got it in his hands and gave it one look, he threw it from him and gave a gurgling sort of cry. Then he swung around and leaped on me like a madman, both hands digging into my throat."

Ashton-Kirk shook the ash from the Coblentz and nodded at his visitor.

“Rather impulsive,” said he.

The big man’s hand caressed his throat; it was as though he still felt the clasp of the young fellow’s fingers.

“It was no easy job tearing him loose,” said he. “He stuck to me like a wildcat; his intention was to do for me on the spot.”

“What was the thing that set him off?” asked the crime specialist.

“After I’d got him into a chair with the sergeant-major holding him,” answered Scanlon, “I took a look at it. It was a smooth stone about the size of an egg, though not that shape, green in color, and with a humped up place on one side of it I had no recollection of ever having seen it before, and I was puzzled about how it got into my pocket. But while I was puzzling, it flashed on me.

“‘ It’s the thing that fellow gave me while I was crossing the bridge,’ says I.

“‘ Let me up,’ says young Campe to the German. There was something nearer sanity in his eyes than there had been a few moments before; so the sergeant-major let go of him.

“‘ What fellow? ’ says Campe.

“‘ I didn’t know him; it was dark and I didn’t even see him. He spoke to me on the bridge coming from the station. He gave me this thing for you. He said you’d ask no questions, but he didn’t mention,’ I couldn’t help adding, ‘ the other things you’d do.’

“Campe grabbed my arm with both hands.

“‘ If you can,’ says he, ‘try and forget that I lost my head just now. If you knew what a bedeviled man I am, you’d only wonder why I don’t go permanently mad.’

“Then he stands looking at the green stone, which the sergeant-major had put upon the table; his lips twitched, his face was white.

“‘Oh, they are cunning,’ says he. ‘They know the nature and substance of fear. They play upon it with the expertness of devils. But,’ and he lifted one clenched fist, ‘they’ll never break my nerve; I’ll hold out against them, no matter what they do.’”

“That was pretty direct,” spoke Ashton-Kirk “What followed? Did he say anything more?”

“The German sergeant-major took him away before he could indulge in any further remarks; I didn’t see him again until next morning; and then nothing at all was said about the doings of the night. A couple of times I was on the point of asking him to put me up in the reason for his go ings on; but something in his manner and ex pression kept me back.

“In the late afternoon we all went out for a breather among the hills. But it was more like an expedition into the enemy’s country than an exercise. They put a couple of Colt automatics in my pocket, and each of them took one. Also the sergeant-major carried a Mauser rifle with kick enough to have killed at a couple of miles.

"‘Sometimes there are vagrants who get impudent,’ said Campe. ‘ I’ve known them to attempt robbery; so we may as well be prepared.’

“Next day we took the dogs and guns and tried for some birds; at night we locked the place up like a prison. The days that followed were about the same; I never felt so thick a depression anywhere as there was in Schwartzberg. For hours no one would speak; our meals would go through like a funeral rite; sometimes I’d catch myself chewing my food to the tune of a dead march. After dinner we’d have a gloomy game of cards; at about ten we’d all go off to bed, one by one, and seem glad to do it.”

“Your first visit wasn’t pleasant,” said Ashton-Kirk.

“I got no fun out of it except the tramping around, and then only when I’d go off by myself. I’d packed and jumped out as soon as I’d sized matters up, but there were two things kept me back. First, I like young Campe, and I wanted to help him out; second, something was doing of a piquant nature, and I had a curiosity to know what it was.

“Several times, from my bedroom windows, I saw Kretz prowling about the courtyard or upon the wall. Once I fancied I caught the creeping of a couple of figures beyond the wall. I went out to look up the nature of the stunt, and almost got myself shot by what Campe afterward called prowling tramps. On the following night as I sat reading in my room, I heard a woman’s scream— sudden and high with fear. There was a rush of feet along empty corridors, sharp voices and the slamming of doors. I grabbed up my automatic and, all in disarray, I broke for the scene of excitement. But half-way down a flight of stairs I came upon Sergeant-Major Kretz, quite calm, but looking a little grimmer, if anything, than I’d ever seen him before.

“‘ It’s nothing,’ he tells me. ‘ The Fraulein was frightened. All is right You need not bother.’”

“There’s a woman, then, at Schwartzberg?” said Ashton-Kirk.

“Two of them, to be exact,” returned Scanlon. “One’s an aunt of Campe’s; the other is a companion, or something of the kind. The girl I see often, but the aunt very rarely. But I never did more than nod to either of them until the night Campe was cut”

“Cut!”

“In the body,” said Scanlon. “That was two nights ago. I had gone to bed rather later than usual and had, I think, been asleep only a few minutes when I was awakened by a sound. I sat up and listened. Then it came again. Far off, as though among the hills, came a roaring; it started like a murmur at first, and grew in volume until it rumbled like nothing I’d ever heard before. Then it died away, and only its echo remained, drifting above the hillsides.

“‘ Thunder,’ says I.

“But the sky was filled with stars, and they shone as brilliantly as stars ever shone before. Once more came the roaring in the night; with my head thrust far out at the window, I listened. A door opening on the courtyard slapped to, suddenly; quick footsteps sounded and Campe’s voice, high and angry, came to my ears. The gate opened before him; I could see him, a revolver in his hand and with all the appearance of madness, rush away in the direction of the great sound.

“I commenced jumping into my clothes, a garment at a jump; a brilliant tongue of light shot from the top of Schwartzberg, and began to sweep the country round about much like the search-light of a battle-ship.

“‘ They are strong on equipment,’ says I to myself, as I grabbed my gun, and made for the door. This time I met no one on the stairs, nor in the courtyard, when I reached it, nor yet at the gate. Once outside I looked up; the light was streaming out over the hills from the tallest turret of the castle; and in the gloom beside the reflector I saw Kretz, his Mauser in his hands, his face turned as though he were grimly picking up each detail as the light brought it out.

“I had noted the direction which Campe had taken; so I struck after him. Two hundred yards away from the castle I heard his revolver begin to speak; then there came the eager straining breaths of men engaged in a struggle, the grinding of feet, and a heavy fall. I had all but reached the spot when the great ray swept round and held fast. I saw young Campe stretched out upon the ground; and over him stood the girl, all in white, with her face upturned, her arms outstretched toward the high turret as though imploring the grim rifleman to hold his fire."

“Well?” asked Ashton-Kirk

“She was a peach; and Campe was close to being all in. I backed him, and with my automatic held ready, and the girl trailing behind, I got back to the castle where I heard the gate closed and locked behind me with some thankfulness.”

“Was Campe badly hurt?”

“He had a long, peculiar cut down his chest and stomach, not deep, but ugly looking. It was just as though some one had made a sweep at him with something big and heavy and keen, and he had pulled back in time to escape most of it. But he was about next day; he thanked me for going out after him, but sat tighter than ever on the explanation thing. It was after this that I tried to reason it out for the last time. But it’s no use—the thing’s beyond yours truly. So here I am.”

The singular eyes of Ashton-Kirk were full of interest; he arose from his rug and took a couple of turns up and down the room; then he threw open a bulky railroad guide and his searching finger began to run in and out among the figures.

“There’s a train for Marlowe Furnace at 8:04,” said he.

Then he pressed one of a series of call bells in the wall, and, through a tube, said to some one below:

“Have dinner a hall hour earlier. And set places for two.”

“I didn’t think you’d jump into the thing with any such speed as this,” spoke Mr. Scanlon, highly gratified.

“It looks like a case which will admit of no delay,” replied Ashton-Kirk. “Something of a deadly nature is lowering over Schwartzberg; that’s plain enough. And that young Campe is so secretive about it is an indication that it’s one of those things which cannot well be spoken of to the police.”