CHAPTER XVIII

DEALS MAINLY WITH SOME NEWS FROM MEXICO

The next day at Schwartzberg was uneventful. Scanlon saw very little of Campe, and nothing at all of either of the ladies. Kretz was silent and in no way interesting.

Once, about the middle of the afternoon, Bat took a walk along the river bank, but he saw nothing which caught his attention, and he did not go far. The remainder of the day he lounged about, smoking and reading. The day following was even more dull; except for a gallop in the morning with Campe on a pair of well-conditioned horses, the time was altogether unprofitable. Then two more days passed, one duller than the other.

“Even some light reasoning would be welcome,” complained the big man, “but there’s nothing new to reason about.”

Upon the fifth day, having seen nothing of the crime specialist, Scanlon made up his mind to pay a casual visit to the inn.

“It may be,” said he, “that he’s just curling up for a sight of me. And there may be important news to pass on.”

But he got no sight of the jaundiced man at the hostelry; indeed, there was no one in view but the round bodied landlord, who laughed at Mr. Scanlon’s jokes and was as affable as ever.

Bat tramped back to Schwartzberg in a thoughtful mood.

“A dead calm,” said he. “Complete and absolute. And not a sail in sight. But,” with a lift of the eyebrows, “maybe it’s that thing I’ve so often heard of--the calm before the storm.”

In the middle of the afternoon the bell at the gate rang, and a little later Kretz came in with a telegram.

“For Mr. Scanlon,” said the German.

The big man tore open the envelope. As he expected, it was from Ashton-Kirk, and read:

“‘See me in the city at nine o’clock to-night.’”

“Anything important?” asked Campe who was watching him.

“I’m called to the city,” replied Bat. He glanced at a time-table, and added: “However, I’ll not leave until after dinner.”

“Back to-morrow?”

“More than likely.”

During the time that had passed since his talk with Scanlon as to the danger which threatened him, Campe had not once recurred to the subject. But that he bore it well in mind Scanlon was confident.

“He’s thinking it over,” the big man had concluded. “He’ll come to it when he’s ready.”

But the telegram from the special detective was almost an assurance that Fuller’s report had been received; and if this were so, Ashton-Kirk would, in all probability, soon be ready to take some step, no matter what Campe’s attitude.

At seven-thirty Scanlon entered a train, and an hour later he was in the city; a taxi took him to Ashton-Kirk’s door, and Stumph showed him at once to his friend’s study.

“How are you,” said Ashton-Kirk, as he shook Scanlon, smilingly, by the hand, “and how did you leave every one at Schwartzberg?”

“I’m fine,” said Bat. “But there’s not much stirring at the castle. After one mad outburst of enthusiasm, everything seems to have come to a stand.”

The crime specialist nodded.

“The besieging army has not been very active, then,” said he. “I rather expected that.”

“You’d know more about the folks at the inn than I would,” said Bat. “I went over there yesterday for the first time in days. But no one was around. When did you leave?”

“If I had taken the hints the landlord and help gave me,” said Ashton-Kirk, grimly, “I’d have left the first day. I understand the statement of the other hotel keeper very well now; you know he told me that new guests never stayed long at the inn.”

“They didn’t want you, eh?” Scanlon chuckled. “Well, what could they do with a perfect stranger around, and all of them up to their ears in important private business?”

“But for once, anyhow, they failed,” said the special detective. “I needed a certain length of time to collect what facts I was after, and that time I was bound to stay. They did everything short to burn the place about my ears, but I ignored their efforts and talked about my liver. I got all the information I wanted by last night, and as Burgess wired me that Fuller’s report had arrived, I left this morning.”

“I sort of thought you’d had word from Mexico,” said Bat. “But before you tell me what it is, maybe I’d better unload my further experiences as Schwartzberg.”

“Very well,” agreed the other, quietly.

Thereupon the big man proceeded to relate all that had befallen him since seeing the crime specialist upon the river bank in the guise of a jaundiced man. Ashton-Kirk listened with interest and with narrowed eyes, and when the other had finished, he rose to his feet.

“One of the most curious things in all this business of investigation,” said he, “is the way things have of falling together. At times this is not only bizarre, but also astounding.”

“Miss Knowles seems to be a fairly industrious lady, doesn’t she?” said Bat. “Early and late she’s on the job. I couldn’t get anything out of the business with the harp, though I’m sure she has a pretty well fixed purpose; but the little game of the sword was plain enough.”

The detective made no reply, but took a cigarette from a box upon the table, lighted it and began pacing the floor.

“It’s not easy to believe that a woman with a face like Miss Knowles could put together a little job like that, though,” said Scanlon, also lighting a cigarette. “If I hadn’t seen the thing working itself out, I wouldn’t have believed it. And it took some nerve, after she failed once, to get him out there among the hills so that she could take another swipe at him.”

Ashton-Kirk nodded and went on with his smoking and his pacing.

“But,” said Bat, inquiringly, “why the sword? If she is leagued with these people to do away with Campe, why isn’t it enough to do it in the readiest way? Why must it be done with the big blade from the tapestry room?”

But the other’s mind seemed to be moving in another channel.

“This parcel,” said he, “which you saw delivered, and which Miss Knowles at once took charge of--you are quite sure it contained only blank paper?”

“I didn’t see it opened,” replied Bat. “But I saw it repacked, and that’s all that went back into it.”

Ashton-Kirk smiled in a dreamy sort of way; the smoke wreathed above his head and his eyes were half closed.

“Did you notice,” he asked, “how the package was wrapped?”

“Just heavy manilla paper,” said Bat, “and tied with a kind of a mixed coloured string.”

The dreamy smile deepened; the face of Ashton-Kirk grew out of the smoke wreaths like a nodding Buddha, so utterly peaceful was it.

“That’s very interesting,” said he, in a pleased tone. “This little matter of yours shows more and more quality with every step.” He paced up and down the floor, still smoking and still with the smile upon his face. “And it was after the receipt of this parcel that the sword was missed from its place upon the wall?”

“It was,” answered Bat, staring. “But look here! You seem to be connecting these two things; for my part, I can’t see them even near to each other.”

“To-morrow, perhaps,” said Ashton-Kirk, “we’ll take a few moments to explain things. Just now, however, there is work to do of a more serious nature.”

He went to a cabinet and opening a drawer took out some typed sheets.

“Fuller telegraphed his report in a private cipher,” said he, “and this is the translation. He was rather fortunate in the matter, for one of his first queries put him upon the track of exactly the people he was after--those who knew young Campe’s father both privately and as a business man, who were Americans and were willing to talk. Within twenty-four hours he had these facts,” tapping the sheets, “on the wire.”

He then read:

“‘The Campes in Mexico seem to have been a family that held the respect and good will of the community. Their business dealings were always carried on on a high plane, and they were personally affable and easily approached. For years success marked all their ventures; their undertakings brought rich returns and seemed constantly increasing.

“‘The house was seldom for very long out of the public eye. However, about five years ago, there came a lull in their doings. Their ventures were few; and in the completion of some large contracts they were known to have borrowed money.

“‘This lull continued for about the space of a year, and seemed to grow more and more pronounced. The public was unaware of anything wrong, but those on the inside knew that the Campes had lost a very great deal of money; and as time passed it was a question as to whether they would recover or no.

“‘But, suddenly, recover they did, and brilliantly. Some of their copper holdings developed amazingly, and in a short time they were going along at their usual winning pace, just as though nothing had ever happened. During this commercial halt, if I may so call it, I find there was also a sort of social one. And as you asked me to pay special attention to the friends of the head of the house, I looked into their social sagging with a good deal of interest.

“‘In its efforts to regain its financial footing during the time of depression, the house of Campe dealt with people with whom it would have hesitated to associate itself in days more flush. Also it made acquaintances, possibly through these dealings, with people who were entirely unknown in those circles in which the family had always moved. One of these in particular was a man named Alva, who had once been a professor of physics at Chapultepec. He was, I understand, a peculiar sort of person, a cripple, who made a boast of his Indian ancestry. Alva bore a bad reputation, and was considered wonderfully clever in many ways. There was another of these new-made friends--an American--named Evans, a fat, smooth individual----’”

“Hello!” exclaimed Mr. Scanlon, in recognition, “do I once more meet my friend of the covered bridge?”

“‘This American,’” continued Ashton-Kirk, his eyes still upon the sheets, “‘is known to have been in various sorts of trouble in Honduras and Guatemala; but just what these offences were I have not been able to learn. However, the Guatemalan Minister of Police of the period in which these things took place is now that country’s Minister at Washington; something might be learned from him. During the period of the Campe family’s depression, Frederic Campe, father to the Frederic now in the United States, was quite intimate with both Alva and Evans. They were received frequently at his house and, apparently, highly esteemed. But when the financial turn came, this intimacy grew less apparent; finally it ceased altogether. It was probably a year after this that Frederic Campe met his death on board his yacht.’”

The special detective laid the sheets upon the table, and looked at Scanlon.

“Well,” he asked, “what do you think?”

“To me,” replied that gentleman, “it looks as though you’d hit the thing fair on the point that last day I was here. Some kind of an understanding was had with this man Alva and the other fellow, Evans. But the elder Campe broke it off after he got flush again; they hung on and kept insisting on his doing whatever it was that he’d promised to do. He refused, and they finally got him.”

The detective laughed.

“Good!” said he. “My theory as to what might possibly have happened and Fuller’s report you’ve put together very well indeed.”

“But,” ventured Scanlon, “though it might be clever enough, this guessing at things won’t get us anything unless we carry it further.” He looked at the crime specialist inquiringly. “What do you think we’d better do next?”

Ashton-Kirk pressed one of the series of call bells, then he lighted another cigarette.

“I’d like to have just a little more information about this man Alva,” said he. “He interests me immensely. Atavism is one of the most curious and fascinating things in the world,” he continued, as he rested against one corner of the table, his singular eyes upon the big man. “One never knows when to expect it, and it sometimes takes the most peculiar of forms. A strain of blood, a physical peculiarity will suddenly appear after an absence of generations, and----”

Here there came a knock upon the door, and a small compactly built man entered the room.

“Burgess,” spoke the crime specialist, “early in the morning go down to Parker’s and borrow a surveying outfit--a complete one--tell him not to miss anything, and also to tell you how they’re used.”

“Enough to go through the motions?” said the compact man with a grin.

“Exactly. Then take O’Neil and go out on the first train you can get to Marlowe Furnace. Find a place called Schwartzberg up along the river on the west bank, and about a mile above the station. Make that the centre of your movements for the day; don’t get out of hearing of the usual signal, and when you do hear it make for the house at once.”

Burgess nodded.

“Right,” said he. “And all the time we are hanging around we’ll be busy laying off the land with the surveyor’s stuff, eh?”

“Yes,” replied Ashton-Kirk.

“Anything else?” asked the man.

“No.”

Burgess nodded and took his departure.

Ashton-Kirk, in spite of the fact that he had talked freely upon certain points of the case with Scanlon, had said little or nothing as to his movements in the immediate future.

Nevertheless there was something in the air of the study which seemed to promise action--sharp, light-producing action--and the big man was pleased.

“You seem to be getting ready for a little something,” spoke Mr. Scanlon.

The other smiled.

“To-morrow, more than likely, will be a busy day,” said he, “and it’s always best to prepare for such a little ahead.”

“What do you expect to happen?” asked Mr. Scanlon, curiously.

“Anything. But one thing will almost surely take place. And that is: the Campe matter will be solved for good and all.”