The Greatest Works of Earl Derr Biggers (Illustrated Edition). Earl Derr Biggers

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      Chapter IV. The Reckoning of Heaven

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      BARRY KIRK stood looking about his office; he found it difficult to believe that into this common-place, familiar room, tragedy had found its way. Yet there was that silent figure on the floor, a few moments before so full of life and energy.

      "Poor Sir Frederic," he said. "Only to-day he told me he was near the end of a long trail. Nearer than he dreamed, it appears." He stopped. "A long trail, Sergeant,—only a few of us know how far back into the past this thing must reach."

      Chan nodded. He had been consulting a huge gold watch; now he snapped shut the case and restored it to his pocket. "Death is the reckoning of heaven," he remarked. "On this occasion, a most complicated reckoning."

      "Well, what shall we do?" Kirk asked helplessly. "The police, I suppose. But good lord—this is a case beyond any policeman I ever met. Any uniformed man, I mean." He paused, and a grim smile flashed across his face. "It looks very much to me, Mr. Chan, as though you would have to take charge and—"

      A stubborn light leaped into the little black eyes. "Miss Morrow is above," said Chan. "What a happy chance, since she is from the district attorney's office. If I may humbly suggest—"

      "Oh, I never thought of that." Kirk turned to his servant. "Paradise, ask Miss Morrow to come here. Make my excuses to my guests, and ask them to wait."

      "Very good, sir," replied Paradise, and departed.

      Kirk walked slowly about the room. The drawers of the big desk were open and their contents jumbled. "Somebody's been on a frantic search here," he said. He paused before the safe; its door was slightly ajar.

      "Safe stands open," suggested Chan.

      "Odd about that," said Kirk. "This afternoon Sir Frederic asked me to take out anything of value and move it upstairs. I did so. He didn't explain."

      "Of course," nodded Chan. "And at the dinner table he makes uncalled-for reference to fact that he has not locked safe. The matter struck me at the time. One thing becomes clear—Sir Frederic desired to set a trap. A safe unlocked to tempt marauders." He nodded to the small volume that lay at the dead man's side. "We must disturb nothing. Do not touch, but kindly regard book and tell me where last reposing."

      Kirk leaned over. "That? Why, it's the year-book of the Cosmopolitan Club. It was usually in that revolving case on which the telephone stands. It can't mean anything."

      "Maybe not. Maybe"—Chan's little eyes narrowed—"a hint from beyond the unknown."

      "I wonder," mused Kirk.

      "Sir Frederic was guest of Cosmopolitan Club?"

      "Yes—I gave him a two weeks' card. He wrote a lot of his letters there. But—but—I can't see—"

      "He was clever man. Even in moment of passing, his dying hand would seek to leave behind essential clue."

      "Speaking of that," said Kirk, "how about those velvet slippers? Where are they?"

      Chan shrugged. "Slippers were essential clue in one case, long ago. What did they lead to? Positively nothing. If I am suiting my own taste, this time I look elsewhere."

      Miss Morrow entered the room. Her face was usually full of color—an authentic color that is the gift of the fog to San Francisco's daughters. Now it was deathly pale. Without speaking, she stepped beyond the desk and looked down. For a moment she swayed, and Barry Kirk leaped forward.

      "No, no," cried the girl.

      "But I thought—" he began.

      "You thought I was going to faint. Absurd. This is my work—it has come to me and I shall do it. You believe I can't—"

      "Not at all," protested Kirk.

      "Oh, yes you do. Everybody will. I'll show them. You've called the police, of course."

      "Not yet," Kirk answered.

      She sat down resolutely at the desk, and took up the telephone. "Davenport 20," she said. "The Hall of Justice?... Captain Flannery, please... Hello—Captain? Miss Morrow of the district attorney's office speaking. There has been a murder in Mr. Kirk's office on the top floor of the Kirk Building. You had better come yourself... Thank you... Yes— I'll attend to that."

      She got up, and, going round the desk, bent over Sir Frederic. She noted the book, and her eyes strayed wonderingly to the stocking feet. Inquiringly she turned to Chan.

      "The slippers of Hilary Galt," he nodded. "Souvenir of that unhappy case, they adorned his feet when he came down. Here is Paradise—he will explain to you."

      The butler had returned, and Miss Morrow faced him. "Tell us what you know, please," she said.

      "I was busy in the pantry," Paradise said. "I thought I heard the buzz of the burglar alarm by Mr. Kirk's bed—the one connected with the windows and safe in this room. I hastened to make sure, but Sir Frederic was just behind. It was almost as though he had been expecting it. I don't know how I got that impression—I'm odd that way—"

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