Ashton-Kirk, Special Detective. John T. McIntyre

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      CHAPTER V

       SPEAKS OF ASHTON-KIRK’S FIRST VISIT TO SCHWARTZBERG

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      On the following morning, Ashton-Kirk and Scanlon breakfasted at the inn; then they each smoked another of the black cigars. At about nine o’clock they paid their bill and left.

      “This road,” said Bat Scanlon, as they trudged along, “is rather direct; it leads on to an old mill built years ago, and now abandoned, and then down to the river.”

      “All things considered,” spoke Ashton-Kirk, twirling his hickory stick, his keen eyes searching the ground, “we’d better get away from the roads and paths this morning, and head for Campe’s place, across country.”

      Without any comment, Scanlon followed his lead. Down one slope and up another they went, skirting ravines and gulleys, but always keeping the towers of Schwartzberg in sight. The crime specialist seemed in excellent humor; he whistled little airs, and cut at the stubble and withered stalks with his stick. But always were the keen, observant eyes traveling here and there; once or twice he left his companion and darted away; but he always returned in a very short time, smiling and shaking his head.

      “An interesting place,” said he. “There are many indications of enterprise and thought I shall have to go over it carefully; it promises to repay even a great deal of labor.”

      “Look there,” said Scanlon.

      Ashton-Kirk’s eyes followed the pointing finger. Upon the wall of Schwartzberg even at that distance could be seen a human figure.

      “It’s Campe,” said Scanlon. “He’s just noticed us.”

      As he spoke, the man on the wall drew out a field-glass and trained it upon them. Long and earnestly he looked; then without making a sign, he lowered the glass, turned and disappeared.

      “Gone to tell Kretz that I’ve hove in sight and am bringing a stranger,” said Scanlon.

      As they approached the building its details became more distinct. The gray stone, the narrow windows, the massive wall, the towers, indeed, all about the edifice, called up memories of those old feudal keeps in the Rhine country.

      “It wouldn’t surprise me in the least to see the gates swing wide, and the Baron and his men, with bows and bills, ride forth to bid us stand,” said Ashton-Kirk.

      “Well, there goes the gate,” said Scanlon, shading his eyes from the sun. “And here come Campe and the sergeant-major. I don’t see any bows nor bills; but it wouldn’t surprise me if both packed a perfectly competent ‘gat ’ somewhere about his person, ready to bring into action should you demonstrate anything but friendship and good will.”

      “I shall be careful to put nothing else on display,’’ smiled Ashton-Kirk. “And now,” with seriousness, “one word before they get too near. I am simply a friend of yours. You saw me in the city, and as I professed an interest in Schwartzberg, you brought me out to put in an hour showing me over the place if the owner does not consider it too great a liberty.”

      “I get you,” said Mr. Scanlon, briefly.

      Here the two advancing men came up. Young Campe was a well-built fellow and of good height But his face was pale; there was a wild look in his eyes, and his manner indicated extreme nervousness. Scanlon’s description of the German sergeant-major was quite accurate; he was square built and grim faced; there was a thick grayish patch in the hair above each ear; and he carried himself with the stiff precision of a man trained in a European barrack.

      “How are you?” cried Scanlon, shaking Campe by the hand. “Would have got here last night, but I had a friend with me, and we stopped at the inn. Mr. Ashton-Kirk,” nodding toward that gentleman, by way of introduction.

      Campe shook hands with the specialist in crimes, and Kretz saluted after his military fashion.

      “Mr. Ashton-Kirk listened to me tell about Schwartzberg until he felt that he couldn’t live another day without taking it in,” Scanlon informed them. “So he’s come over this morning, hoping it wouldn’t be asking too much.”

      Campe’s haunted eyes searched Ashton-Kirk; it was on his lips to refuse the request, when the other stopped him by saying:

      "I hope you’ll pardon me; but the fact is, I am something of a student of the period in which your house was built, and its absolute following, line for line, of the ancient plan, is of great interest The Count Hohenlo, builder of the place, was related to you, I understand.”

      “An ancestor of my mother’s.”

      “Indeed. That’s very charming. The Count’s career in this country was a most romantic one. The part he played in the history of the republic in its infancy has been obscured by the fanfare made in behalf of men not nearly so notable. His duel with the Frenchman, De La Place, was an exquisite piece of knight errantry; and his defense of the ford below here, while the СКАЧАТЬ