The Mysteries of Detective Ashton-Kirk (Complete Series). John T. McIntyre

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СКАЧАТЬ is our shipping and receiving clerk,"said Mr. Bernstine. "He's up to everything around the place."Then he lowered his voice and jerked his fat thumb toward the newcomer secretly, addressing Pendleton: "Clever! Just full of it."

      Sime listened to Ashton-Kirk's question attentively.

      "Yes,"he said, in answer, "we had some of that stuff lately. Sold well, too, considering the time of the year."He pulled open a drawer and took out a fat, canvas-covered book. "Two gross rifles; one hundred gross cartridges."He closed the book, tossed it into the drawer and then slid the drawer shut. "There were a few bayonets, too. About half a dozen."

      With his round, fat countenance shining with admiration, Mr. Bernstine once more caught Pendleton's eye.

      "Just full of it,"he murmured, sotto voce. "As full as he can be."

      "The bayonets,"said Ashton-Kirk, "are what we are after. They were all sold, I suppose?"

      "Yes,"replied Sime. "I remember, when the last one went, saying to one of our men that we were lucky. You see, bayonets don't sell very well except to military companies; and they are not organizing every day."

      "Do you know who bought them?"

      Sime took the marking pencil from behind his ear and proceeded to scratch his head with its point. Mr. Bernstine watched him anxiously. But when the shipping clerk pulled open the drawer once more, the employer's face lighted up.

      "Ah!"said he to Pendleton. "The books! Now we'll have it."

      "They were all taken away by the people who bought them,"announced Sime, after a great flipping of ink spattered pages, "All except one."

      "And that one—"

      "It went by our boy. It was sold to Mr. Cartwright the artist, and was sent to his studio up here in Fifth St. But there was another—the last one that we had,"suddenly, "and now that I get thinking of it, I remember we had some trouble about it. The man that bought it was a Dago."

      Pendleton darted a swift look at Ashton-Kirk, but the investigator's expression never changed. He looked steadily at the clock.

      "When he asked for the bayonet,"proceeded Sime, "I knew we had one left, but I could not just lay my hands on it. He paid for it and I said we'd send it to him. He started to give me his address, and then changed his mind and said he'd come back again."

      "And he did?"

      "Yes; the same afternoon. I had found the thing by that time and he took it with him."

      "You don't recall the address?"

      To his employer's evident mortification, Sime shook his head.

      "Look in the books,"suggested Mr. Bernstine with confidence. "Look in the books."

      "It ain't there,"answered Sime. "He said he'd come back, so I didn't put it down."

      "Was it Christie Place?"

      Sime pointed at Ashton-Kirk with his pencil.

      "You've got it,"said he. "That was it, sure enough."

      "And you think the man was an Italian?"

      "Well, he talked and looked like one. Rather well educated too, I think."

      Ashton-Kirk thanked the clerk, and the now beaming Mr. Bernstine, and with Pendleton left the place.

      "Well,"said Pendleton, as they climbed into the car, "this about fixes the thing, doesn't it? The musician, Antonio Spatola, is the guilty man, beyond a doubt."

      The investigator settled back after giving the chauffeur his next stop.

      "Beyond a doubt,"said he, "is rather an extreme expression. The fact that the bayonet was purchased by an Italian who gave his address as Christie Place is not enough to convict Spatola. All sorts of people live in that street, and there are perhaps other Italians among them."

      Pendleton called out to the chauffeur to stop.

      "We'll settle that at once,"said he. "Spatola's picture is in the papers. We'll ask the clerk if it is that of the man to whom he sold the weapon."

      But Ashton-Kirk restrained him.

      "I thought of the published portraits while Sime was speaking,"said he. "And I also thought that it was very fortunate that neither he nor his employer were readers of the newspapers."

      "How do you know that they are not?"

      "If they had read to-day's issues they would have at once connected the Italian who purchased the bayonet with the one who is said to have used it—wouldn't they; especially as both Italians lived on the same street? Bernstine and Sime said nothing because they suspect nothing. And, as I have said, this is fortunate, because, suspecting nothing, they will continue,"with a smile, "to say nothing. If the police or reporters got this, they'd swoop down on the trail and perhaps spoil everything!"

      "But Bernstine or his clerk will hear of the matter sooner or later,"complained Pendleton. "And the police and reporters will then get in on the thing anyhow."

      "But there will be a delay,"said his friend. "And that may be what we need just now. Perhaps a few hours will mean success. You can never tell. The best that we could get by explaining matters to Sime would be a positive identification of Spatola, or the reverse. And we can get that from him at any time. So you see, we lose nothing by waiting."

      "I guess that's so,"Pendleton acknowledged, and again the car started forward. At the huge entrance to a railroad station they drew up once more.

      Within, Ashton-Kirk inquired for the General Passenger Agent and was directed to the ninth floor. The agent was a slim little man with huge whiskers of snowy whiteness, and a most dignified manner.

      "Oh, yes,"he said, after glancing at the investigator's card. "I have heard of you, of course. Who,"with a little bow, "has not? Indeed, if I remember aright, this road had the honor to employ you a few years ago in a matter necessitating some little delicacy of handling. Am I not right?"

      "And I think it was you,"said Ashton-Kirk, smoothly, "who provided me with some very clearly cut facts which were of considerable service."

      The little General Passenger Agent looked pleased and smoothed his beautiful whiskers softly.

      "I was most happy,"said he.

      "Just now,"said Ashton-Kirk, "I am engaged in a matter of some consequence, and once more you can be of assistance to me."

      "Sit down,"invited the other, readily. "Sit down, and command me."

      Both Pendleton and the investigator sat down. The latter said to the passenger agent:

      "I understand that every railroad has a system by which it can tell which conductor has punched a ticket."

      "Oh, yes. A very simple one. You see the hole left by each punch is different. One will cut a perfectly round hole, another will be square, still another will be a triangle, and so on, indefinitely."

      From his card case, Ashton-Kirk produced the small red particle which he had found СКАЧАТЬ