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

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      CHAPTER XIV

       MISS VALE UNEXPECTEDLY APPEARS

       Table of Contents

      Edouard, Ashton-Kirk's cook, was astonished and somewhat grieved that day to receive orders that dinner was to be served an hour earlier than usual. And Stumph, grave and immobile, was betrayed into an expression of astonishment when his master and guest sat down to the same dinner in their work-a-day attire.

      And at best Edouard's delicate art that day received but scant attention. Stumph could hardly conceive of a more important thing than the proper and gentlemanly eating of one's dinner. Nevertheless other things engaged the attention of the two young men; they talked earnestly and in incomprehensible terms; mysterious allusions were sprinkled thickly through it all.

      "I do not think,"Stumph told the mortified Edouard in the kitchen, "that Mr. Pendleton has tasted the flavor of a single thing he has eaten. He listens to Mr. Ashton-Kirk talk; he is surprised at everything that he is told; there is a trembling in his hands, he is so eager. No, I don't know what it's about. But then, I never know what Mr. Ashton-Kirk is about. He is a very remarkable gentleman."

      And no sooner was the dinner completed than Ashton-Kirk's big French car was brought to the door and both young men got into it.

      "You've looked up the road to Cordova?"inquired Ashton-Kirk of the chauffeur.

      "Yes, sir,"answered the man. "Very good road and almost parallel with the railroad. No trouble getting there by dark."

      "All right. Get there as soon as you can."

      They cut into a broad asphalted avenue, which eventually led them through the north suburbs into the country. The April dusk was settling upon the fields as they raced along; in the isolated houses, lights were beginning to twinkle; there was a swaying among the trees and roadside bush; the hum of the flying car must have been borne long distances; for far away people raised their heads from the finishing tasks of the day to look at it as it flashed by.

      Pendleton lay back comfortably digesting his dinner, and ticking off in his mind the case which engrossed him so much.

      "It all tapers down to this,"he said to himself. "Hume was murdered by Locke and a confederate in order that they might gain possession of something, the nature of which is unknown. Kirk is confident of Locke; I think he'd even go so far as to give him into custody, if he had the tangible proofs that the police require.

      "But he lacks enthusiasm in the matter of the confederate. To my mind, it's Spatola or Morris, or both. Both bore Hume no good will. Morris has been spending at least part of his time with Spatola under an assumed name; they are known to have been very much engaged in some secret matter. Both visited Hume's on the night of the murder. An Italian purchased the weapon with which the deed was done. A German sentence was written in shorthand by Locke for his confederate. Spatola admits he knows German; he grows suspicious when shorthand is mentioned. And to wind it up, Morris has not been seen at his apartments, his office, or by his friends, since the murder was committed."

      At a little unpainted railroad station, the investigator broke in on Pendleton's thoughts by calling on the chauffeur to stop. There were the usual signboards on each side of the structure, announcing that the place was Cordova; and there was the usual knot of loungers that are always to be found about such places watching with interest the incoming trains.

      Ashton-Kirk called to one of these. He was a lanky fellow in a wide-brimmed hat and with a sheep-like look of complacency.

      "What's the best way to Dr. Mercer's place?"asked Ashton-Kirk.

      The lanky man reflected.

      "There's three or four ways of getting there,"he stated. "You can go up the pike and turn at Harbison's store; or you can turn down the lane along there a piece and go along until you come to—"

      "Which is the nearest?"

      "I ain't never passed no judgment on that; but I think the clay road down toward Plattville would get you there the quickest—if you didn't get stuck in the ruts."

      "I think we'd better stick to the pike,"suggested Pendleton.