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

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ It is usually men of that type who are drawn into the vortex which swirls at every door."

      Her face was a little pale; but she now arose with a laugh and began rubbing her finger-tips with a handkerchief.

      "I think we'd better remove the dust of the Norwegian,"she said; "and I make a vow never to read him again—in the morning."She stood looking down at her caller, good-humoredly and continued: "I suppose it is my fault, but you have a dreadfully gloomy expression. Or maybe,"as an afterthought, "you ate an unwholesome dinner last night. Were you at the Perrings, by any chance?"

      He shook his head, his keen eyes searching her face.

      "No,"said he, "I had much more important matters on hand."

      She held up her hand.

      "It was something about this Hume affair,"she said.

      "Yes,"he replied.

      The smile was now gone; she leaned back against a heavy table, her fingers tightly clasping its edge.

      "I have been trying to forget that dreadful thing,"she said. "I've stopped looking at the papers, because I would be sure to see it mentioned. And,"with never a faltering in her eyes, "because I might be reminded of it in some other way, I now remain indoors."

      "Last night was an exception, perhaps,"suggested he, smoothly.

      "Last night?"There was a questioning look in her beautiful eyes; the finely posed head with its crown of bright hair bent toward him inquiringly.

      An expression of chagrin crept into his face.

      "You were not out last night, then?"said he.

      "What makes you think so?"smilingly. "It was dreadfully dull here, too. But then,"with a shrug, "anything is better than a constant reminder of that Christie Place affair."

      He nodded understandingly.

      "I suppose it is very distressing."He frowned gloomily at the tips of his shoes and she could see that he bit his lip with vexation. After a moment or two, he said: "It's very strange; but I was quite sure I saw you last night."

      "Yes?"Her tone was one of careless interest.

      "However,"he went on, "I had but a glimpse of the lady; and could easily have been mistaken."He wore a baffled look, but smiled as he got up. "And,"said he, "my visit of this morning was based upon the sight I fancied I had of you last night."

      She laughed amusedly.

      "It was something interesting,"she said. "Please tell me about—but, no, no,"hastily. "If it has anything to do with the Hume case, I'd rather not hear it."

      She had pressed the bell call for the footman, when he said:

      "Mr. Morris still keeps himself well concealed, I note."

      Like a tigress leaping to defend her young, she met the accusation.

      "Mr. Morris has done no wrong,"she declared, spiritedly. "And there is no need of his concealing himself."

      "Of course I will not say as to that."His voice was soothing and low. "But he makes a mistake in not coming forward. His name, you have noticed, has already appeared in the papers in direct connection with the murder."

      He glanced at her keenly once more.

      "It may be that he has gone away upon some urgent business,"she said. "And the chances are that he has not heard anything of the matter."

      "If he had gone away on business, don't you think he would have mentioned it to someone?"

      "Perhaps he did not think it necessary. And again, maybe he did not expect to be gone so long. Such things frequently happen, you know."

      "They do,"admitted Ashton-Kirk. "But in the case of Allan Morris, they somehow fail to fit. I am convinced that he is in hiding."

      She regarded him steadily for a moment; then she said:

      "You are convinced, you say?"

      "I am."

      "May I ask upon what your conviction is based?"

      "Not now—no."

      There was another pause; the man was at the door, ready to show the investigator out.

      "Perhaps,"and her tone was very low, "you even fancy that you know his hiding-place."

      "Not just yet,"said he, "but in a few hours at most, I will."

      Her lips formed the good-by as he stood in the doorway; but she made no sound. And Ashton-Kirk as he walked down the hall, smiled quietly to himself.

      CHAPTER XVII

       WHAT HAPPENED ON THE ROAD

       Table of Contents

      About half an hour after Ashton-Kirk had left the Vale mansion, a Maillard car drew up before the door. As it did so, an Italian laborer arose from the curb not far away where he had been comfortably seated with his back against a tree; then throwing his arms wide in a luxurious yawn, he started leisurely down the street.

      Five minutes later, a veiled, dust-coated female figure descended the step; the driver of the Maillard was dismissed, and Miss Vale composedly took his place at the wheel. As the car started forward, the gauntleted hands guided it firmly; the steady eyes were set straight ahead as the lever was pushed first to one speed and then another.

      And as the rapid pulse of the motor was borne along the quiet avenue, the Italian laborer calmly appeared from around a corner, pushing a powerful-looking motor cycle before him. Another moment and the machine was sounding its wild fusillade; the Italian sped away in the same direction as the Maillard, his battered soft hat set jauntily upon the back of his head, his gay-colored neckkerchief streaming in the wind.

      The car kept to the avenue for a long time; but finally in the far suburbs it made a sharp turn to the left and a few miles further on shot into a broad highway that ran parallel with the railroad.

      Bending forward so as to offer the least resistance to the wind, the Italian's swarthy face relaxed at this; his fine white teeth showed in a smile.

      "Cordova, I think,"muttered he, in very good English. "If not, then somewhere very near to it."

      Once upon the highway, which was hard, level and practically deserted, the Maillard increased its speed. Eddies of dust curled in its wake; its hum resembled that of a gigantic top; its shining brass and smooth gloss made it look like a streak of light. But the motor cycle was of the best; its compact, powerful mechanism answered bravely to each call that was made upon it by the dark-faced man in the saddle; its explosions had merged into one long volley.

      At a small and not very firm-looking bridge the Maillard slowed down; apparently for the first time Miss Vale heard the cycle in the rear, for she turned and gave it a quick look. But the dust of her own progress hung thickly in the air and she could not see very clearly. СКАЧАТЬ