Detective Ashton-Kirk (Boxed-Set). John T. McIntyre

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СКАЧАТЬ seated himself at a desk and carefully perched his glasses upon his nose.

      "I perhaps take more trouble than is customary in these cases,"he said to Ashton-Kirk. "It is usual to hear statements, I believe, only when they are proffered as testimony at the inquest. But it seems to me that the office should be carried on in a more thorough way. Preparation, I think, is necessary to get at the facts."

      Then he faced the woman who had taken a chair beside the desk.

      "Your full name, please,"said he.

      "Honora Dwyer. I'm a widow with four children; I live at 71 Cormant Street, an' me husban' has been dead these three years,"declared she, in a breath.

      Stillman smiled.

      "You don't believe in keeping anything back, Mrs. Dwyer, I can see that,"said he. "And a very good trait it is."He leaned back in his swivel chair and looked at her through the glasses. "You are the person who discovered the body of Mr. Hume, are you not?"

      "Yes, sir, I were,"replied Mrs. Dwyer; "and God spare me such another sight."

      "Tell us about it,"said the coroner.

      "I work as scrub woman for a good many in Christie Place an' the immejeat neighborhood,"said Mrs. Dwyer, genteelly. "But I always gets to Mr. Hume's first."

      "You are quite sure you found the street door locked?"

      "Yes, sir."

      "And you noticed nothing unusual about the place?"

      "Only the open door to the store room, sir. Mr. Hume was always particular about closing up, sir. For a man who was in the habit of taking a sup of drink, sir, I'll say he was very particular."

      "When you noticed the door being open you went in at once, I suppose?"

      "No, sir; I did not. After I got me water, I set down on the top step to get me breath. When I saw the door stan'nin' open, thinks I to meself, thinks I; 'Mr. Hume is up early this mornin'.' But everything was quiet as the grave,"in a hushed dramatic tone. "Sorra the sound did I hear. So I gets up and goes in. And in the front room I sees him lyin'. Mr. Hume was never a handsome man, sir; and he'd gained nothing in looks by the end he'd met with. God save us, how I ever got out into the street, I'll never know."

      She rocked to and fro and fanned herself with her apron.

      "It must have been a very severe shock, Mrs. Dwyer,"agreed the coroner. "Now,"after a pause, "do you know anything—however slight, mind you—that would seem to point to who did this thing?"

      Mrs. Dwyer shook her head.

      "Me acquaintance with Mr. Hume was a business one only, sir,"she said. "I never set foot into his place further than the hall except on the days when I went to get me pay—and this morning, save us from harm!"

      "You know nothing of his friends then—of his habits?"

      "There is the Jew boy, outside there, that worked for him. He's a nice, good mannered little felly, and is the only person I ever see in the office when I went there, barrin' the boss himself. As for Mr. Hume's habits, I can say only what everybody knows. He were drunk when he engaged me, and he were drunk the last time I seen him alive."

      "That will be all, Mrs. Dwyer,"said Stillman. "Thank you. Curran, I'll see the young man next."

      As Curran and Mrs. Dwyer went out the young coroner turned to his two visitors.

      "I am still assured that we have the motive for the crime in the attempt to steal the painting,"he said. "But it will do no harm to get all the light we can upon every side of the matter. The smallest clue,"importantly, "may prove of the utmost value at the inquest."

      Ashton-Kirk smilingly nodded his entire assent to this. Then Curran showed in the clerk.

      The young man still carried the thick volume and, when he sat down, laid it upon a corner of Stillman's desk. Its back was turned toward Ashton-Kirk and he noted that it was a work on anatomy such as first-year medical students use.

      "What is your name, please?"asked the coroner.

      "Isidore Brolatsky,"replied the young man.

      "You are, or were, employed by Mr. Hume?"

      "As a clerk, yes, sir. I've been with him for some years."Brolatsky spoke with scarcely a trace of accent. "He didn't pay much, but then there wasn't much to do, and I had plenty of time to study."

      "Ah,"said Stillman, encouragingly. "To study, eh?"

      "Yes. I've taken up medicine. There's a college up town that has night classes. I have been attending the lectures there and reading during the day. There's a big chance for physicians who can speak Yiddish. Not only to make money, but to do good."

      "I see."The coroner regarded him reflectively for a moment. "Now, Mr. Brolatsky, having worked for Hume for some years, you must have picked up some details as to his business and himself. Suppose you tell us all you know about both."

      The dark face of Brolatsky became thoughtful.

      "Mr. Hume was a hard man to get along with,"he said. "He seemed ready to quarrel at any time with anybody. I don't recall a customer ever coming into the store that he didn't have some kind of trouble with before they went out. But he had a great knowledge of the things he dealt in. People came from far and near to get his opinion on items in their collections. His fees,"with appreciation, "were large.

      "But there is one thing that I noticed about him. While he knew all about objects of art, he did not seem to care for them. He had no love for his trade, no sympathy, I may say, for the collectors who came to him. I wouldn't be going far from the truth if I said that he thought them all fools for paying their money for such things. And I know that he mocked them."

      "Humph!"Stillman looked at Ashton-Kirk, with surprise upon his face. "That seems odd. Men usually go into Hume's business through love of it."He turned once more to Brolatsky. "And he had no hobby of his own, no collection that he fancied more than another?"

      Brolatsky nodded amusedly.

      "Yes,"he replied. "I was just coming to that. He did have a collection that he called his own. And he never sold an item from it as long as I was with him. Indeed, I think if anybody had offered to buy, he would have come to blows with him."

      Ashton-Kirk bent forward. For the first time since entering the room, he spoke.

      "And what was the nature of that collection?"he inquired eagerly.

      "Portraits,"answered Isidore Brolatsky. "Prints, lithographs, mezzo-tints, engravings, paintings, it made no difference. And all of the same person. He had hundreds, I guess, and every one of them was of General Wayne."

      Ashton-Kirk leaned back in his chair with a faint breath of triumph.

      "When a portrait of General Wayne was offered him,"continued Brolatsky, "he never haggled over it. He paid the price asked and seemed quite delighted to get it. It was a standing joke in the trade that if you wanted to get even with Mr. Hume for driving a hard bargain with you, all you had to do was to offer him a portrait of General Wayne. I never saw him refuse one. Even if he had dozens of duplicates, which often happened; still he'd buy."

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