Read Ebook: Special Detective (Ashton-Kirk) by McIntyre John T John Thomas

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Ebook has 2019 lines and 62905 words, and 41 pages

never seemed to take things very seriously, and had a very frequent laugh. But about a year ago I noticed a change. He didn't talk so much; if he laughed at all it didn't have the old-time colour; and he got to sitting staring at the ground. When I'd talk, he'd listen for a while; then he'd sort of drift away. I could tell by his expression that he wasn't getting a thing I was saying. Finally he took to walking the floor, biting his nails and whispering to himself."

Ashton-Kirk shook his head.

"Pretty bad," said he.

"That's what I thought. And I mentioned the fact to him. But he tried to laugh--it was a complete failure--and said there was nothing wrong. He was a little nervous; and even that, so he said, would wear off after a while.

"The day I spoke to him in this way was the last I saw of him until about two weeks ago. Then I got a letter, asking me to pack a bag and run up to Marlowe Furnace for a visit. 'The shooting's good,' says he, 'and I've got a brace of dogs that'll give you some excitement.'

"'This,' says I, to myself, 'is just about the right thing. Nothing'd suit me better now than to fuss with a dog and a gun.'

"So I wrote him I'd come at once. Marlowe Furnace, if you don't know the place, is about twenty miles out, tucked away among the hills. It was quite a place in revolutionary times; they beat out sword blades and bayonets there, and cast cannon, and the round shot to stuff them with.

"There's only a few houses, with an inn for summer visitors; and there's a little covered bridge crosses the river, just like a picture on a plate. Campe was holding out at Schwartzberg, or Castle Schwartzberg, as the people of the town call it. The castle is a regular robber-baron kind of a place, with a wall around it, towers, battlements, little windows with heavy bars, and all the rest of the fixings."

"I know it," said Ashton-Kirk. "It was built by a German officer who came over with Baron Steuben during the Revolution. When peace came, he decided he liked the section well enough to stay. He was rich, and built Schwartzberg in the effort to get some of the colour of the old land into the new."

"It was something like that," said Mr. Scanlon, nodding. "And the builder must have been related, in a way, to the Campes. Anyhow, they came into the castle some years ago. Well, to be invited to a place like that was not usual with me; and I felt a little swelled up about it.

"'You've been asked because of your qualities as a sportsman and boon companion,' says I to myself; 'the discriminating always pick you for an ace.'

"But twenty-four hours later I had learned my true status," said Scanlon, his brows corrugating, and his thick forefinger tapping the table. "I had been asked to Schwartzberg to act as a body-guard, and for nothing else in the world."

"I see," said Ashton-Kirk.

"Mind you, the situation has never been put into plain words. In fact, it's never been even hinted at. But things happened, queer things, with no meanings attached, and so I gradually understood. A body-guard I was; and my job was to protect young Campe from something out among the hills."

SHOWS HOW MATTERS STOOD AT SCHWARTZBERG

Scanlon paused for a space; he examined a loose place in the wrapper of his cigar, while Ashton-Kirk sat waiting, upon his rug, his hands clasping his knees.

"When I first grabbed at this fact," said the big man at length, "I gave it a good looking-over. But I kept still, mind you; I said no more than the folks at the castle--and they were saying nothing at all. I tackled the thing from every angle, but nothing come out of it. And yet, all the time, young Campe shivered; and, somehow, I felt that he had cause to do so. I could feel the thing, whatever it was, at every turn, in every shadow, in every sound."

"The condition of Campe probably had its effect upon you," said Ashton-Kirk. "He communicated his state of mind to you."

"In other words," said Mr. Scanlon, "I was stuck full of suggestion. Well, don't burden yourself with that notion any longer. I've had some brisk experiences of my own from time to time; and a man with a murky past doesn't go in for mental influences, not even a little bit. But be that as it may, I hadn't been at Schwartzberg five days before I, too, began to feel like sending out an S.O.S. for help. And now, in a little more than twice that time, I come knocking at your door and urging you to do something."

"I get a general atmosphere of fear--of an impending something--of an invisible danger," said Ashton-Kirk. "But there's nothing in what you've told me which permits of a hand-grip, so to speak."

"I don't expect anything definite," said the special detective. "Give me the details of your stay at Schwartzberg. Perhaps we can draw something from those."

"Right," said Mr. Scanlon. "Well, as soon as I put my foot on the station platform at Marlowe Furnace, the thing began. The station man said to me:

"'You going to Schwartzberg?'

"'A party's been asking about you,' says he.

"'One of Campe's people, I suppose.'

"'No,' says he. 'I know all them. The party was a stranger.'

"I thought this a little queer, but I had my getting out to Campe's place to think of; and as it was late and very dark, I said nothing more except to ask my way.

"'Take the road down to the river,' says the station man. 'Then cross the bridge and turn to your right. You'll see a lot of lights that look as if they were hanging away up in the air. That's the castle.'

"So, bag in hand, I started off. It was a starry night; but there was no moon and starlight isn't much good on a road where the tree branches meet on either side. But I was in the right direction and in a little while I made out the outlines of the covered bridge.

"'Like a Noah's Ark,' says I, as I started across. Footsteps inside covered bridges on a still, dark night are apt to stir up a lot of other sounds; so when I began to hear a kind of shuffling alongside of me, I wasn't surprised. 'An echo,' says I, and didn't even turn.

"But when an electric hand torch shot a little tunnel of light through the darkness and hit me in the ear, I came about, quick enough.

"'I ask your pardon,' says a smooth kind of a voice.

"The worst of an electric torch in a dark place," complained Mr. Scanlon, "is that the party holding it has a good sight of you; but all you can do to him is wink and look foolish. These being the conditions I didn't lash out at the party as I felt like doing, not knowing just what he was; so I waited for him to show his hand.

"'You are on your way to Schwartzberg, I think,' says the voice.

"'On my way is right,' says I, as confidently as I could. 'And I count on getting there all safe and sound.'

"The party with the torch appeared to be tickled at this; for he began to chuckle.

"'I'm very fortunate in meeting you,' says he.

"'Of course,' says he. 'To be sure. I've a small favour to ask of you,' he says. 'If you'll be so kind, I'll have you carry this to young Mr. Campe.'

"And like that," here Scanlon snapped his fingers, "the light went out, and I felt the party put something into my hand.

"'No explanation will be needed,' says the voice, if anything a little smoother than before.

"'What I have given you will tell its own story.'

"Then I heard the pit-pit-pat of careful feet going back across the bridge. I waited for a little to see if there was to be anything further; but as there wasn't I put the thing the stranger had given me into my pocket, and took up the journey once more. At the end of the bridge I looked up the river; there was a sort of mist lifting from the water, but high above this a battery of lights twinkled and blinked in the distance.

"'If that's Schwartzberg,' says I, 'Campe's got her well lit up.'

"I struck along a road which led over the hills; and in half an hour I was thumping at the gate of the castle.

"There was a little empty space after my knock," said Scanlon. "Then I heard footsteps and the sound of whispering. Suddenly I was flooded by a light from somewhere over the gate; I heard a man mention my name in a kind of a shout; then the gate opened, I was dragged in, and it swung shut after me, the bolts and things falling into place with a great racket. Young Campe had me by the hand and was shaking away for dear life.

"'I'm glad to see you, old chap!' says he. 'Glad as I can be. But I never expected you on a train as late as this!' He left off shaking my hand and took to slapping my back; it all seemed feverish to me; but like a dud, I took it all for just plain delight in seeing me. 'You see,' says he, 'it's a pretty quiet kind of a place out here; and when you came a-knocking, we couldn't imagine who it could be.'

"After which," continued Mr. Scanlon, "I was led across a courtyard and through a high narrow doorway like a slit in the wall. A few steps down a stone paved corridor and we turned into a room that was a ringer for Weisebrode's Rathskellar. And while I was looking around at the place, Campe went on talking as if he'd never stop. This wasn't usual, and as I now had a good view of him under the light, I noticed that he was pinched looking; there were hollows in his face and neck that I'd never seen there before.

"'Take care,' says some one. And as I looked around I saw a short, blocky German standing beside us, his hand at a salute. He was sort of grey around the temples and he had as grim a face as I ever saw.

"Young Campe gave a sort of gulp. 'Quite right, sergeant,' says he. Then, to me, he goes on: 'This is Sergeant-Major Kretz, once of the Kaiser's army, and an old friend of my father's.'

"The sergeant-major saluted once more, but his face was like granite.

"'I will take your hat and coat,' says he; and then a thing happened which, for suddenness, has got anything I ever saw licked to a standstill; and I've seen some sudden doings in my day. I pulled off my overcoat and gave it to the sergeant-major. He took it kind of awkwardly; something dropped from one of the pockets and slid across the sanded floor.

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