“Here is one way,” he answered. “Let us see where it leads us.”
He stripped off the wrapper, and the bayonet which had killed the numismatist was revealed, blood-clotted and ugly. Carefully the investigator examined the broad, powerful blade and heavy bronze hilt.
“A Schwartz-Michael, just as I thought,” he said.
“The maker’s name is upon it then?” said Pendleton.
But the other shook his head.
“No,” said he. “But it happens that I have given some attention to arms, and the bayonet, though a weapon that is passing, came in for its share.”
He balanced the murderous-looking thing in his hand and proceeded.
“There are not many types of bayonets. The first was what they called a ‘Plug,’ because it was made to fit into the muzzle of a flint, or matchlock. Then there was the socket bayonet, the ring bayonet and an improved weapon invented by an English officer named Chillingworth which met with much favor in the armies of Europe. But the latest development is the sword bayonet, of which this is an example. Its form is a great improvement over the older makes; it is an almost perfect side arm as well, having a cutting edge, a point, and a grip exactly like that of a sword. There are a number of makes of this type; the Schwartz-Michael is one of the least known of these. Upon its being placed on the market it was adopted by three governments—Bolivia, Serbia, and Turkey—and there it stopped.”
He laid the weapon upon the table and settled himself back in his chair.
“It struck me when I first saw the thing,” he went on, “that it was a little singular that a Schwartz-Michael should even find its way into the United States. Now, it would not surprise me to find an English revolver in Patagonia, or an American rifle in Tibet, because they are universally known and used. Anyone might carry them. But a bayonet is different, of course; it is a strictly military arm, and its utility is limited. That a criminal should select one with which to commit a murder is unusual; and, further; the fact that the make is one never introduced into the United States is rather remarkable.”
“It is—a little,” agreed Pendleton.
“It is a small thing, but all clues are small things. Now there are many ways in which such a weapon might find its way into the country; but I took the most likely of these as a beginning. Before I dressed for dinner, I ran over a rather complete card-index system which I maintain; and within a few minutes learned that the republic of Bolivia had, within the past year, changed both the rifle and bayonet used by its army.”
“Well?” asked Pendleton, with interest.
“When a nation makes such a change, the discarded arms are usually bought up by some large speculator or dealer in such things. And in the course of time they find their way to the military goods dealers who exist all over the world.”
Here Fuller entered the room, and Ashton-Kirk turned to him inquiringly.
“Well?”
“In the morning Standard of ,” announced the young man, “I find an advertisement of Bernstine Brothers relative to a sale of condemned army equipment.”
“Is anything specified?”
“They considered it important that high-power modern rifles were to be sold at a very small price. And they also lay some stress upon the fact that the stuff had been in use by the Bolivian army.”
Pendleton saw a look of satisfaction come into his friend’s eyes. But there was no other evidence of anything unusual.
“And now,” said the investigator, quietly, “with regard to this other matter.”
“I find that there are two schools for mutes in this section,” answered Fuller. “But both are some distance out of town.”
The satisfaction in Ashton-Kirk’s singular eyes deepened.
“Excellent,” said he.
“One is on the main line—Kittridge Station; the other is on the Hammondsville Branch at a place called Cordova.”
“Thank you,” said Ashton-Kirk.
And when the door had once more closed behind his aid, the investigator continued to Pendleton:
“I figured upon some of the equipment reaching here. Military goods houses, such as Bernstine’s, usually advertise each lot they receive; and I considered it possible that the murderer might have been attracted by this notice and procured the weapon from them. If he did, we may get some trace of him by inquiring at Bernstine’s. But,” flinging his arms wide and yawning as though weary of the subject, “that is work for tomorrow. Tonight we will rest and prepare for what is to come. But in the meantime,” arising with enthusiasm, “let me show you a first edition of the Knickerbocker’s History of New York which I picked up recently.”
He went to his bookshelves and took down two faded volumes. With eager hands Pendleton took them from him.
“Original covers!” cried he. “Binding unbroken; in perfect condition inside; not a spot or a stain anywhere.” Then he regarded his friend with undisguised envy. “Kirk,” said he, “you’re a lucky dog. You can dig up more good things than anybody else that I know.”
VIII
The Newspapers Begin to Play Their Part
Next morning Ashton-Kirk lounged in a comfortable window-seat, almost knee-deep in newspapers. The published accounts of the assassination were, in some instances, very sensational. Drawings, by special artists of persons concerned, were much in evidence, also halftones of the exterior of 478 Christie Place. The names of Osborne and Stillman figured largely in the types; but what interested the investigator most was a portrait of the musician—the violinist, Antonio Spatola, and the story of his arrest.
The pictured face was that of a young man with a great head of curling hair. The features were regular, the expression eager and appealing.
“I would have pronounced him a musician, even if I had not heard that he was one,” said Ashton-Kirk. “The head and face formations have all the qualities.” Then he ran over the story of Spatola’s arrest and the causes that led up to it. At the finish he smiled. “They
