At the water tap in the rear the investigator bathed his hands and face; then he sat down with his friend and did complete justice to the breakfast. Afterwards, with their cigars going nicely and a feeling of comfort stealing over them in spite of the rather uncomfortable night, Pendleton said:
“You promised the other night to tell me what made you think that the murderers had failed to secure the thing they sought. The words that the promise was couched in made me think that you had also something to show me, and as we could not light up last night, I’ve waited patiently until today. Now you must ease my curiosity. Come, tell me a few things.”
Ashton-Kirk took his cigar from his mouth.
“I told you,” said he, “that the reports of Burgess and Fuller, together with the conversation we had with Tobin, had enlightened me upon these points.” As he enumerated them, he checked them off with his fingers:
“Why the murder was done.
“The identity of the confederate of Locke.
“That the man would return to the scene of the crime.”
“Yes,” said Pendleton, “those, I think, were the points.”
“The first two,” went on the investigator, “I will allow to stand for a while. But I promised to illustrate for you, and I think I can do so.”
Ashton-Kirk here arose and passed through the storeroom and kitchen into the bedroom.
“The writing upon the step in the hall,” said he, facing his friend, “directed Locke’s confederate to look for something behind Wayne’s portrait. As all the pictures of Wayne in the place were broken or otherwise showed traces of rough handling, it seemed that the thing desired must have been found. However, I was not sure about that, as I have told you.
“If you will recall Tobin’s remarks of the other night, you will note that the only thing he could admire in the man’s character was his fighting spirit. Then it developed that Hume made a boast of having come by this naturally enough. He claimed descent from one of Washington’s officers. Tobin could not recall the officer’s name; but he related an anecdote of him that was unmistakable. The officer was General Wayne!”
“By George!” cried Pendleton.
“The collection of Wayne portraits was in this way explained. It was also suggested to me that Hume might be an assumed name—that the numismatist might have once been known as Wayne, and that Locke had known him by that name. Of course, it’s quite likely that he was not really a descendant of Wayne. But he probably called himself Wayne nevertheless.
“I see,” said Pendleton, his hands waving with excitement. “And in the stress of the moment, Locke wrote the name ‘Wayne’ upon the step in candle grease, forgetting that his confederate only knew their proposed victim as Hume.” His eyes rested upon the walls and upon the sneering, unpleasant portrait of the murdered man. “He meant that the thing he desired was there,” indicating the portrait with an exultant sweep of the arm. “And by George, it must be there still.”
He sprang forward with the evident intention of wrenching the picture from the wall; but Ashton-Kirk restrained him.
“Don’t,” said he. “We’ll leave that for our expected visitor.”
“Surely,” protested the excited Pendleton, “you don’t propose to leave the thing there! Think of the risk! You might lose it in the end; for, you know, one never foresees what is to turn up.”
“A fisherman must always risk losing his lure,” answered the investigator composedly.
They spent the long hours of the day in smoking and talking; and at intervals they ate the sandwiches and other things which had been smuggled in in the guise of packages of furs. And finally the shadows gathered and thickened once again in Christie Place.
XXIV
The Second Night
The second night of the vigil in Hume’s rooms wore on. Unlike the preceding one, the two young men were almost entirely silent; when they did speak, it was in tones so low as to be scarcely above a whisper.
There was a taut, indefinable something in the air that kept the desire for sleep from both; in the brooding darkness they were alert, watchful, expectant. The tobacco-loving Pendleton afterwards recalled with surprise that not once did he think of the weed. But when the queer, mysterious night sounds began to come—those creakings of loose planks, strainings of unseen timbers and untraceable snappings in the walls, that are common in old houses—he frequently thought of the automatic revolver; and the chill of the polished metal always felt comforting enough.
The clocks announced the ends of the hours according to their temperaments; coming in the midst of the total silence, the din seemed to Pendleton to be terrific; he pictured appalled criminals on their way through the dark halls, crouching in fear at the sounds. struck, and then with its continued uproar. It seemed a long time before and then sounded. Pendleton’s limbs were beginning to feel loggy and numb because of the chill and the continued inaction. He had ventured to stir them a little, and was wrapping the heavy blanket more closely about himself, when he felt Ashton-Kirk’s hand upon his shoulder.
“Hush‑h‑h!” said the investigator in a whisper.
Instantly Pendleton was motionless; he listened intently, but the silence of the place seemed complete.
“What is it?” he finally ventured to breathe.
The hand upon his shoulder tightened warningly; but there came no other reply. Again Pendleton listened. The door of the showroom stood open; Ashton-Kirk had placed it so in order that they might catch any sound that came from the hall. All the other doors leading into the hall from Hume’s apartments were securely locked; anyone who ventured into the suite must first pass through the showroom where the two waited and watched.
After a space Pendleton’s attention was rewarded; a faint, far-off rustling came to him; somehow it gave him the impression of hesitation, non-assurance, timidity; he was speculating
