“Do you think it possible that Locke is one of this latter type?”
“There is no knowing. But I am inclined to believe that he is.”
Pendleton shook his head. It seemed impossible that this dapper little man with his peering, shortsighted eyes could be capable of any determined effort to escape the police when once driven into a corner. However, Pendleton had ample reason to respect Ashton-Kirk’s judgment; and so when the latter deemed it necessary to approach with caution, he acted accordingly.
They paused in front of the house.
It was now past and the sun was shining brightly; a little patch of garden, filled with early flowering plants lay between the house and the wood; all about the workshop were the tall trees which they had noticed upon their previous visit.
“We had better not use the gate,” suggested the investigator. “There might be an attachment of some sort that will give him warning.”
So under cover of the trees they scaled the fence; then they carefully made their way toward the shop. The windows and door of this were closed, nothing was stirring. Near the door was scattered some rubbish and loose paper. The place had an utterly deserted look.
“Do you think he is there?” asked Pendleton.
“I will know in a few moments,” replied the other. “Wait here.”
Pendleton expected Ashton-Kirk to continue his cautious approach. But to his surprise the investigator with cool assurance stepped out from behind a tree and advanced toward the outbuilding; when he reached the door he opened it and calmly stepped inside.
The building was in one great room. It had some windows at the side, but the greater part of its illumination came from a huge skylight. As he closed the door behind him, Ashton-Kirk had a vague impression of something huge, made of steel rods and with far-stretching winglike projections at the sides. But he had no time to give the mechanism even a glance; of greater interest was the small figure which sat at a wide worktable upon which a litter of drawings was scattered.
It was Locke; and as the slight jar of the closing door reached him he lifted his eyes and saw the intruder. If Ashton-Kirk expected any display of fear or other emotion, he was disappointed; upon each of his previous meetings with Locke the latter had shown great trepidation; but now he simply nodded quietly and seemed not at all surprised.
But as Ashton-Kirk made a step toward him, he rose and raised his hand in a gesture that was peremptory and unmistakable. The investigator paused; then Locke pointed to a chair directly before his bench, but some half dozen yards away; and when Ashton-Kirk smilingly seated himself, Locke did likewise.
Then in heavy characters he scrawled upon the back of one of the blueprints.
“I was expecting a visitor, and fancied that it might be you.”
This he held up so that the investigator might read it. Ashton-Kirk nodded. Again the back of a plan came into service and this time the investigator read.
“What has occurred is most unfortunate. I had no hand in it, though, of course, I do not expect anyone to believe me.”
Here Ashton-Kirk drew a note book from his pocket and was about to write, but the other stopped him with a gesture. Then the man once more wrote; carefully, heavily, in order that the other might have no difficulty in reading it from the distance.
“Pardon me! But it is not necessary for you to go to any trouble. Moreover—I beg of you not to think me rude—your opinions in the matter have no interest for me.”
Ashton-Kirk acknowledged this with a grave nod. The pencil was instantly at work again.
“As I have said, I expected a visitor; but I will now add that I did not expect to be here to receive him.”
Ashton-Kirk looked swiftly into Locke’s face as he read this; the expression was unmistakable, and the investigator leaped to his feet. But the mute uttered a strange parrot-like cry—evidently the same that Edyth heard that night in Christie Place—and Ashton-Kirk saw his hand go swiftly to a button at one side of the workbench. Instantly the investigator paused; once more a gesture bade him be seated.
Slowly he obeyed; and once more Locke began to trace bold characters upon the stiff paper. This message read:
“You are a wise man. I had arranged everything before you came in, and had sat down to make an end of it. This button at my hand once started an electric apparatus; but now it is connected with a quantity of an explosive—my own invention, and a terrible one. Believe me, one touch and everything in this building is in fragments.”
Ashton-Kirk, when he had finished reading, nodded quietly. Again the mute began to write.
“I have no ill will toward you,” the words ran, “you have two minutes to leave here, and get safely away.”
When he saw that this had been read, Locke threw down the paper and took out his watch. Then he pointed toward the door and sat waiting.
It was strange to see the little man sitting there calmly, with only the pressure of a finger between him and eternity. But Ashton-Kirk knew stern resolution too well to mistake the look on the mute’s face. There was nothing to do but to obey. He waved his hand in a farewell. Locke returned the gesture. Then Ashton-Kirk walked to the door, opened it and stepped out.
Pendleton, patiently watching among the trees, saw him emerge and at once moved toward him; to his amazement the investigator took him by the arm and broke into a run.
“What the deuce is the matter now?” asked Pendleton, after they had passed the gate and were racing down the road.
“You’ll know in a few moments,” returned Ashton-Kirk grimly.
He permitted no pause until they reached the car, the engine of which had not been stopped.
“Quick, for your lives!” he ordered, as he leaped in.
Pendleton
