Ashton-Kirk, Investigator Part 24

"That brings us back to both Morris and Spatola," said Pendleton, gravely. "By all accounts both bore Hume a bitter grudge. But the fact that both criminals escaped by the roof shows familiarity with the neighborhood, as Miss Vale pointed out to you. This seems to point to Spatola."

"So does the purchase of the bayonet, and in the same indefinite fashion," said Ashton-Kirk. "But come, we motored to Christie Place more to inquire about this same Italian than anything else. So let's set about it."

They thanked the policeman in charge and left the building. As they proceeded down the street toward the house in which the newspapers had informed them Spatola lived, the investigator paused suddenly.

"I think," said he, "it would be best for us to first see Spatola himself, and ask a few questions. This might give us the proper point of view for the remainder."

And so they once more got into the car; and away they sped toward the place where the violinist was confined.

CHAPTER XII

ANTONIO SPATOLA APPEARS

Ashton-Kirk and Pendleton were admitted to the cell room at the City Hall without question; but a distinct surprise awaited them there.

Through a private door leading from the detectives' quarters they saw the bulky form of Osborne emerge; and at his heels were Bernstine and his sandy-haired clerk.

When Osborne caught sight of Ashton-Kirk he expanded into a wide smile of satisfaction.

"h.e.l.lo!" greeted he. "Glad to see you. You're just in time to see me turn a new trick. Here's the people that Spatola bought the bayonet from. How does that strike you?"

But Bernstine leaned over and said something in a low tone; and the smile instantly departed.

"Oh," said Osborne, ruefully, "_this_ is the party who called to see you, is it?" Then turning to Ashton-Kirk he asked: "How did you get onto this bayonet business?"

"Just through thinking it over a little, that's all," answered the investigator.

Mr. Bernstine now approached the speaker, a hurt look upon his face.

"Mr. Ashton-Kirk," said he, "why did you not tell us about this piece of business? Why did you not enlighten us? How _could_ you go away and leave us in the dark? We are very much occupied, and have little time to look at the newspapers. It was only by accident that Sime happened to see one." Lowering his voice, he added: "There's a smart fellow for you; he saw the whole thing in an instant. And so we came right here to do what we can to help justice." He squared his shoulders importantly.

"He's seen the bayonet and is prepared to swear to it," stated Osborne, elated.

"What of the picture of Spatola in the paper?" asked the investigator.

"Does he recognize that?"

Osborne's face fell once more.

"These half-tones done through coa.r.s.e screens are never any good,"

said he. "They'd make Gladstone look like Pontius Pilate. He's going to have a look at the man himself, and that'll settle it."

With that a turnkey was dispatched; and in a few moments he returned, accompanied by a half dozen prisoners; one was a slim, dark young man with a nervous, expressive look, and a great tangle of curling black hair. The face was haggard and drawn; the eyes were frightened; the whole manner of the man had a piteous appeal.

Osborne turned to Sime.

"Look them over carefully," directed he. "Take your time."

"I don't need to," answered the freckled shipping clerk. He pointed to the dark young man. "That's the man of the picture; but I never seen him before, anywhere."

Osborne put his fingers under his collar and pulled as though to breathe more freely; then he motioned another attendant to take the remaining prisoners away.

"I see," said he. "He was too foxy to buy the thing himself. He sent someone else." Then he fixed his eye on the prisoner and continued: "We've got the bayonet on you; so you might as well tell us all about it."

"I don't understand," said Spatola, anxiously.

"The easier you make it for us, the easier it will be for you,"

Osborne told him. "If you make us sweat, fitting this thing to you, we'll give you the limit. Don't forget that."

"I have done nothing," said Spatola, earnestly. "I have done nothing.

And yet you keep me here. Is there not a law?"

"There is," said Osborne, grimly. "That's what I'm trying to tell you about. Now, who bought the bayonet?"

"The bayonet?" Spatola stared.

"The bayonet that Hume was killed with."

With a truly Latin gesture of despair, the Italian put his hands to his forehead.

"Always Hume," he said. "Always Hume! I can not be free of him. He was evil!" in a sort of shrill whisper. "Even when he is dead, I am mocked by him. He was all evil! I believe he was a devil!"

"That was no reason why you should kill him," said Osborne in the positive manner of the third degree.

"I did not kill him," protested Spatola. "There were many times when it was in my heart to do so. But I did not do it!"

"I've heard you say all that before," stated Osborne, wearily. Then to the turnkey: "Take him away, Curtis."

"Just a moment," interposed Ashton-Kirk. "I came here to have a few words with this prisoner, and by your leave, I'll speak to him now."

"All right," replied Osborne. "Help yourself."

He led Bernstine and Sime out of the cell room; the turnkey, with professional courtesy, moved away to a safe distance, and Ashton-Kirk turned to the Italian.

"You were once first violin with Karlson," said he. "I remember you well. I always admired your art."

An eager look came into the prisoner's face.

"I thank you," he said. "It is not many who will remember in me a man who once did worthy things. I am young," with despair, "yet how I have sunken."

"It is something of a drop," admitted Ashton-Kirk. "From a position of first violin with Karlson to that of a street musician. How did it happen?"

Sadly the young Italian tapped his forehead with one long finger.

"The fault," he declared, "is here. I have not the--what do you call it--sense? What happened with Karlson happened a dozen times before--in Italy, in France, in Spain. I have not the good sense!"

But justification came into his eyes, and his hands began to gesticulate eloquently.