The late editions of the evening-papers ran riot with this latest feature of the Morse case. The New York police, by happy chance, had pounced upon the warm trail as soon as the young Englishman stepped from the train. What followed was so totally unexpected by the authorities that it set them into a violent state of agitation. This they at once communicated to the ever receptive "yellows," and then the public received more than its due share of the developments as served upon scores of front pages.

"Who the Japanese is is a mystery to the police and the hotel people," declared the Star in triple-leaded feature type. "How he got into the hotel and up to Warwick's room is, as yet, a thing which, so they claim, has baffled the best efforts of all concerned. But what he meant to do when he reached the room is in the opinion of this journal a matter that will prove infinitely more taxing upon the wit of the detective department."

Fuller read column after column of such comment. The various people who had figured in the matter were separately interviewed and their ideas were given much space. The railway porter, who had sprung into fame by recognizing Warwick and who had had the awesome experience of carrying the much spoken of leather bag from the day coach to the cab outside, related his feelings when he later became aware of his patron's identity, and told of his hunt for the policemen who had given him the young man's description. The cabman also talked thrillingly, as did the clerk and the bell-boy who led the detectives to the door of Warwick's room. As for the police, they appeared to have maintained an attitude of much wisdom. What utterances they condescended to make were of a peculiarly Delphic character; and, as is usual, they hinted at astonishing revelations which limited periods of time would bring forth.

"They are now deep in the case," stated the Standard, hopefully, "and a little time may work wonders. A half dozen experienced man hunters are running out the various fine threads which stretch away in as many directions. Each of them has a hopeful outlook and is confident of ultimate success. And this intelligent force has been recruited by Osborne, a local man of acknowledged parts, who is handling the parent stem, so to speak, of this exotic crime growth. Mr. Osborne will familiarize himself with this new phase of the case and will then be ready to take up his task here with renewed vigor."

"For experienced people," commented Fuller, as he cast the sheets from him, "I think the publishers of newspapers are the most gullible in the world. Day after day they apparently stand for the same old explanation—day after day they seem to be taken in by the same old conventional lies."

A short man with a bulging chest and surprisingly broad shoulders sat opposite the speaker. He stroked his prominent jaw as he remarked:

"They are as wise as any one else, and they feed that sort of pabulum to the public because they think it wants it. They know how the regular police work; but they say nothing because they don't think their readers are interested in hearing about it. The fellow who takes an evening paper home to read after business would much rather believe that Osborne is a remarkable detective than just a fair mechanic who was dragged away, by ward politics, from his natural job of gas fitting."

"I suppose you are right, Burgess," replied Fuller. "There is more interest in the first, I admit. But between you and me, I don't think Osborne ever cleared up a case yet that he didn't get the rights of just by sheer luck."

"And he knows it," said Burgess. "And what's more, he is firmly convinced that that is the only way a case can be cleared. He trusts to luck in every instance."

"I expected that you would be sent to New York to look up this hotel matter," said Fuller, as he sat back in Ashton-Kirk's lounging chair and stretched his legs out in luxurious comfort.

"Oh, I've been looking up that fellow Karkowsky," said Burgess. "The boss sent O'Neill over on the Warwick end. O'Neill is pretty smooth, you know, and is just the fellow to get along with the regular police, and work all they know out of them—if there is anything."

"How does Karkowsky look?" questioned the other.

"I haven't got sight of him yet. Seems to be a queer sort of bird and flies only at night. And now that the police have got so interested in looking for him, he's apt to get more difficult to out-guess than before."

"Have they muddled up the trail?"

"In the usual way," with a disgusted wave of the hand. "Brass band methods, you know. They follow him with drums beating and then wonder why they don't catch him."

At this moment there was a step at the door, and Ashton-Kirk entered. He wore evening clothes with an overcoat over them; a silk hat was on his head, and he carried his gloves and stick as though he had just come in. There was only one light burning in the room, and it threw his gigantic shadow upon the wall.

"How are you?" he said to Burgess. "Anything to report?"

"There it is in the envelope, as far as I have gone," replied Burgess. "But there is nothing very vital. Karkowsky seems as elusive as any one that I know of."

Ashton-Kirk nodded. He took up the envelope and opened it. There were several closely typed sheets and his eye ran over them quickly. The report was as follows:

"Notes on Karkowsky"

"The keeper of the harness shop at Fourth Street and Corinth Avenue is of the name of Andrew Brekling. He is a Pole and has been in this country for five years. Karkowsky was unknown to his landlord in every way, save that of a lodger. He rented a third-story room and lived in it almost a month. He had few callers. The harness-maker does not remember any one of the name of Drevenoff, and is quite sure that no young man of the description which you gave me of Drevenoff ever came there.

"I made a great many inquiries in the neighborhood, but learned little. A grocer told me that Karkowsky purchased many articles from him and appeared to have plenty of means; he also said that while the Pole was voluble upon most things he never spoke of himself or his affairs.

"Then I found from the harness-maker that Karkowsky had spent a good bit of his time at a branch of the city library which was no great distance away from his lodgings. Thinking this might, on an off chance, turn some light on the matter, I went there. The young woman in charge recalled Karkowsky perfectly, although she did not know his name. He had always been good-natured and smiling and always read the one kind of books—scientific philosophy of the most modern type. Once he told her that all the other books in the place should be burnt."

Having reached the end of the report, Ashton-Kirk took off his coat and hat and laid the report upon the table.

"Have you made any further attempts?" he asked of Burgess.

"I've been hunting for some trace of him all day," replied the man. "But it's tough work. He went off without any one seeing him, and I haven't a thing to dig a claw into."

"Was there nothing left in his room—nothing that would indicate what his intentions were?"

"Not a shred of anything. You see, he had rented the place ready furnished. And the police were there ahead of me."

"Take the matter up again to-morrow; if nothing develops let me know, and we will make a fresh beginning over the same route. Mr. Karkowsky has been, so it appears, an important figure in this matter, and it would be just as well to know where we can put our hands upon him when we want him."

After a brief conversation relating to the details of the work that Burgess had done, that gentleman departed. Ashton-Kirk rolled a cigarette and sat down in the big chair which Fuller had vacated. Then he drew toward him a number of books which lay upon the table.

"These," said he, "were kindly loaned me by Father O'Leary of the Church of the Holy Redeemer. And the information they contain is quaint and most valuable."

"They are rather out of your line, are they not?" questioned the other, as he took up one of the volumes and looked at the title. It was a "Life of St. Simon Stock."

"Nothing is out of my line," said Ashton-Kirk. "I have, as you know, seized some of my most helpful assistance from what might be regarded as a most unpromising source." He took the little book from his aide's hand and ran over its pages. "In what way," asked he, "can a biography of St. Simon Stock help me to save the United States from an international embarrassment and incidentally give me more information upon the subject of the murder of Dr. Morse?"

Fuller shook his head.

"I don't know," said he. "But if you say it will do so, I'm perfectly willing to believe it."

The other smiled.

"You have been with me for several years, Fuller," he said, "and your clerical work is very complete. Your investigations, when you are given a definite point to work upon, are also satisfying. But you stop there. I should think that by this time you would have begun to weigh the different problems which come up and reason them out for yourself."

Again Fuller shook his head.

"I've got a pretty good kind of a brain," said he; "people who know have considered me a first-class accountant, and I'm a perfect storehouse for certain kinds of facts. But it's not your kind of brain; for ages of effort would pass and not once would I dream of trying to gain information as to the death of a resident of Eastbury from a parcel of books like these."

"I suppose you are right, my boy," said Ashton-Kirk; "different types of mind have different tendencies." He continued fluttering the leaves of the book, the pale smoke of the cigarette drifting formlessly about him. Then he went on: "Perhaps it does seem rather an extraordinary thing to expect a monk of the thirteenth century to aid in solving the present problem. But let us go further into the matter and we may possibly get some light."

He laid the burnt end in the shell upon the table and rolled another cigarette; and while he did so, he talked.

"Simon Stock was an Englishman, and was a native of Kent. At the age of twelve he is said to have left his home and lived in a hollow tree. The Oriental idea had penetrated the West, and Europe was filled with anchorites. Some monks of the Order of Mount Carmel entered England from the Holy Lands and Simon, now a man of mature years, joined them. There is a legend that he was directed to do so by a supernatural agency, but Catholic scholars seem to pay little attention to this. At any rate time passed and the Kentish man, famous for great piety and virtue, was finally made general of the White Friars, a name by which the Carmelite Order was known.

"Again legend plays its part. As he knelt one day in prayer in his monastery at Cambridge, the Virgin Mary is said to have manifested herself to him and presented him with the scapular."

"I have a sort of hazy notion as to what that is," said Fuller, "but not enough to work on."

"It was originally a sort of habit which the monks wore over their other garments," replied Ashton-Kirk; "but from St. Simon Stock's day it altered in appearance. It became two squares of cloth fastened by two pieces of tape, and was worn around the neck by those persons who desired to benefit by its privileges. When stretched out on a flat surface its appearance," went on the speaker, as he took up a pencil and drew a few rapid lines upon the margin of a newspaper, "was something like this:"

Fuller's eyes opened in wonder.

"Why," he cried, "that is exactly like the drawing sent so frequently to Dr. Morse!"

Ashton-Kirk laughed quietly.

"Already," said he, "you are beginning to see the use of Father O'Leary's books. And, perhaps, as we go on, your vision will become wider still." There was a moment's pause, then the speaker continued: "There is another scapular beside that of St. Simon; it is the Trinitarian, which was brought forward by an order of that name, founded by John de Matha, and Felix de Valois for the redemption of captives. These religious wore a white habit with a cross upon the breast. A Theatine nun named Ursula Benincasa originated still another scapular, that of the Immaculate Conception, which is of light blue. An Italian order, called the Servites, introduced another, this time of black; and the Sisters of Charity of Paris brought forward still another—of scarlet."

Ashton-Kirk's pencil tapped upon the drawing which he had made upon the margin of the newspaper.

"Dr. Morse had this design sent to him in all the colors named. First came the brown, then there was blue, white, black and red. When the gamut, so to speak, of colors had been run, he received the picture of the crowned woman, done in brown. This is now very easy to explain. The sender for some reason had called attention to the various sorts of scapulars and was beginning all over again. The Carmelite scapular is of brown and bears a picture of the Virgin Mary—hence the woman wearing the crown. Then came the cross which I was shown upon my first visit to the Morse house; its down stroke of blue and cross stroke of red is the same as the device upon the white scapular of the Trinitarians. But, however, all this would never have been dreamed of by me if it had not been for the third picture as found by us in the secret drawer of Dr. Morse's desk."

With the pencil, Ashton-Kirk sketched a human heart, transfixed by numerous daggers.

"When this caught my eye," he continued, "I could feel the stirring of a memory—one of those which I spoke of as being ticketed and ready to hand," with a smile. "Was it the heart which awoke this dim feeling of familiarity? No. Was it the daggers? Again, no. Then it must be the general idea—a heart pierced by daggers. At this I felt the memory struggle desperately in the brain cell; then suddenly it broke out. I had seen the design upon a bit of laced card in the show window of a religious goods store, when a boy. I recalled the title, printed at the bottom of the card, perfectly. It was 'The Seven Dolors.' The memory of this was specially keen, for I had not known what was meant by dolors, and had gone to a dictionary and found that they represented sorrows or pangs. This all came back like a flash, and instantly I counted the daggers transfixing the heart in the drawing. They were exactly seven.

"I was now convinced that the whole matter of the drawings had a religious aspect, and looked at them with a different eye. The cross was self-evident; the crowned woman could be none other than the Virgin Mary. However, it was not until I had consulted Father O'Leary that I got to the bottom of the matter. With the other things made plain to him, he instantly recognized this as the outline of the scapular," tapping the marginal sketch upon the newspaper.

For a few moments Fuller was silent. Then he said:

"That was a clever stroke, and it might go a long distance toward making some other things plain. But," and he shook his head in a rather hopeless way, "I confess that I don't see the reason for all these things being sent to Dr. Morse. In fact, there doesn't seem to be any sort of reason in it."

Ashton-Kirk arose.

"There is seldom any reason in things which we do not understand," said he. "But it often happens that when we do come to understand them then we find the reasons behind them solid and far-reaching enough."