For a few moments after the shrill blast of the whistle filled the suburban street, the secret agent waited upon the door-step. Then a thought seemed to occur to him, and with an angry exclamation he went quickly in and closed the door.

In a moment he was at the telephone, and stood with impatiently tapping foot until he was connected with the number called for; then the sleepy, dry voice of Fuller said complainingly in his ear:

"Hello, who is it?"

The secret agent made reply; and the aide's voice, now containing an eager note, demanded:

"What's up?"

"Get O'Neill at once. It's too late for a train, but call Dixon to get out the car in a hurry. Then come to Morse's, Fordham Road, with all the speed you can."

"All right," replied Fuller. "I'll get Dixon first, and have O'Neill ready when the machine arrives."

Ashton-Kirk hung up, and then turned to Nanon, who stood but a few yards away, still nervously rubbing her hands with the corner of her apron.

"You saw no one but Miss Corbin a while ago?" he asked.

"No," answered the woman.

"You are sure of that?" His singular eyes searched her face, but she met the look without flinching.

"I am sure," she said. There was a silence; Ashton-Kirk then walked down the hall toward the library door; and as he reached it, he felt her hand touch his shoulder. "You did not see any one?" she asked.

He paused, and turned his head.

"What would you say if I answered—yes?"

The sharp old eyes wavered; she swallowed once or twice spasmodically.

"You did see some one," she said. Then with intense eagerness: "It was not a man?"

He was about to reply when there came heavy footsteps upon the porch and then a loud peal at the bell. Ashton-Kirk smiled.

"A policeman, no doubt," said he. "Let him in."

The woman opened the street door; the hall lights shone upon the buttons and shield of a patrolman.

"I heard the sound of a whistle," said he, with a rich Irish accent. "Is anything the matter?"

Nanon looked toward Ashton-Kirk as though expecting him to answer; he came forward.

"How are you?" said he. "Will you come in?"

The policeman did so. He was a huge-chested and heavy-limbed fellow, and had a head of fiery red hair. He surveyed Ashton-Kirk with a grin upon his good-natured face.

"Oh, hello," said he. "So it's you, is it? I noticed you the other day with Osborne while I was keeping the gate, outside."

"Sure enough," said the secret agent; "so you were."

"I was on the corner beyant, there," went on the red-haired giant, "and divil the thing was I expecting when the blast of the whistle struck me two ears. Sure, there's seldom anything happens in the place; it's like a graveyard, faith; and to have a thing like that go off all of a sudden fair took my breath."

"It was a call for a man whom I thought was close by," explained the secret agent, as the old woman left them together in the library.

The policeman winked with much elaboration.

"I see, I see," said he. "A friend wid a good eye and a careful manner. Sure, it's meself who's seen him often enough of late; but I thought he was a headquarters man put here by Osborne."

Ashton-Kirk regarded him thoughtfully.

"You say you were standing on the corner when you heard the whistle," said he.

"There do be a convenient doorway there," smiled the policeman, "and it's often enough I stop there. Sorra the bit of use is there to go pounding about the edges of such a beat as this. A man might as well make himself quiet and easy."

"How long were you there to-night?"

The policeman considered.

"The best part of a half hour," he ventured, at last.

"Did you notice any one go by in that time?"

"There was one postman," said the officer, "a couple of milkmen going to the depot, McGlone's barkeeper on his way to open up for the early gas-house trade—and—yes, there was a girl."

"What sort of a girl?"

"Rather a nice sort—dressed well and wearing a veil. And it's a hurry she was in, for she turned the corner almost at a run."

"In what direction did she go?"

"Toward Berkley Street."

"It is not likely that you paid any further attention to her?"

"Well," replied the red-haired policeman, "maybe at any other time I wouldn't have. But you see, I had my old pipe going in a comfortable kind of a way, and was rather wide awake. Then, the queerness of the hour, and the hurry she was in, made me step out of the doorway and gaze after her."

"I see," said Ashton-Kirk.

"When she got to the corner of Berkley Street, she stopped for a bit, just as a body will who is not just sure of what they are going to do next. And from the way she looked, this way and that, I got the notion into me head that she might be expecting somebody."

"Ah! And did it turn out so?"

The man shook his head.

"Sure, I dunno," said he. "But no one come along while she stood there, anyway. She stopped for only a little, though; then she went on up Berkley Street."

"Up Berkley Street? Do you mean north on Berkley?"

"I see you do be very exact," grinned the good-natured giant. "Yes; it was north she went."

"Humph! South on Fordham Road, and north on Berkley Street. That seems rather queer."

The policeman looked at him curiously.

"What makes you think so?" asked he.

"Of course she may have changed her mind while she stood on the corner," said Ashton-Kirk. "But it is scarcely likely. Her movements were not left to chance." He paused and then asked:

"If a person goes south on Fordham Road, crosses to Berkley, which is a parallel street, and then proceeds north, what does it mean?"

The policeman pondered the matter deeply; then a light appeared upon his face.

"I get you," he said. "The woman was for stoppin' somewhere on Berkley Street. That's certain. If she were not, she'd have gone north be Fordham Road and so saved herself the walk av a full block."

The two remained in conversation for some time; but the policeman had nothing more of an interesting nature to impart. After about half an hour he went away, and Ashton-Kirk began to prowl from room to room on the lower floor; though he passed old Nanon frequently, as she sat under a light, her lips muttering over a book of fine print, she did not speak to him. Indeed, she scarcely once lifted her eyes. If the secret agent discovered anything in his mousing about he made no sign; and when there came the strident hoot of a siren in the street, he threw open the door.

"This way, O'Neill," he called.

A smoothly-shaven man of middle age came up the walk and stepped upon the porch.

"How do you do?" said he; then his voice pitched two tones higher as he added: "Good heavens! What's the matter with your head?"

"A little affair in the next street," said Ashton-Kirk. "It is of no great consequence, so we'll not speak of it. I want you to stay here and keep track of everything that goes on; you will be relieved before noon to-morrow."

"Very good," said the smooth-faced man as the other led him through the hall.

"This man," said Ashton-Kirk to the old servant as they came upon her, still poring over the book, "will remain here to see that everything is well while I am gone."

She merely glanced at O'Neill, and then nodded; bending close over the book, one gaunt finger following each line of the tiny type, she went on reading and muttering in a husked sort of way that made the newcomer stare.

"Rather a queer old party, I take it," he said, as he followed his employer to the street door.

"Yes; but then," and there was a frankly baffled look in the secret agent's eyes, "all the people in this house appear to be of that kind. I fancied that I had them pretty well gauged; but now I'm beginning to find out that I've been somewhat off the track."

With this he hurried out to the car and gave a quick order to the chauffeur. Fuller, who sat with upturned collar and down-pulled hat, exclaimed solicitously at the sight of the bandaged head, and the investigator in as few words as possible told him what had happened. The eyes of the aide grew round with amazement.

"Warwick!" he cried. "Well, now that's one ahead of me. I've felt convinced from the first, as you know, that he had a good bit to do with this affair; but I wasn't sure that he was connected with the Jap. And so he is back, eh?" with a knowing nod. "Back and crawling about in the dark, knocking people on the head."

At a word from Ashton-Kirk the driver halted the car at the corner of Berkley Street.

"And this is where Miss Corbin stood, as the policeman told you," said Fuller, looking about. "And then she went northward—northward," with much significance in his tone, "toward Okiu's place."

His employer was looking about, and said nothing in reply; so Fuller went on:

"And what we sought for was hidden in the socket of one of those candlesticks all the time, and——" here he halted and his hand slapped sharply upon his knee. "But no! By Jove, it was not, for I distinctly recall that you examined all the candlesticks very carefully on the night of the murder."

Ashton-Kirk nodded rather absently; his eyes were traveling the length of Berkley Street.

"Then," cried Fuller, "the paper was placed there since that night. The murderer, fearing to keep it in his or her possession, placed it in one of the candlesticks, knowing very well that they must have been already searched, and feeling that they would not be molested again. You said you were sure that none of those who sought the document had found it," he continued, "but it seems that in this you were mistaken. Unless," as though a fresh idea had come to him, "it should turn out that, after all, it was not the state paper which Miss Corbin took."

But Ashton-Kirk shook his head.

"I wish I could think so," said he, gravely. "If I could, I should not at this moment be classing myself as a blithering idiot."

"I hardly think I understand," said Fuller.

"Not many hours ago," said Ashton-Kirk, "I told Okiu that I could place my hands upon the person who was possessed of the paper. And to have found the assassin of Dr. Morse would have been no more difficult. Well," somewhat bitterly, "if I had taken a leaf from Osborne's book, and done these things when they became plain to me, I would not at this stage of the affair be circling about like a hound that's lost the scent."

"I see what you mean," said Fuller, "and I scarcely think you could have acted otherwise than you have. The entire Morse household is so entangled in this matter that it was the best plan to arrest no one until you had learned the extent of the guilt or innocence of all."

"That was my idea, of course," said the investigator. "But I am not sure that it was not entirely the idea of a gambler, too confident of his luck. I fancy that I allowed the stake to lie too long upon the board; and now I find myself in a fair way to lose it entirely."

"But," and Fuller came back to the idea which he had expressed a few moments before, "are you quite confident that the object Miss Corbin took from the candlestick was——"

But the other stopped him.

"I have very excellent reasons for being confident. Listen to me." His gaze was still searching the street before them, but the brain behind the eyes seemed to be not at all concerned with what he saw. "Colonel Drevenoff, the commander of the regiment in which Dr. Morse served during the Russo-Japanese war, was a Pole. Most Poles are Roman Catholics. Drevenoff was one, and he wore the scapular."

"Ah," said Fuller, a light beginning to come into his eyes.

"The paper for which we are searching——" here Ashton-Kirk seemed to hesitate.

"And which Colonel Drevenoff stole from the Russian secret embassy," suggested Fuller.

"We are not at all assured that he did so," returned Ashton-Kirk. "However, it was in his possession, no matter how it came there; and he had reasons for desiring to conceal it. The scapular which hung about his neck was a most likely place for this, being but several thicknesses of cloth stitched together. He cut some of these stitches, laid the paper between the layers of cloth and sewed them together once more."

"And," said Fuller, excitedly, "when he came to give the paper to Dr. Morse, he gave the emblem and all."

"Exactly. And judging from Dr. Morse's lack of light afterward, the elder Drevenoff said nothing about the paper itself. Of course he had an object in entrusting the scapular to the Englishman; this was, doubtless, that it be handed on to some third person, unknown to us.

"Then the Japanese government somehow got wind of the matter; and Okiu, their most acute agent, was assigned to secure the document. Like most artists, Okiu believes, so it seems, in preparing his material before he sets about using it; and this process in his hands has had a peculiarly Oriental tinge. True to his racial instinct his methods took an insidious, indirect form, a sort of preliminary torture, as it were, and this accounts for the series of enigmatic sketches with which Dr. Morse was persecuted during the last weeks of his life."

"But," said Fuller, somewhat at loss, "just how does all this assure you that Miss Corbin now has the paper?"

"I am coming to that," said Ashton-Kirk. "You recall, I suppose, what I told you regarding the scapulars, their different origins, devices and colors."

"Yes."

"There is one made of scarlet cloth—the 'Scapular of the Passion.' This is the one affected by Colonel Drevenoff; for it was one of this type which Miss Corbin took from its hiding-place. My lens showed me some fine scarlet strands adhering to some fragments of wax at the mouth of the candlestick; and as if this were not enough, I also saw the impression of a row of stitching, such as runs along the scapular's edge, upon a deposit of wax at the bottom of the socket."

"It seems incredible to me," said Fuller, "that a girl of Miss Corbin's sort should have a hand in an affair like this. But then," with a shake of the head, "I suppose her love for this fellow Warwick accounts for it. Many a man has been ruined by love of an unworthy woman, and many a woman, no doubt, by love of an unworthy man."

But to all appearances the secret agent did not follow these moralizings with any great attention. The big lamps upon the car threw their long white rays along Berkley Street; and while his mind was apparently engaged upon other things, the eyes of Ashton-Kirk followed the stretch of illuminated space to the end. Now he got out, and said to the chauffeur:

"Move ahead very slowly."

With eyes fixed upon the dusty asphalt, the secret agent walked ahead of the car. The lights of the latter threw everything they fell upon into sharp relief. At the curb before Okiu's house, Ashton-Kirk held up his hand, and the car halted.

"What is it?" asked Fuller.

"I caught the tire tracks of another car below there; they were so clear and uncut by other marks that I fancied that they might have been made late at night."

"Do you now think they were?"

"I can't say. But they lead up to this point. A halt was made, then the machine turned and doubled on its tracks."

Some distance up the street on the opposite side, a flare of red and green light caught the speaker's attention. It came from a drug store, and with Fuller he crossed the street and entered. A white-jacketed clerk stood behind a marble covered counter, and served them with the cigars which they asked for. Ashton-Kirk lighted his at a swinging gas flame near the door and drew at it with enjoyment.

"Rather out of the way for an all-night place, isn't it?" he asked

The clerk shrugged his shoulders.

"It's not a big payer after about nine o'clock," said he. "But you see, it is one of a chain of stores, and the company's policy is to keep open all the time."

"I see."

"We do some business by not closing, but not enough to shatter any records. This isn't the swiftest place on earth, you know."

"I suppose not."

"Your car will make some talk to-morrow," smiled the clerk. "They'll all be wondering who was up at such an hour as this. And those who heard you will feel that they have something on those who did not."

"I shall be a thrilling sort of a person, then," smiled Ashton-Kirk. "I suppose," after a moment, "that you do not have many automobiles pass through Eastbury at night?"

"Not after early evening. But yours is the second to-night—or rather this morning," with a look at the clock.

Fuller darted a rapid glance at the secret agent; but the latter displayed no eagerness. Placing his cigar upon the edge of the counter, he began carefully rearranging a frayed end of the bandage about his head.

"Two, eh?" was all he said.

"I didn't see the other myself," said the drug clerk. "But it stopped over at the Japanese, too, so old Patterson, the watchman, told me. That was a couple of hours ago."

Ashton-Kirk had finished with the bandage and surveyed it, in a mirror, with an air of satisfaction. Then taking up his cigar once more, he remarked:

"Stopped there, too, did it? Humph! I wonder if any one got in?"

"Patterson said there were two persons came out of the house, but only Mr. Okiu got into the taxi. The other one walked up the street. But," and the clerk wagged his head in humorous appreciation, "that's not the funny part of the thing."

"No?"

"It was the girl," said the clerk, a broad smile upon his face.

Again Fuller darted the inquiring look at the secret agent; but even at this he did not display any indications of marked interest.

"There was a girl, was there?" was all Ashton-Kirk said.

The clerk nodded.

"Patterson is a funny old scout, there's no use talking," said he. "He's got such a comic way of looking at things. And where he gets all his expressions is more than I can say."

"I'd like to hear him tell about it," said Ashton-Kirk.

"He's taking a sleep in the back room," said the clerk, with a wink. "I'll try and get him out."

He disappeared and in a few moments returned, followed by a short, ruddy-faced old man with a short-clipped white moustache.

"Oh, the Jap and the taxi," said he, when the matter was explained to him. "Yes, that was a queer kind of a little thing." He looked at the secret agent in a knowing sort of way, and then proceeded: "You can't keep track of everybody, no matter how hard you try. I've been noticing that Jap, because he was a Jap, ever since he came into this neighborhood, but I never give him credit for this."

"Have a cigar?" suggested Ashton-Kirk.

The private watchman bit the end off the cigar and lit it with much care.

"I smoke a pipe most of the time," said he, "but I like a cigar once in a while." He puffed it into a glow, and then went on: "That taxi to-night turns around and starts down the street and around the corner toward Fordham Road. And just as it turns the corner I notices a chicken standing there—regular broiler with a veil on and a little bag in her mit. She starts up Berkley toward where I'm standing, but before she gets half-way I heard the buzzing of the taxi once more; around it came again into Berkley and shot up to the curb abreast of the girl.

"She stopped like a flash, the Jap threw open the door, and she gave a little yelp as though she was just about as glad as she'd ever been in her life. Then she jumped into the taxi, the door shut and around the corner it whirled and was gone. There's no use talking," said the speaker and he shook his head in a way that convulsed the drug clerk, "you can't never tell anything about human nature."

Ashton-Kirk buttoned up his coat.

"In that," said he, "I thoroughly agree with you. Human nature is a thing which we can base little upon with safety." Then to Fuller he added: "Come! I think we have some work ahead of us."