Special Detective (Ashton-Kirk)

Ashton-Kirk, student of crime, sat cross-legged upon a rug; thoughtfully he drew at the big pipe; the wreaths of smoke drifted over the tottering towers of books with which he was surrounded, and eddied out at an open window.

“Fuller,” said he, “get me the name Campe.”

The nimble fingered assistant ran through the cards of a filing system.

“Campe--Mexico--financiers?” said he, at length, turning his head.

“Right,” spoke Ashton-Kirk.

“Volume II,” said Fuller, closing the drawer. “Shall I have it sent up?”

“Yes.”

In a few moments, Stumph, gravest of men servants, entered, bearing a bulky folio which he placed before his employer.

“In a short time,” said Ashton-Kirk, “Mr. Scanlon will call. Bring him up as soon as he arrives.”

Stumph silently withdrew; the special detective puffed at the meerschaum and nodded to Fuller.

“Let’s see what we have about the Campes,” requested he.

Fuller took the book, opened it at the index, and then turned over until he came to a certain page. He read:

“This family came, originally, from Bavaria, their forbears residing in the city of Munich. The name was then Von Campe. A Frederich Ernest Von Campe made a fortune as a brewer before the French Revolution. His three sons trebled this by lending it at a high rate of interest to the various needy German states during the Napoleonic wars.

“When Maximilian entered Mexico, the Von Campes helped to finance the venture. When he fell, they very cleverly managed to save their money by coming to an understanding with the succeeding republican government. For more than fifty years the family has been in Mexico, financing government and private enterprises.

“Some twenty-five years ago they dropped the ‘Von,’ becoming simply known as Campe.”

Fuller then went on to read the doings of the Campes as contained in the record; it was merely a series of “high spots” such as might be gathered about a family of the same consequence anywhere. When he had finished, Ashton-Kirk looked dissatisfied.

“I find, from time to time,” said he, “that this record is badly kept. It is loaded with the usual, when, as a matter of fact, it is intended solely for the unusual.” He drew at his pipe for a moment, and then added: “I want intimate information regarding this family--especially of their doings during the last few years.”

“Very well,” said Fuller, briskly. “I’ll start with the Mexican-Pacific Bank. They ought to know a deal about the Campes because they did a lot of business with them, according to what we have here.”

As Fuller opened the door to leave the study, Stumph appeared with a big, fresh-faced man who clutched a hard-rimmed hat in his nervous grip.

“Mr. Scanlon,” said Stumph; and then he followed Fuller out of the room.

“Glad to see you, Kirk,” said Mr. Scanlon, in a voice which suited his proportions. “I hope I haven’t come butting in.”

“Not a bit of it,” the crime student assured him. “Here, have a chair; also have a cigar.”

Mr. Scanlon sat in the chair, and pinched the tip off the cigar. He had blue, good-natured eyes, the sort accustomed to laugh; but now they were grave enough, and little troubled wrinkles showed at their corners.

“You look up to your ears in work,” said he, his eyes upon the books.

Ashton-Kirk smiled.

“On the contrary, I’ve been resting,” he answered, his gaze also upon the books, and filled with the mist which comes of deep plunges into the past, or into the annals of lands that never were. “When I’m overtaxed or too tightly strung there’s nothing so relaxes me as the ancient romances; there’s nothing near so quieting as the sayings of the wise old monks, spoken in the cool of the cloisters.”

Mr. Scanlon nodded appreciatively.

“Personally, I’m very strong for all those old fellows,” said he. “They had speed, control and change of pace.”

“Their greatest charm is their simplicity,” said Ashton-Kirk, as he refilled his pipe. “They believed things as children believe them. Their days were rare with faith; their nights with wonders. But,” and there was regret in the speaker’s voice, “the world has turned many times since then. There are no more wonders; and surprise, as they knew it, has ceased to exist.”

Mr. Bat Scanlon, one time athlete and gambler, but now a handler of champions, brushed the first short plume of ash from his cigar. He shook his head.

“Wrong!” stated he, confidently. “Altogether wrong. You get behind the scenes too much; you see the insides of things too often. Wonder is as thick as ever it was; and surprise is still on the job. If there’s any falling off, it’s in ourselves. We’ve grown cross-eyed looking at fakes; we haven’t the vision to know a wonder when we see it.”

A volume of Burton lay upon the table at his hand. He picked it up.

“Here’s Bagdad,” said he, riffling the pages, sharply. “Bagdad, a city stuffed with strangeness. But,” and he looked at Ashton-Kirk, earnestly, “had it really anything on this town of ours? Were its nights deeper? its silences more mysterious? I think not. Let any man--with his eyes open--mind you--go out into one of our nights, and he’ll meet with as many astonishments as Haroun Al Raschid, the best prowler of them all.”

Ashton-Kirk smiled through the thickening smoke. It were as though he had convinced himself of something.

“Your defence of present day interests is so keen,” said he, “that I’m inclined to hope this case you have holds some exceptional features.”

Scanlon nodded.

“And yet,” with a gesture, “I’m not so sure. I can’t put my fingers on a single thing, or even give it a name.”

“It has something to do with this young fellow Campe, I think you said.”

“It has all to do with him,” stated Mr. Scanlon. “And that’s one of the things that makes it so queer. He’s the last one I’d expected to get mixed up with anything of the kind; and he’s a gone youngster if somebody with more stuff than I have don’t step in and take a swing at it.”

There was a short silence; the smoke from the cigar mingled with that of the pipe; eddying in the draught from the window they wove in and out intricately, finally mingled and drifted out into the big world.