CHAPTER VI
Ashton-Kirk Asks Questions
Ashton-Kirk dismissed his car in front of a restaurant in the center of the city; he and his friend had luncheon in a quiet corner, then lighted cigars and smoked while they sipped their coffee.
"This is the second little matter I've had to put up to you," said Bat Scanlon. "I hope it won't grow into a habit."
"If it has any of the entertaining qualities of the other case," smiled the investigator, "I shall be greatly beholden to you."
Bat shook his head, and watched a cloud of white, thin smoke vanish in the air.
"That hardly seems likely," said he. "Stanwick ain't the place for mystery that Warwick Furnace was; and on the face of it, anyway, 620 Duncan Street can't touch Castle Schwartzberg for thrills. Beside that, the Campe affair[1] just sizzled with stuff, while this one, like as not, is finished already."
Ashton-Kirk smiled, and drew slowly at his cigar; this latter had a spicy tang, a flavor which suggested hot suns and heavy dews; the taste was rich, and the effect heady.
"Here is a cigar," said he, "which has all the flavor and shock of a richer looking and more suggestive leaf." He indicated the rather negative wrapper, and went on: "As you see, it hasn't any of that lush darkness which one usually associates with potent tobacco. And all because the wrapper was grown in Pennsylvania; for a casual inspection tells nothing of the tropical growth within."