“To me,” replied that gentleman, “it looks as though you’d hit the thing fair on the point that last day I was here. Some kind of an understanding was had with this man Alva and the other fellow, Evans. But the elder Campe broke it off after he got flush again; they hung on and kept insisting on his doing whatever it was that he’d promised to do. He refused, and they finally got him.”
The detective laughed.
“Good!” said he. “My theory as to what might possibly have happened and Fuller’s report you’ve put together very well indeed.”
“But,” ventured Scanlon, “though it might be clever enough, this guessing at things won’t get us anything unless we carry it further.” He looked at the crime specialist inquiringly. “What do you think we’d better do next?”
Ashton-Kirk pressed one of the series of call bells, then he lighted another cigarette.
“I’d like to have just a little more information about this man Alva,” said he. “He interests me immensely. Atavism is one of the most curious and fascinating things in the world,” he continued, as he rested against one corner of the table, his singular eyes upon the big man. “One never knows when to expect it, and it sometimes takes the most peculiar of forms. A strain of blood, a physical peculiarity will suddenly appear after an absence of generations, and——”
Here there came a knock upon the door, and a small compactly built man entered the room.
“Burgess,” spoke the crime specialist, “early in the morning go down to Parker’s and borrow a surveying outfit—a complete one—tell him not to miss anything, and also to tell you how they’re used.”
“Enough to go through the motions?” said the compact man with a grin.
“Exactly. Then take O’Neil and go out on the first train you can get to Marlowe Furnace. Find a place called Schwartzberg up along the river on the west bank, and about a mile above the station. Make that the centre of your movements for the day; don’t get out of hearing of the usual signal, and when you do hear it make for the house at once.”