Campe shook hands with the specialist in crimes, and Kretz saluted after his military fashion.
“Mr. Ashton-Kirk listened to me tell about Schwartzberg until he felt that he couldn’t live another day without taking it in,” Scanlon informed them. “So he’s come over this morning, hoping it wouldn’t be asking too much.”
Campe’s haunted eyes searched Ashton-Kirk; it was on his lips to refuse the request, when the other stopped him by saying:
“I hope you’ll pardon me; but the fact is, I am something of a student of the period in which your house was built, and its absolute following, line for line, of the ancient plan, is of great interest. The Count Hohenlo, builder of the place, was related to you, I understand.”
“An ancestor of my mother’s.”
“Indeed. That’s very charming. The Count’s career in this country was a most romantic one. The part he played in the history of the republic in its infancy has been obscured by the fanfare made in behalf of men not nearly so notable. His duel with the Frenchman, De La Place, was an exquisite piece of knight errantry; and his defence of the ford below here, while the British occupied the city, was an act of daring which the historians do not make the most of.”
A faint flush came into the cheeks of young Campe.
“It’s an unusual thing to come upon one who knows anything of the Count’s life or doings,” said he. “I agree with you that the historians do not make the most of the exploit of the ford, nor do they give him any of the credit that is his due in other matters. It is my intention to write his biography some day; and I hope in that way to give him, in some small part at least, the place among the great outlanders which is rightfully his.”
“Splendid!” applauded the crime specialist, while Bat Scanlon stood by and looked and listened in amazement. “That’s a fine idea. The romance of two periods, and of three countries is in your hands. Such things are done too seldom in this day; in our hurry and bustle we have no time for the heroes of the past.”
Young Campe looked at Sergeant-Major Kretz. But the grim face of the German was turned away; it was as though he knew what was to be asked in the look, and so saved himself the mortification of giving advice which he felt would not be taken.