The crime specialist slipped from the table. With the big pipe laid aside, he began to pace up and down the study.
“This matter has some very curious and interesting aspects,” said he. “It is more than likely as you suggest, that the three Campes of whom you have just heard met their deaths at the hands of assassins. But, as you also suggest, why?”
He threw up the curtains and allowed the sun to fill the room; the opening of the windows themselves permitted the air to rush in and pursue the smoke clouds furiously about the place. The drone of the crowds in the street, the roll of wheels, the cries of drivers to their horses and to each other lifted to them in a confused movement of sound.
“Murder,” said Ashton-Kirk, “is seldom undertaken without cause.” He resumed his pacing, his hands deep in his trousers pockets. “Even the lowest type of thug, waylaying his victim in a lonely place, has the desire for money as his motive. The drunken loafer of the slums beats his wife to death because she refuses him food which he has not earned, or the price of more liquor which dulls his mind to the barest requirements of life. The masked burglar does not take life wantonly, but only when hard pressed and with the jail staring him in the face. The poisoner is actuated by jealousy, or by the desire to remove some one who bars his way to happiness or wealth. If the Campes were murdered, there was a reason for it. And the fact that three of them have so died, and a systematic effort seems to be proceeding to bring about the death of a fourth, shows that the reason is not an individual one.”
“No,” agreed Bat Scanlon. “It’s a family matter. It’s something that has to do with them as a bunch.”
“The attention of the murderer,” said Ashton-Kirk, “was apparently first fixed upon the head of the house, the elder Frederic. He was blown up with his yacht. His brother William was the succeeding head. He died in a fall from a bridge. Next, the eldest son of Frederic came into control of the family finances. He was stabbed to death. The last of them all, and the present head of the house, is your friend at Schwartzberg. Beyond a doubt the eyes of the monster are now fixed upon him.”
“Well?”
“It is possible,” said the crime specialist, “that some sort of demand was made upon the elder Frederic. This was refused and murder followed. Again the demand was made—again upon the head of the house—and again was refused. Once more death made its grisly appearance. For the third time the request was repeated to the person in control of the family’s affairs; for the third time it was denied; and again death followed swiftly.”
“A request,” said Bat Scanlon. “For what?”
Ashton-Kirk shook his head.