“That certainly seems to be the most logical conclusion, inspector,” I remarked.
“We must search the upper premises before I accept it,” exclaimed Langton, who, I could see, was still very suspicious that something unusual had happened. The meeting with Antonio in the buffet at Calais had caused him to doubt, and most naturally so.
My eager eyes were fixed upon the glowing furnace, the large, square, iron door of which was still red-hot, though the heat was now decreasing. At the side was a large air-shaft, in which were fitted electric fans, while on the wall were three switches by which a strong forced draught could be obtained.
Before the furnace door was a portion of the tiled floor railed off, to prevent the cinders from being trodden about, and in there I saw a quantity of ashes. At the side were several large crucibles, one of which, still gripped by the iron tongs or holders, contained some metal which looked like steel.
Carelessly I made a tour of the place, passing the corner where had lain the Professor’s body. I saw that all traces of blood had been carefully removed from the tiles. No one would suspect that any tragedy had occurred there.
Was this Kirk’s work? Had the man who had such a contempt for the police—whom he denounced as red-taped blunderers—succeeded in removing all trace of the crime?
If so, was not that sufficient proof of his own guilt? Was he not fooling me when, all the time, he was the actual assassin?
Every fresh fact as presented in that house that night increased rather than elucidated the mystery.
I longed to take the dead girl’s lover into my confidence and tell him, there and then, all I knew, just as I have told you; but I hesitated. Had I not given my word of honour to be silent? And, moreover, like a confounded fool, I had allowed Kirk to escape!
So now, more than ever, were my lips sealed. I was bound hand and foot.