“I think if you’ll go back over what I’ve really said,” spoke Ashton-Kirk, “you will find that I have made no mention of Locke crying out because of the gong.  I said the murderer opened the door that has the gong.  Then Locke screamed, not because he heard anything, but because of the sight he saw.”

“Ah!”

“He caught a glimpse of Hume upon the floor—­as we saw him.”

“You think, then, that Locke’s intentions were not murder?”

“At the present time I am led to think so.  The confederate either was forced to kill to save himself, or he had nursed a private scheme of revenge.  And the ferocity of the blow with the bayonet inclines me to prefer the latter as a theory.”

“That brings us back to both Morris and Spatola,” said Pendleton, gravely.  “By all accounts both bore Hume a bitter grudge.  But the fact that both criminals escaped by the roof shows familiarity with the neighborhood, as Miss Vale pointed out to you.  This seems to point to Spatola.”

“So does the purchase of the bayonet, and in the same indefinite fashion,” said Ashton-Kirk.  “But come, we motored to Christie Place more to inquire about this same Italian than anything else.  So let’s set about it.”

They thanked the policeman in charge and left the building.  As they proceeded down the street toward the house in which the newspapers had informed them Spatola lived, the investigator paused suddenly.

“I think,” said he, “it would be best for us to first see Spatola himself, and ask a few questions.  This might give us the proper point of view for the remainder.”

And so they once more got into the car; and away they sped toward the place where the violinist was confined.

CHAPTER XII

ANTONIO SPATOLA APPEARS

Ashton-Kirk and Pendleton were admitted to the cell room at the City Hall without question; but a distinct surprise awaited them there.  Through a private door leading from the detectives’ quarters they saw the bulky form of Osborne emerge; and at his heels were Bernstine and his sandy-haired clerk.

When Osborne caught sight of Ashton-Kirk he expanded into a wide smile of satisfaction.

“Hello!” greeted he.  “Glad to see you.  You’re just in time to see me turn a new trick.  Here’s the people that Spatola bought the bayonet from.  How does that strike you?”

But Bernstine leaned over and said something in a low tone; and the smile instantly departed.

“Oh,” said Osborne, ruefully, “this is the party who called to see you, is it?” Then turning to Ashton-Kirk he asked:  “How did you get onto this bayonet business?”

“Just through thinking it over a little, that’s all,” answered the investigator.

Mr. Bernstine now approached the speaker, a hurt look upon his face.