Ashton-Kirk rejoined his friend; and as they made their way to the waiting automobile, the latter said;

“That is a step ahead of me, Kirk, I think.  Where did you get a portrait of this man Crawford?”

By way of an answer the investigator held up the photograph once more.  Pendleton gave a gasp of amazement.

“Allan Morris,” said he. “Allan Morris, by George!”

CHAPTER XIV

MISS VALE UNEXPECTEDLY APPEARS

Edouard, Ashton-Kirk’s cook, was astonished and somewhat grieved that day to receive orders that dinner was to be served an hour earlier than usual.  And Stumph, grave and immobile, was betrayed into an expression of astonishment when his master and guest sat down to the same dinner in their work-a-day attire.

And at best Edouard’s delicate art that day received but scant attention.  Stumph could hardly conceive of a more important thing than the proper and gentlemanly eating of one’s dinner.  Nevertheless other things engaged the attention of the two young men; they talked earnestly and in incomprehensible terms; mysterious allusions were sprinkled thickly through it all.

“I do not think,” Stumph told the mortified Edouard in the kitchen, “that Mr. Pendleton has tasted the flavor of a single thing he has eaten.  He listens to Mr. Ashton-Kirk talk; he is surprised at everything that he is told; there is a trembling in his hands, he is so eager.  No, I don’t know what it’s about.  But then, I never know what Mr. Ashton-Kirk is about.  He is a very remarkable gentleman.”

And no sooner was the dinner completed than Ashton-Kirk’s big French car was brought to the door and both young men got into it.

“You’ve looked up the road to Cordova?” inquired Ashton-Kirk of the chauffeur.

“Yes, sir,” answered the man.  “Very good road and almost parallel with the railroad.  No trouble getting there by dark.”

“All right.  Get there as soon as you can.”

They cut into a broad asphalted avenue, which eventually led them through the north suburbs into the country.  The April dusk was settling upon the fields as they raced along; in the isolated houses, lights were beginning to twinkle; there was a swaying among the trees and roadside bush; the hum of the flying car must have been borne long distances; for far away people raised their heads from the finishing tasks of the day to look at it as it flashed by.

Pendleton lay back comfortably digesting his dinner, and ticking off in his mind the case which engrossed him so much.

“It all tapers down to this,” he said to himself.  “Hume was murdered by Locke and a confederate in order that they might gain possession of something, the nature of which is unknown.  Kirk is confident of Locke; I think he’d even go so far as to give him into custody, if he had the tangible proofs that the police require.