Adventure Tales 6. H. Bedford-Jones

detective of wide reputation, boasts as fantastic an imagination as I have encountered in print. He heard me through in silence, but with raised eyebrows that spoke his interest. I admit that I made the most of the incredible tale.

      “Extraordinary!” he commented, when I had finished. He added at once, “And, delightful, too! A fine theatrical touch to it. This Ashenhurst, I take it, is a sober young man?”

      “Quite,” I assured him. “I’ve known him only a few months, but I like him greatly. He’s in one of my classes, and is an excellent student. Not at all given to romancing, I should say. He strikes me as being eminently sane and practical.”

      “Yet he tells this insane story,” said Lavender, “and, if I am to believe you, tells it with entire belief.”

      “And very convincingly,” I added. “He certainly thinks he saw something, and it has upset him.”

      Lavender laughed shortly. “No wonder,” he said. “It would upset anybody. A very ingenious business! What do you think of it, Gilly?”

      “Nothing!” I answered promptly. “I think Ashenhurst was dreaming.”

      “Nothing of the sort.”

      “You don’t mean to say you believe it?” I demanded. “I knew it would please you, but I didn’t expect the story to be believed.”

      “I certainly don’t believe he saw the statue, if that’s what you mean; but he saw something very curious indeed. Now what did he see? And why did he see it? The second question is the more important of the two, and the hardest to answer.”

      He smoked in silence for a moment, thinking deeply. When he spoke, the current of his thought had changed.

      “You know Ashenhurst’s place?” he asked suddenly.

      “I’ve been there once. I know the neighborhood pretty well, and I’ve seen the statue, so to call it. Of course, it isn’t a statue; it’s a figure in a fountain.”

      “A distinction that doesn’t help the case,” observed Lavender with a dry smile. “Tell me about the street.”

      “Well, it’s called Cambridge Court, and it’s only a block in length. It runs from Belden Square—which is the little park—to Crayview Avenue, which is a through street, as you know, popular with motorists. Cambridge Court is an old street, and the houses are old—once toney, but shabby-genteel now. You know the kind; every other family keeps roomers. But it’s all very respectable, and the streets surrounding it are highly desirable residence thoroughfares. It’s sort of hidden away, as it were, and the people who live in the court have a quiet, subdued air about them—as if the world had forgotten them, and they were glad of it, if you understand what I mean.”

      “Perfectly,” smiled Lavender. “You are a bit of a poet, Gilruth. And the house?”

      “Three story and attic, I think. Basement, too, probably. Brick, of course. Porcelain doorknobs. I should think it was a handsome establishment back in 1895. The front windows are bay windows, and Ashenhurst’s room looks into the street from the second floor. He rents it from a family named Harden, who live in the back of the house. I think there are other roomers.”

      “North side of the street? Hm-m! I think I see it. You used your eyes well on your one visit. Well, well! And Belden Square a half-block from, the dwelling. The statue didn’t have to run far, did it? It could leave the fountain, run around the block, and be back in no time.”

      “Oh, easily!” I sarcastically agreed. “Don’t you think we ought to watch it tonight, and catch it as it steps out of the fountain?”

      Lavender laughed. “Not quite that, perhaps; but there is some watching to be done. I, for one, should like to see the thing. Shouldn’t you?”

      “I know Ashenhurst would like to have you,” I said.

      “You’ve mentioned me to him, eh? Well, you guessed right when you thought I would be interested. I am interested. Something very curious is going on, Gilly, or something tremendously unimportant. I don’t know which.”

      “I don’t follow you there.”

      “I only mean that if your friend saw what he thinks he saw, the matter is most important. If he was deceived—by a resemblance, let us say—then probably the solution is very simple and unimportant. You see, there are a great many possibilities. If Ashenhurst was deceived, then he may actually have seen only some innocent idiot running off his weight, clad in a track suit or something of the sort. If Ashenhurst had been thinking of the statue, for any reason, and had it in his mind, he might have imagined that he saw it; in which case the solution of the matter is that Ashenhurst needs a doctor and a vacation. Or he may have seen a lunatic running naked; that certainly would heighten the resemblance to our stone friend in the park. In which case the lunatic should be apprehended, although the affair would still be relatively unimportant. But—if Ashenhurst actually saw the statue—that is, of course, somebody made up to look like the statue—the case becomes highly important, for something very significant must be back of such an impersonation; something more than just lunacy, I should say.”

      “What, for instance?”

      He laughed again, and ran his fingers through his thick, dark hair with a familiar gesture that brought into prominence his single plume of white.

      “Well, just for instance—to frighten somebody to death! The thing certainly gave Ashenhurst a scare.”

      “That’s quite an idea,” I admitted, “but you don’t believe it.”

      “Don’t I? You don’t know what I believe, Gilly—and I don’t know myself yet. How should I? But you’re coming with me, of course?”

      “Yes,” I said promptly. “You may gamble on that.”

      He looked at his watch. “There’s three hours to midnight. I should like to have seen the statue first—out of curiosity, if nothing else—but we must assume that our friend will run again tonight, and I don’t want Ashenhurst to be alone!”

      Something in the earnestness of his last words arrested me, and I looked a startled inquiry. He slowly nodded.

      “Yes,” he said, “I don’t know why, Gilly, but I’ve a notion that this may portend evil to your friend. It’s just a feeling, too vague to put into logical thought, but—well, for two nights Ashenhurst didn’t look out of his window, and last night he did! You see? He saw the thing, whatever it is—and it must have known that he saw it. And so, tonight—? That’s all! I can’t make it any plainer.”

      An unpleasant thrill ran through me, for as he spoke I had the feeling, too.

      “Come on,” I cried; and got quickly to my feet. He followed more leisurely; and as we tramped down the dark stairs I added, “We can cross the park, Jimmie, if you want a look at that thing. It’s on our way.”

      “Well—perhaps,” he agreed. “But I should prefer not to be seen evidencing too great an interest in it.”

      The night was fine, with a good moon and plenty of stars, and when our taxi had set us down not far from Belden Square, Lavender determined to have his look.

      “There seems to be plenty of citizens abroad,” he argued, “and I’ll warrant there are more of them in the park. We may as well chance it.”

      So, sauntering easily and ostentatiously smoking, we plunged into the little park and began our stroll diagonally across its tapestry of moonlit grass. A number of couples passed us, arm in arm, and as we approached the fountain we saw that at least a dozen persons were patrolling the paths about it. The tinkle of water sounded pleasantly in the night as it rained into the pool, and the moonlight on the stone figure of the piping faun in the midst of the falling water was memorable.

      No one paid the slightest attention to us, as we idled for a moment at the stone brink; and after a careless glance or two we turned away.

      “A pretty