“You promised the other night to tell me what made you think that the murderers had failed to secure the thing they sought.  The words that the promise was couched in made me think that you had also something to show me, and as we could not light up last night, I’ve waited patiently until to-day.  Now you must ease my curiosity.  Come, tell me a few things.”

Ashton-Kirk took his cigar from his mouth.

“I told you,” said he, “that the reports of Burgess and Fuller, together with the conversation we had with Tobin, had enlightened me upon these points.”  As he enumerated them, he checked them off with his fingers: 

“Why the murder was done.

“The identity of the confederate of Locke.

“That the man would return to the scene of the crime.”

“Yes,” said Pendleton, “those, I think, were the points.”

“The first two,” went on the investigator, “I will allow to stand for a while.  But I promised to illustrate for you, and I think I can do so.”

Ashton-Kirk here arose and passed through the storeroom and kitchen into the bedroom.

“The writing upon the step in the hall,” said he, facing his friend, “directed Locke’s confederate to look for something behind Wayne’s portrait.  As all the pictures of Wayne in the place were broken or otherwise showed traces of rough handling, it seemed that the thing desired must have been found.  However, I was not sure about that, as I have told you.

“If you will recall Tobin’s remarks of the other night, you will note that the only thing he could admire in the man’s character was his fighting spirit.  Then it developed that Hume made a boast of having come by this naturally enough.  He claimed descent from one of Washington’s officers.  Tobin could not recall the officer’s name; but he related an anecdote of him that was unmistakable.  The officer was General Wayne!”

“By George!” cried Pendleton.

“The collection of Wayne portraits was in this way explained.  It was also suggested to me that Hume might be an assumed name—­that the numismatist might have once been known as Wayne, and that Locke had known him by that name.  Of course, it’s quite likely that he was not really a descendant of Wayne.  But he probably called himself Wayne nevertheless.

“I see,” said Pendleton, his hands waving with excitement.  “And in the stress of the moment, Locke wrote the name ‘Wayne’ upon the step in candle grease, forgetting that his confederate only knew their proposed victim as Hume.”  His eyes rested upon the walls and upon the sneering, unpleasant portrait of the murdered man.  “He meant that the thing he desired was there,” indicating the portrait with an exultant sweep of the arm.  “And by George, it must be there still.”

He sprang forward with the evident intention of wrenching the picture from the wall; but Ashton-Kirk restrained him.