Читать книгу Special Detective (Ashton-Kirk) онлайн

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He looked at the young man with a smile.

“The plumbing, perhaps,” said he. “It seldom is what it should be in houses like this.”

But Campe shook his head, and made no reply. His eyes, still with the old haunted look lurking in them, went out over the country, and one hand stroked his chin.

There was very little conversation while they remained upon the roof. Descending, they were passing along a broad corridor when the sound of a harp, waveringly played, was heard and a voice singing a lied.

Ashton-Kirk, trailing observantly along in the rear, saw the girl start at this and pause. A strange look came into her face; her hand went to her lips as though to prevent the words she was already speaking.

“Surely,” she said, sweetly, “Mr. Kirk should not go without a view of the tapestries.”

Young Campe looked perplexed.

“You see,” said he to Ashton-Kirk, “there are some rare hangings—some six or seven centuries old, I understand. And they are quite well worth seeing. But my aunt is there,” and he gestured toward a door, “and I’m not at all sure that she——”