Ashton-Kirk was reaching for the drawing when the question was asked. The squares of paper were exactly the size of the others, but the design upon it was totally unlike, however, and was done in heavy black. It was a picture of a human heart, and transfixing it were a number of pointed weapons resembling stilettos.
"What a murderous-looking thing!" observed Fuller. "Much like a Black Hand design as illustrated in the evening papers."
Ashton-Kirk did not reply; he bent down over the drawing as though inspecting it closely; then there was a considerable pause in which he did not stir and Fuller, watching, noted the glaze of introspection in the singular eyes. However, this was not for long; he suddenly straightened up; the other designs slowly passed through his hands once more; then he arose, a smile upon his face.
But the other allowed the interrogation to go unheeded.
"Away somewhere in our memories," said he, "there are many little bits of information all ticketed and ready to the hand of the person who cares to reach back for them. Those people who go through life with their eyes open possess more of these items of recollection than those who refuse to look beyond the confines of their own affairs. But the impressionable person--the one who makes no conscious effort to retain the things that buzz like bees about him--and yet catches them all much like the record of a phonograph--has the greater resources to draw upon."
"I would not call you one who made no effort," said Fuller. "And things must need be more or less proven to make an impression upon you."
"I make my effort in the particular line along which my interest runs at the time," said Ashton-Kirk. "And it is true that the things which I then accept must be more or less solidly supported by facts. But a newspaper casually picked up, a novel read as a time-killer, a spoken word, the gesture of a stranger in the street, or the unstudied action of a child, may convey a something that will stay with us for life."
"And just now," said Fuller, curiously, "you came upon one of these little incidents, a sort of unattached thing, which throws some light upon these," and he pointed to the drawings upon the desk.
Ashton-Kirk nodded; placing the sheets of paper in his coat pocket he closed the desk.