THE THREAT.
Carter desired to learn something about Isabella Porter.
Her appearance at this time and her anxiety to secure the papers which
had been left in Mr. Wright’s possession so many years before seemed
peculiar.
As the detective reviewed the incidents, and recalled the record of
Peters’ death to his mind, he was almost certain that the man had been
attacked by some one who desired to put him out of the way.
Was Peters’ death planned because he had in his possession these
damaging papers?
Carter pondered over this question.
The circumstance was puzzling.
Why was no attempt ever made until now to get possession of the
documents?
How did Isabella Porter come to know or suppose that they were in the
possession of Mr. Wright?
Was it any wonder that Carter was in a quandary when these questions
were presented to his mind?
He did not know what to think.
He was in the dark.
There was a veil before his eyes, figuratively speaking.
He felt that Isabella Porter had some connection with the mystery of
the Red Dragon Inn, but what this connection was he could not determine.
Presently he arrived at the address on West Nineteenth Street.
It was an apartment house. He went into the vestibule and examined the
names on the letter boxes.
The name of the woman was not among them.
“It is as I supposed,” the detective muttered, “she does not live here,
and she gave Mr. Wright this address simply as a blind.”
To make sure that he was not wrong in his surmise, Carter called on the
janitor and questioned him.
The man did not know any woman by the name of Isabella Porter, and he
was sure that no woman answering to her description lived in the house.
“She had some deep object in view when she gave that false address,”
the detective thought. “The discovery alone is sufficient to make one
suspect her.”
Early the next morning the detective called at the address on Fifth
Avenue which he had found in the record of Peters’ death.
No one knew anything about any person by the name of Porter.
He returned to the hotel, and went to Mr. Wright’s room, intending to
remain there until the woman called.
He sent a message to the cashier of the safe deposit company, stating
that he had important business on hand, and he would see him later in
the day.
Noon arrived, and Isabella Porter did not appear.
Carter was impatient.
“I’ve wasted the whole morning,” he remarked to Wright.
“That woman promised to call early,” Wright rejoined. “Do you think her
suspicions were aroused?”
“That I cannot tell.”
“It is curious.”
“Very.”
Carter strode over to the window and looked out into the street. He was
in a brown study.
What should he do?
Just then some one knocked on the door, and the detective opened it.
A messenger boy stood before him.
“I’ve got a note for Mr. Peter Wright,” the boy said.
Mr. Wright took the note, and opened it. He glanced at it, and then
turning to the boy, asked:
“From whom did you receive this?”
“A man,” the boy replied.
“Where was he when he gave it to you?”
“In the barroom of the Humberland House.”
“What kind of a looking man was he?”
“He was tall, had a smooth face and black hair.”
“What did he say when he gave you the note?”
“He said simply to fetch it down to you.”
“Was that all?”
“That was all.”
“Did he pay you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You may go.”
“Wait, sonny.”
It was Carter who spoke. He had remained quiet during the time Peter
Wright was questioning the lad.
“Let me see that note?” he asked, and Wright handed the message to him.
He read it, and a smile crossed his face.
Then he looked at the boy, and asked:
“Did you ever see the man before?”
“No, sir,” the boy answered.
“You may go.”
When the messenger was out of the room, Carter turned to Mr. Wright,
and said:
“This note shows that the woman suspected a trap.”
“No doubt,” Mr. Wright rejoined. “Read the note to me. I just glanced
at it.”
“‘_Mr. Peter Wright._
“‘DEAR SIR: I cannot call on you to-day. I thought you were a
gentleman, but I have discovered that I cannot trust you. After I
left you yesterday I learned that you held a conference with Nicholas
Carter, the detective, and he commenced to make inquiries about me.
That man had better beware of how he meddles with my affairs. I
know that you have that package in your possession, and if you turn
it over to that detective, you will live to regret it. Yours very
respectfully,
“‘ISABELLA PORTER.’”
“Humph!” Mr. Wright ejaculated, when the detective finished reading.
“_That_ for her threat!” and the old man snapped his fingers together,
while defiance shone in his eyes.
“One thing is certain,” Carter remarked.
“What is that?”
“We’re watched.”
“By whom?”
“Probably by the man who gave the note to the messenger boy.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I am going to call on the cashier of the safe deposit company.”
Half an hour later the detective was in the office of the safe deposit
company. He and the cashier visited the vault, and, after some
hesitation, the latter opened Lawrence’s box.
It was empty.
When this discovery was made, Carter uttered an exclamation of chagrin.
“Who could have removed the contents?” the cashier ejaculated.
“Lawrence told me positively that he had valuable papers in this box.”
“They have been removed, but whether recently; or years ago, we cannot
tell,” the detective said.
“It is annoying.”
Carter left the vault and started uptown.
So far, he considered that he had made very little progress with the
investigation.
He reached the Humberland House, and entered the café.
It was four o’clock in the afternoon, and quite a number of men were
in the place. He thought that there might be a chance of learning
something here, and that was the reason why he had stopped.
The man who had given Isabella Porter’s note to the messenger he
thought might come into the place. He sat down at one of the tables,
and proceeded to inspect the men around him.
His attention was attracted toward a tall man who was seated at the
next table, with a short, stout man.
The man was well dressed.
There was something about his manner the detective did not like, and he
looked at him more closely than he otherwise would have done.
All of a sudden it came to him that this man answered the description
of the man who had given the messenger boy Isabella Porter’s note.
Carter acted cautiously, so that the man would not notice that he was
watching him.
They spoke in low tones, and it was some time before the detective was
able to catch a word they said.
He leaned back in his chair and listened.
The men were drinking.
After a time they commenced to talk louder, and the detective was able
to hear.
A man of less experience would have started, and perhaps betrayed
himself when he heard the stout man address his companion as Rich.
Not so Carter. He did not move in his chair, or show any sign that he
had heard a word.
His eyes were fixed on a painting on the opposite wall, and apparently
he was examining it.
“Well, Rich,” the detective heard the stout man ejaculate, “I think you
made a mistake.”
For a while this was all he heard, for the man spoke in low tones again.
But this was sufficient to make Carter more deeply interested in those
two men.
“Can this be Simeon Rich who conspired against Lawrence?” he asked
himself.
There was a chance that the man was in no way related to the murdered
man.
After a time the detective heard the man Rich remark:
“Isabella made a mistake.”
“I don’t know about that,” the stout man rejoined, and at the same time
he lighted a fresh cigar, while he leaned back in his chair and blew
the smoke up in the air over his head.
“Darwin,” replied Rich, in a low, clear, deep voice, “I think you are
unnecessarily alarmed.”
“I am not. I have heard a great deal of that man’s ability.”
“All such men are overestimated. When they are brought face to face
with shrewd men they fail.”
“Make no mistake. That man has circumvented shrewder men than we.”
“Bosh!”
“Even at this moment he may be in possession of important evidence.”
“How could he secure it?”
“I do not know, and yet I do not feel safe.”
“I tell you, we have nothing to fear.”
“You should never have had that letter of Isabella’s delivered.”
“The old fool will never dare to show it.”
“That man has already been to Bellevue and examined the records.”
“How do you know that?”
“I made inquiries.”
“When?”
“This afternoon.”
“Humph!”
“It was well I had him watched.”
“In one way it was.”
“Yes, in many ways.”
The men rested back in their chairs, and were silent.
Carter had heard every word, and he was sure that the two men had
referred to him, although they had not mentioned any names.
His heart beat violently, in spite of his stoicism.
Outwardly he was composed, but inwardly he was excited.
“Am I on the right trail at last?” he asked himself.
“Have these men had anything to do with the mysterious murder at the
Red Dragon Inn? Ought I to suspect them?”
Darwin arose from the table, paid the cashier for what they had had,
and then the two men strolled out of the café into the corridor of the
hotel, when they halted near the newspaper stand.
Carter followed them openly but unobtrusively, and stood within a few
feet of them.
The lobby was crowded with people, and it was easy to keep them under
surveillance without the fear of attracting their attention.
“Well, Rich, what are you going to do?” Carter heard Darwin ask, after
they had stood silent for some time near the door.
“I am going uptown,” Rich replied evasively.
“To see Isabella?”
“Yes.”
“Try and induce her to take a trip to Philadelphia, and remain there
until things quiet down.”
“She won’t listen to that.”
“Confound these women, anyway! If you had let me manage that affair,
and kept her out of it, there would have been nothing to worry about.
As it is, you went ahead without asking my advice, and the result may
be that you have furnished that man with a clew which will lead up to
our downfall.”
“Always croaking, Dick!”
“No, I am not.”
“What are _you_ going to do?”
“I am going to take a trip down to Lem Samson’s joint, and see if
Brockey Gann has any report to make.”
“What time to-morrow will you meet me?”
“Eleven o’clock.”
“Where?”
“Here,” said Darwin.
“If anything of importance has occurred, I will send you word.”
“Then, good night.”
They had walked out into the street, and now they separated,
one starting uptown and the other walking down to the corner of
Twenty-fourth Street, where he halted to wait for a car.
For a moment or so Carter was in doubt about which one he ought to
follow.
Richard Darwin had mentioned that he was going downtown to a place kept
by a man named Lem Samson.
The detective was familiar with the place, which was one of the worst
crooks’ resorts on Houston Street, near Macdougal Street.
He also knew that Brockey Gann was the leader of a gang of thugs.
He had arrested Brockey several times, and once he succeeded in sending
him to State’s prison for a short term.
Carter saw Darwin start out toward the center of the street as a
downtown car came along.
In an instant his mind was made up.
He ran out into the street and jumped aboard the car ahead of Darwin.
On the way downtown the detective made a close study of the man. He
did not remember that he had ever seen him before.
Darwin had the appearance of a man in prosperous circumstances.
That he had been in the habit of associating with sporting men was
quite evident from certain phrases which Carter had heard him utter.
At Houston Street Darwin jumped off the car.