SHADOWS AND SHADOWED.
“Thundering guns!” muttered Patsy. “He’d be an ugly cur to meet in the
dark.”
Chick Carter gazed in the direction indicated.
The two detectives were comfortably seated on a log in the midst of a
cluster of shrubbery.
The shrubbery formed a part of the scrub and bushes skirting the
woodland back of the extensive Badger estate.
Nearly a hundred yards away was the stable, a side view, with the long
carriage-house adjoining, as previously described.
Fifty yards beyond was the Badger dwelling, rear elevation, with the
back door and windows in plain sight, as well as part of one of the
side verandas.
The intervening ground was clear of trees, and nothing obstructed the
view of the two watching detectives.
They were executing Nick’s command given them that morning, that of
learning what they could about the Badger place without being seen.
They had already measured it from in front, and had arrived at their
present vantage-point about half an hour before, bent upon watching
till they were reasonably assured as to the number of servants in the
house and stable.
Matters always moved lively with the Carters after a trail was once
fairly struck, and in this case they were no exception.
That which had occasioned Patsy’s muttered exclamation was now observed
by Chick, who parted the shrubbery concealing them to view the object a
little better.
It was a huge Cuban bloodhound, a wicked-looking beast. The animal had
evidently just come out of the stable, the front of which was only
partly visible to the detectives, and he was now trotting across the
lawn toward the rear door of the house.
“I believe you are right,” rejoined Chick. “He looks as if he might
bolt a man with a single mouthful.”
“Dead easy,” nodded Patsy.
“If we have work to do here after dark,” said Chick, “we’d best keep
that fellow in mind.”
“Rather.”
“He’d put up an uglier fight than the entire bunch we’ve seen so far.”
“That’s right, Chick.”
“We’ve seen only four as yet.”
“Badger and his wife, whom we saw from the front,” counted Patsy. “The
middle-aged woman at work in the kitchen yonder, and the covey we’ve
seen about the stable. That makes four, Chick; sure as you’re a foot
high.”
“I begin to think there are no others.”
“Four are not many to be carrying on the game Nick suspects,” suggested
Patsy, a bit doubtfully.
“There is still the Clayton woman,” replied Chick; “and she and
Badger’s wife may be as bold and capable as men would be.”
“Very likely.”
“There are enough of them to have played this hold-up game
successfully, that’s plain enough; and the smaller the number, Patsy,
the less liability of betrayal.”
“That’s true, Chick.”
“I think that the paucity of servants here is a point in our favor.”
“A point that Nick is right?”
“Exactly.”
“Perhaps so.”
“I doubt if there are others,” repeated Chick, “or if we can remain
here much longer to advantage. We are to rejoin Nick at four o’clock,
you remember.”
“What time is it now?”
“Half-past one,” replied Chick, consulting his watch.
It was at that moment that Vic Clayton was receiving her very important
communication from the spy from police headquarters, half an hour
before the arrival of Nick.
At the same moment, while Chick and Patsy were crouched, gazing toward
the house, Conley came out of the rear door and sauntered toward the
stable, lighting his pipe while he walked.
“There’s that stable covey again,” murmured Patsy. “I don’t half-fancy
his looks.”
“Evidently he is just out from dinner.”
“Sure thing! See, the woman is now feeding the dog at the back steps.
That’s what the ugly cur trotted over there for.”
“He knows when meal-time comes,” laughed Chick.
“Mebbe his meal-ticket is only good at this hour,” grinned Patsy. “I
wonder if that covey is the only man in the stable. If he is, Chick, he
must have a good bit of work, or else Nick is away off on some points.”
“Why so?”
“Nick thinks they have three or four horses out here.”
“We know of one, Patsy.”
“And he thinks these hold-up crooks have several automobiles.”
“They don’t require much labor, particularly when only seldom used.”
“Well, they haven’t the autos in that stable, nor in the
carriage-house,” declared Patsy. “That’s a cinch, Chick, for we’ve had
a look into both.”
“True.”
“And there’s only one horse in the stable.”
“They may have some secret place of concealment for the whole
business,” said Chick.
“Perhaps so, yet——”
“Stop a bit!” Chick suddenly interrupted, rising to peer through the
shrubbery. “What’s the meaning of this?”
“Gee!” muttered Patsy, also starting to his feet. “Something’s up!”
Though they had no way of learning the occasion for the excitement at
this time, both being out of hearing and unable to approach without
being detected, it was at just this time that Badger received from Vic
Clayton a telephone communication concerning Nick Carter’s designs, and
which had been quickly followed by the laying of the plot that later
resulted in Nick’s downfall.
Badger had come plunging out of the back door of the house, without
coat or hat, throwing away his cigar as he ran across the lawn, all
the while shouting lustily to Conley.
It was his sudden appearance and obvious excitement that had so
startled both Chick and Patsy.
Conley turned back upon hearing the shouts, and the two crooks met
about twenty feet in front of the stable, within plain view of the
detectives.
There Badger talked rapidly for several moments, with occasional fierce
gestures in the direction of the city, and all the while both men
exhibited in their faces and movements a consternation and excitement
not easily to be accounted for by one out of hearing.
“Gee! I’d give something to know what they are saying,” muttered Patsy,
staring with distended eyes.
“There is something in the wind,” nodded Chick.
At the end of about a minute, Badger turned and rushed back to the
house, entering it at the top of his speed.
Conley, meantime, bolted out of sight toward the stable door, yet not
into it, which was out of view of the detectives.
“Where the dickens did he go?” said Chick curiously.
“It looked as if he went into the stable,” said Patsy.
“I’m not so sure of that.”
“No?”
“I thought he turned to one side just before he approached the door.”
“He may have run around the farthest corner,” suggested Patsy. “We
might change our positions, Chick, so as to see that door.”
“Wait a bit,” replied Chick. “There’s a big hurry here over something,
and we shall see all there is to be seen in short order.”
“I guess that’s right.”
“Badger pointed toward town several times,” added Chick, with grave
countenance. “I’d wager a little that Nick is in some way back of this,
if not involved in some bother.”
“You don’t imagine——”
“Easy! Here comes Badger again.”
Once more the latter had bolted out of the house, and this time he was
followed by his wife.
Now both had on their outside garments, and evidently were prepared for
a ride.
At the same moment an automobile, with a furious rumble and whir, came
into view in front of the stable, and sped across the lawn to meet the
couple.
It was driven by Conley, who tumbled out of it the instant it stopped,
while Badger and his wife clambered in almost as quickly.
In another moment, with Badger running it, the car was speeding down
the long gravel driveway toward Laurel Road.
The departure was made so excitedly and hurriedly that Patsy, who had
been holding his breath all the while, now exhaled it with a sharp gasp.
“Whew; that beats the record,” he exclaimed.
“What puzzles me,” replied Chick perplexedly, “is where that auto came
from.”
“Gee! that’s just what I was thinking.”
“It did not come out of the stable, I’ll swear to that.”
“It looked to me as if it came around the farther corner.”
“It was a Packard,” said Chick. “I know the machine.”
“Perhaps——”
“Break off and follow me,” now interrupted Chick, who had been watching
Conley walk leisurely back toward the stable.
“Where now?” asked Patsy, as they drew back through the woods.
“Back to town,” said Chick decidedly. “There’s nothing more for us here
at present.”
“It’s a good bet that Badger has headed for town, since he pointed that
way so often.”
“That’s just my idea, Patsy.”
“What do you think about it?”
“I think that something has happened to alarm these rascals,” replied
Chick.
“And that nobody but Nick could have brought that about?”
“Exactly.”
“In that case, Chick, he may have made some move since we left him.”
“Sure.”
“And possibly these guys have got wise to it.”
“That appears to be about the size of it,” nodded Chick. “Furthermore,
it looks as if Badger, in making this lightning trip, had got something
up his sleeve for Nick.”
“A counter-move?”
“Precisely.”
“What shall we do about it?”
“We’ll first make sure about Nick,” replied Chick. “He was to rejoin us
at four o’clock. If he doesn’t show up at that hour, or a little later,
we must get a move on.”
“To trace him?”
“Sure.”
“And if we fail to strike his trail?”
“Back out here we’ll come, Patsy, dog or no dog, to learn what this
sudden journey really meant,” declared Chick, with grave determination.
He had reasoned shrewdly in that he had attributed Badger’s excited
departure to some unexpected cause for alarm, and also that Nick was
the person most likely to have occasioned it.
In the light of these deductions, moreover, Badger’s immediate and
decisive action plainly indicated that he had some definite project in
view, presumably one to avert the impending danger.
The conclusions alone were sufficient to point to some peril
threatening Nick, and his chief assistant was quick to arrive at them,
and act accordingly.
As a matter of fact, however, the celerity and astuteness with which
the Carters invariably cooperated in their work went far toward
insuring their success.
Chick’s talk with Patsy had occurred while they picked their way
through the belt of woods, from which they presently emerged, then
hastened to the nearest trolley line and back to the city.
It was nearly three o’clock when they arrived at the Adams House, and
went to Nick’s room.
There was no sign of Nick, however.
The magnifying-glass with which he had examined the incriminating
photograph was still lying on the table where he had left it. But there
was neither note nor token to show that he had been there since the
three departed in company that morning.
“He has not returned since he left with us, Patsy,” said Chick, after
looking about. “We’ll wait till the appointed hour.”
“Four o’clock?”
“Or a little later.”
“He may show up by that time.”
“I haven’t much hope of it,” replied Chick, a bit anxiously. “I’ve got
it on me good and hard, a genuine hunch, Patsy, that something has gone
wrong with him.”
“You’re most generally right, Chick, when you feel like that.”
Chick made no reply, but began pacing the floor.
An hour passed, and brought no sign of Nick.
At half-past four Chick could restrain his impatience no longer.
“Come on!” he abruptly exclaimed, catching up his hat. “We’ll get a
move on.”
Patsy started up from the couch, on which he was having a pull at his
pipe.
“I’m with you!” he cried, with alacrity. “Going to try to trace him?”
“Yes.”
“Where first, Chick? To State Street?”
“It’s too late to go there,” replied Chick, as they left the room and
hastened toward the elevator.
“Yet we might strike his trail there.”
“I can do so more quickly, I think.”
“Where?”
“At police headquarters—Chief Weston’s office, in Pemberton Square.”