Nick Carter’s strong, clean-cut face took on a more serious expression
while he listened. It was half past eight when Patsy returned, just as
Nick was about leaving the Wilton House, and only half an hour after
Chick set forth to search the apartments of Gaston Todd.
“That’s all, chief,” said Patsy, when ending his report. “As far as I
can see, it lets Doctor Devoll out of the circle of suspicion and rings
in another, no less than three, in fact--the chauffeur, his elderly
passenger, and the man he met at the road house. For I’ll wager my
pile, chief, that the chauffeur knew there was something doing and was
acting as a sentinel.”
“Are you absolutely sure that the elderly passenger was not Doctor
Devoll?” Nick inquired.
“Reasonably sure, chief, at least,” said Patsy confidently. “He is too
solid and compact for Devoll, more erect and with broader shoulders.
Devoll is somewhat bowed and very slim. He looks like a string bean.”
“He may have disguised himself while in the motor car,” Nick suggested.
“I don’t think so,” Patsy quickly objected. “He would hardly have
covered all of the features mentioned. Besides, I could see the
interior of the car distinctly when the door was open, and I would have
seen his discarded hat and garments.”
“That does seem probable,” Carter thoughtfully admitted. “Don’t you
overlook one fact, however?”
“What’s that, chief?”
“That you saw Doctor Devoll leave the hospital and ride away with the
chauffeur. You could not then have been mistaken as to the physician’s
identity, and the circumstances convince me that he is in some way
associated with the two men who met in the road house.”
“I think so, too, chief, as far as that goes,” said Patsy.
“It appears probable, too, that the chauffeur is one of the gang,”
Carter added. “Also that we are up against more of a gang than I have
suspected. I at first was inclined to attribute the many mysterious
robberies here, as well as the killing of Gaston Todd, to a single
exceedingly crafty and accomplished crook. I now believe, however, that
he is the chief director of a gang, instead of at work alone.”
“That must be right, too,” nodded Patsy. “There’s no getting around it.”
“But here’s another point,” said Carter. “The mysterious killing of
Leary’s cat, whatever the motive of it, and the similar strangeness in
connection with the murder of Todd denote that both were committed by
the same man or some of his gang.”
“That’s how I size it up.”
“You are sure, however, that neither of the men at the road house was
Doctor Devoll,” Nick continued. “I may in that case be mistaken in
thinking he is the man behind the gun, the evil genius back of the
whole business. There may be another, and Doctor Devoll only indirectly
associated with him.”
“You mean the elderly man who took Doctor Devoll’s place in the motor
car?”
“Exactly.”
“Devoll may have sent him out to the road house to meet that other
fellow,” Patsy suggested.
“Possibly,” said Nick. “It is more probable, however, that Devoll
informed him of my visit this afternoon and of the threats I made.
The other may have become alarmed and set about thwarting my designs.
All this appears the more probable, Patsy, because that threatening
anonymous letter and all these very, significant episodes have followed
so quickly after my call on Doctor Devoll.”
“Right again, chief, as sure as I’m a foot high,” Patsy declared. “It’s
long odds, too, that the road-house conference was held only to frame
up a job on you.”
“I’m not so sure of that,” his chief replied. “They may have met to
plan the theft of Mrs. Mortimer Thurlow’s pearls or to alter plans made
before the threatening letter was sent to me.”
“Mebbe so,” Patsy allowed. “It’s a pity I couldn’t overhear the
discussion and see what came off.”
“We’ll make use of what you have discovered, not mourn over what was
impossible,” said Carter dryly. “We must now contrive to identify those
three men. All wore beards, you say?”
“Yes.”
“Possibly, then, all were disguised. You have the number of the motor
car, however, and that may help, barring trickery of some kind. Such
crafty rascals as these don’t often let a license number expose them.
There is a possibility, nevertheless, that they overlooked it.”
“The chance is worth taking.”
“Surely. You go over to the garage and see what you can learn,” Carter
directed, rising and taking his hat. “I have other business in the
meantime, and will return about ten o’clock. Chick then will have shown
up perhaps and have something to report. Get your information on the
quiet, mind you.”
“Trust me for that, chief,” said Patsy, as they were leaving the room
together.
Nick Carter’s other business, or part of it, consisted of keeping a
promise he had made the previous morning. He called at the city prison,
confiding his identity and mission to the warden, and was promptly
accorded an interview with Frank Paulding in the warden’s private
office.
Nick did not expect, however, that Paulding would have any information
to impart. He called on him only because of his promise and to say a
few words of encouragement to the suspected man, also to direct him to
maintain the negative position he had taken.
“Oh, I’ll continue to do so, Mr. Carter, as I agreed with you yesterday
morning,” Paulding assured him. “It’s a bitter pill for an innocent man
to swallow, but I’ll not weaken. I’ll stick, sir, as long as I know you
are working for me.”
“You may depend upon that,” the detective said simply.
“Thank Heaven, too, there is one rift in the clouds,” Paulding added.
“What is that?”
“A letter from Edna Thurlow. It came this morning. She expresses her
sympathy for me, her belief that I am a victim of circumstances, and
assures me of her absolute faith in my innocence.”
“Good for her!” said Carter, smiling. “It’s very significant, too.”
“Significant?”
“Surely,” laughed the detective. “A girl writes like that only to one
she loves. You were not quite sure of it, you remember. This ought to
convince you and really make it worth while to be suspected.”
“I’m not sure but it does,” replied Paulding, brightening up. “I do
regret one restriction, however, that you have imposed on me. It’s a
thorn in my flesh.”
“I know it,” said the detective tersely.
“You know it? How the deuce can you know it? You don’t know to what
restriction I refer.”
“Oh, yes, I do.” Nick laughed again. “Though not a lover, I know how
lovers feel. You itch to relieve Miss Thurlow’s anxiety by telling her
of our relations.”
“By Jove, you’re a keen cuss, Carter!” Paulding declared, now joining
in the detective’s laugh. “You’ve called the turn, all right, but itch
doesn’t express it. Really, I ache to do so.”
“Well, stop aching,” Nick said dryly, rising to go. “I shall see Miss
Thurlow this evening, and will tell her all that she needs to know.”
“See her!” Paulding sprang up, eyes glowing. “Oh, I say, then----”
“No, no, don’t say it,” the detective cut in with affected alarm. “I’ll
not take any love messages to her. I draw the line at that. I have
passed that stage, you know, and would only make an awful mess of it,
to say nothing of making a fool of myself. I will tell her enough,
Paulding, however; so rest easy with that until I can see you again.”
Nick left him with a much lighter heart than when he had entered, which
was what he chiefly desired, but his mission to the Thurlow residence
was of greater importance.
It was nine o’clock when he arrived at the house, one of the most
costly and beautiful dwellings in Madison. He was admitted by an
elderly butler, who invited him to a seat in a handsomely furnished
reception room.
Nick had given him a card on which he had written only his first name,
stating that he called on important business, and he had been waiting
only a few moments when a graceful, strikingly pretty girl in an
evening gown joined him, still with the card in her hand.
“Good evening,” she said agreeably, with an inquiring look in her blue
eyes. “I am Miss Thurlow, Mr. Nicholas, but I infer that your business
is with my mother. She has gone up to her room, but I have sent for her
to come down. Your name does not suggest any business which----”
“It might, perhaps, if I had written my full name--Nicholas Carter,” he
interposed, bowing and smiling.
“Nicholas Carter!” gasped Edna, staring at him. “Not the famous New
York detective?”
“Well, yes, thanking you for the complimentary adjective.”
“Good heavens!” exclaimed Edna amazedly. “Are you a wizard? Do you
ride on the wind? How did you get here so quickly?”
“Get here?” queried Carter, though he at once guessed the truth. “You
were expecting me then?”
“Well, not so quickly, of course,” said the girl. “But I telegraphed
to you no less than an hour ago, asking you to come immediately to
Madison. I did not suppose you could cover hundreds of miles in as many
seconds. I thought when the bell rang that you had wired back, and this
name on the card meant nothing to me. Really, Mr. Carter, I am quite
mystified.”
Nick Carter laughed pleasantly, and replied:
“I will presently explain. Why, may I ask, did you send for me to come
to Madison?”
“I want you to investigate a very mysterious murder,” Edna now
earnestly explained. “A very dear friend of mine is suspected and is
under arrest. I am sure he is innocent, however, absolutely sure; but
I can see no way to prove it. I want you to find a way. Money is no
object, Mr. Carter, for he is very dear to me and----”
“Pardon.” Nick checked her more gravely. “It would be unkind for me
to leave you in the dark and let you continue to speak so feelingly.
I know all about your friend. I left him only a few minutes ago. Like
you, too, I know that he is innocent. I already am at work to prove
it, Miss Thurlow, and Paulding has from the first been acting under my
instructions.”
It would be impossible to describe the expression of astonishment
on Edna Thurlow’s pretty face upon hearing these disclosures, but
before she could collect herself and reply a stately, very handsome,
and distinguished-looking woman entered from the hall, saying quite
graciously:
“What was that I heard? Mr. Paulding acting under your instructions,
sir?”
Carter turned and bowed, while Edna immediately introduced her mother,
hastily informing her of the detective’s identity and his startling
statements. The detective then accepted an invitation to accompany them
to the library, where he not only dispelled their perplexity, but also
greatly relieved their anxiety by telling them of his relations with
Paulding and, in a strictly confidential way, the nature of his mission.
“As a matter of fact, however, I have called to see you on other
business, Mrs. Thurlow,” he said a little later. “It is your intention,
I have heard, to attend the reception ball of the National Guards
to-morrow evening.”
“Yes, indeed, both of us,” Mrs. Thurlow replied. “I am one of the
sponsors and the director of the ladies’ reception committee.”
“Is it to be quite an elaborate affair?”
“Yes, Mr. Carter, quite so.”
“I understand that you own a very valuable rope of pearls, which you
intend wearing.”
“Yes, surely.” Mrs. Thurlow regarded him with a look of surprise. “When
would I wear it, if not on such an occasion? I wonder at your having
heard of my pearls, however.”
“I have heard something more,” Carter informed her. “I cannot honorably
conceal the fact from you, property of such value being in jeopardy,
but I hope you will consent to act upon my advice and instructions.”
“In jeopardy?” Mrs. Thurlow questioned, turning pale. “What do you
mean, Mr. Carter?”
“I mean, Mrs. Thurlow, that an attempt will be made to steal them.”
“Good heavens!” gasped Edna. “How shocking, mamma!”
“Steal them?” Mrs. Thurlow smiled expressively. “Well, well, that can
be easily prevented. I will not wear them.”
“I thought you would say so,” Nick replied. “On the contrary, however,
I want you to wear them and to conduct yourself precisely as if you
knew nothing about the danger, which I felt constrained to disclose.
Let me tell you the circumstances.”
He then proceeded to do so, showing her the anonymous letter, and then
interrogating her about nearly every feature of the complicated case.
His inquiries proved vain, however, for both Mrs. Thurlow and her
daughter were entirely in the dark as to the identity and motives of
the criminals involved.
“But why, Mr. Carter, having informed me of the danger, do you want me
to wear the pearls?” Mrs. Thurlow inquired. “That will be indiscreet,
at least.”
“Less so than you suppose,” the detective assured her. “I will take
every possible precaution to protect them and prevent the theft. Your
wearing them, however, will give me an opportunity to identify and
capture these miscreants.”
“Ah, I see!” Mrs. Thurlow exclaimed. “But do you think you can
accomplish it?”
“I am very sure of it.”
“Well, to tell the truth, Mr. Carter, I have great confidence in you,”
Mrs. Thurlow said earnestly. “Your frankness in this matter, moreover,
when you could have had what you ask by leaving me in ignorance,
constrains me to take the risk. It would be a benefit to rid this
community of the knaves with which it long has been infested, and I’ll
take the chance and do my part. I will wear the rope of pearls, Mr.
Carter.”
“Good for you, mamma!” said Edna, with some enthusiasm. “I’ll wager
that Mr. Carter will make good.”
Nick smiled and thanked her; then added more seriously:
“But you must conduct yourselves, both of you, precisely as if ignorant
of the circumstances. Do not mention them to any person or the fact
that I have called here. Much may depend upon your doing exactly what I
direct.”
“You may rely upon us to do so,” Mrs. Thurlow assured him.
“Very good,” said the detective. “Tell me, now, who is to be your
escort.”
“My nephew, John Dorson.”
“Jack will look after both of us, Mr. Carter, owing to Mr. Paulding’s
dreadful predicament,” Edna added.
“My instructions include him also,” Nick said, though not then dreaming
the actual need of it. “Do not confide anything to Mr. Dorson. He
might be so vigilant and attentive to you, Mrs. Thurlow, that the
crooks would not attempt the theft. That would, of course, preclude my
catching them.”
“We will be governed accordingly,” Mrs. Thurlow again assured him.
Nick lingered only to add a few minor instructions. It was after eleven
o’clock when he returned to the Wilton House, now feeling sure that he
would outwit the unknown crooks in any game they might attempt to play
and that more definite discoveries concerning them would speedily be
made.
The detective had further proof of their craft and sagacity, however,
upon entering his suite. For he found Patsy Garvan waiting for him, who
had learned that the automobile having the State license number he had
looked up was owned by one of the leading bankers in the State, who
dwelt more than a hundred miles from Madison.
“It could not have been his car that I saw,” declared Patsy, after
reporting the facts. “That’s a cinch, chief, and it admits of only one
conclusion. That chauffeur had false number plates, or had altered his
own in some way.”
Nick Carter’s brows knitted ominously, but he did not comment upon this
further evidence of knavish foresight. Instead, he asked a bit abruptly:
“Have you seen Chick?”
“Not yet,” said Patsy. “He has not returned.”
“That looks bad, too.” Nick spoke with a growl. “It ought not to have
taken him three hours to search Todd’s apartments. It could have been
done in half that time. Can it be that anything has gone wrong there
also and that these rascals----Get your hat, Patsy,” he abruptly
digressed. “Get a move on and go with me. We’ll have a look at Todd’s
apartments.”
It was nearly twelve o’clock when, having aroused the night manager
of the Studley, they obtained admission to the rooms of the murdered
man and switched on the electric light. The scene that met their gaze
brought a horrified ejaculation from the manager and a cry of dismay
from Patsy Garvan.
Chick was lying where he had fallen, with his arms extended, his right
sleeve drawn up a little, and with his face upturned in the bright
light, as ghastly white as the face of a dead man.
The rooms were in shocking disorder. A roll-top desk had been broken
open and looted from top to bottom. Table drawers, those of a bureau
and chiffonier, a trunk in the wardrobe closet--the contents of all had
been pulled out and scattered broadcast over the floor. From end to
end, in fact, the apartments had been thoroughly searched.
“By thunder, this was not Chick’s work!” cried Carter, with features
turning flinty. “We have been balked again, balked by this gang of
infernal----What do you say, Patsy? He’s not dead, surely! I can see
that plainly.”
Patsy then was crouching on the floor beside the prostrate detective.