READY FOR A CLINCH.
When the party entered the big residence, Briggs met them at the door.
He was white, trembling, and generally disgruntled.
He had no hesitation about admitting the chief of police, but it was
not until Captain Douglas had said that his companions were friends of
his, and important persons from New York, that he made room for Nick
Carter and the others to go in.
“Take us to Mr. Portersham’s rooms,” ordered Douglas sharply, in his
most official tone.
“There is no one in any of them,” returned Briggs. “I have not let
anybody go near them this morning. Mr. Morlein is in bed in his room,
and the doctor is with him.”
“He is not in a serious condition, is he?”
“No, sir. I don’t think so. But he hasn’t come properly out of the
sleep he was in. He must have had an awfully strong dose of dope,
according to what I hear.”
“Very likely,” agreed the captain. “We’ll see him later. Where was Mr.
Portersham when he saw Senator Garnford?”
“In the library.”
“I’ll go into the library,” announced Douglas.
“The door is locked. I guess Mr. Portersham locked it when he went
away. The other rooms are open.”
“All right!”
Nick Carter did not take any part in this colloquy. He was listening
closely, however, and making a mental note of everything that was said.
They went into the dining room, bedroom, sitting room, and public
office that had been used by Portersham, but not into the library. The
door of this last-named apartment was the only one that was closed and
fastened.
“Haven’t got a key to this door, have you, Briggs?”
“No, sir. Mr. Portersham carries it himself, always.”
“What do you think, Mr. Carter?” asked the chief of police, in a rather
dubious tone.
“We’ve got to see the inside of that room,” was Nick’s short response.
“Break it open?”
“If there is no other way.”
“There doesn’t seem to be.”
“I might climb up to the window, with a ladder--or without one, for
that matter,” volunteered Chick.
“That wouldn’t do. Everybody outside would wonder what was going on,”
objected Nick Carter. “We don’t want to call general attention to this
trouble. Eh, captain?”
“Certainly not,” was Douglas’ hurried response.
“I should like to shin up to that window,” put in Patsy.
“Well, you can’t,” said Chick. “I’ll do it, if it were to be done at
all. You can’t have all the fun.”
“It’s mighty little fun I’ve had since I’ve been down here,” grumbled
Patsy. “It’s the dullest place I ever was in.”
“It wouldn’t be hard to force the door, would it?” asked Paul Clayton.
“We can all tackle it together.”
“It’s a pretty heavy door,” remarked Douglas. “I’ve seen it open, and
it is nearly three inches thick.”
“What’s the idea?” asked Patsy.
“To keep the sound in when they are talking.”
“Gee! I don’t see what they want a three-inch door for, just for that,”
was Patsy’s scornful comment. “Why couldn’t they whisper if they were
talking secrets.”
“Well, never mind about that,” interposed Nick Carter. “We’ve got to
break it down.”
“Hold on!” cried Douglas. “This is a pretty dangerous thing. I don’t
know that we have the right to do it. When the governor comes back he
might raise Hail Columbia with us.”
“You mean the acting governor, don’t you?” asked Chick.
“Either one,” replied the chief of police. “What are we expecting to
find in there, anyhow?”
“I’m convinced that we shall find something,” declared Nick Carter. “I
want to make sure that Senator Garnford really did come in here. I have
what I regard as positive proof that the senator is in Washington, and
I want to find out who has been impersonating him in San Juan.”
“You think that is what has happened?” asked Douglas, elevating his
eyebrows. “That sounds rather wild, don’t you think?”
“Perhaps it does,” answered Nick. “But I’ve been on the trail of a wild
man since I came to San Juan, and I fancy I can detect the fine Italian
hand of that person in this whole affair.”
Captain Douglas knew the reputation of Nick Carter as a detective who
did not make mistakes, and he had the highest respect for his ability
and acumen. He did not press his objection.
At the worst, he would have Carter to share the responsibility.
“All right, Mr. Carter!” he said. “Let her go!”
Nick Carter, Chick, Patsy, and Clayton put their shoulders against the
door, and, at a word from Nick, the four pushed with all their might.
There was a crash, but the door did not break down. Only a splintering
of wood told that it had been weakened by the assault.
“Stop!” shouted Captain Douglas. “I’m afraid to go on with this. It is
liable to put us all in jail. You can’t fool with the United States
government. This is a government building, and I don’t propose to----”
Nick Carter took no heed of this protest. He had made up his mind to
find out what was in this room, at any cost. He had come so near the
actual truth in his surmise, that he would not have drawn back now, no
matter who might have objected.
“Again, boys!” he shouted.
The four hurled themselves again at the weakened door. This time there
was more effect than at first.
Another crash resounded through the building, and, as the door toppled,
the quartet went sprawling into the room, with Patsy and Chick landing
with a bump against the heavy table in the middle.
Nick Carter and Paul Clayton fell on top of the door.
The detective was the first to gain his feet. He had caught a glimpse
of something under the table that made him rush over in a hurry.
“Push this table away!” he shouted.
His two assistants and Paul Clayton put their hands to the ponderous
piece of furniture and shoved.
Heavy as it was, it had good, easy casters. Therefore the table rolled
away several feet at once.
As it did so, there was revealed, lying on the floor, Jabez Portersham,
his eyes asking dumbly for assistance.
The gag was in his mouth, and the cruel wires with which he had been
bound were cutting into his flesh. He was nearly exhausted.
“Heaven save us!” ejaculated Captain Douglas. “It’s Mr. Portersham!”
Deeply as Nick Carter sympathized with the unfortunate acting governor,
he could not help glancing, with a slight smile of triumph, at the
chief of police.
The detective’s vague suspicion had been verified to a degree by the
discovery. He had been certain that the man who had posed as Senator
Garnford was an impostor. Here was part proof, at least.
Nick Carter’s ever-useful pocketknife, with its many tools in the
handle, came into play again. A pair of wire cutters was included
in its equipment, and it did not take long to snip the wires off the
unfortunate official.
They soon had Portersham on his feet. Then Patsy and Chick, in
obedience to the instructions of Nick Carter, ran him up and down the
room a few times, to take the stiffness out of his limbs.
Afterward they sat him in his own easy-chair, and waited for him to
compose himself.
“What does it mean?” he asked, in a dazed way, as he passed his tongue
over his dry lips. “What could have induced Senator Garnford, of all
men, to play such a trick on me?”
“It was Senator Garnford, then?” asked Douglas.
“Yes. I remember that much,” was the reply.
“You are mistaken,” put in Nick Carter.
“No,” insisted Portersham. “I saw him. We were talking, in a friendly
way. Then, all at once, he caught me around the neck and put some
stuff to my face in a cloth that made me lose my senses. I know it was
Senator Garnford. There is no mistake about that.”
“You’re wrong,” said Nick. “There was a mistake. A rascal pretended to
be the senator. He wanted to get to you, and now he has got away as the
result of his game here.”
“I don’t see how it could be,” said Portersham, shaking his head
feebly. “Who do you think the man was?”
“His name is John Garrison Rayne.”
“What?” cried Portersham. “The safe robber and bank sneak? Rayne? I’ve
heard of him.”
“So have I,” added Douglas bitterly. “To my cost. If it is that
blackguard, I’ll have him before he gets out of San Juan.”
“I’m afraid not,” contradicted Nick Carter. “Unless I am very much
mistaken, he is on the Atlantic Ocean, well on his way to New York by
this time.”
“What makes you think so?”
“I can’t give you all my reasons in detail. It would take too long. But
we will inquire at the wharf, and I think we shall find that he went on
the _Spangled Star_, pretending he was Jabez Portersham.”
“Pretending he was I?” put in the acting governor. “I don’t understand.”
“You will later,” answered Nick. “There’s a telephone on the floor,
Patsy. It was knocked off the table when we shoved it away. See if you
can get the agent of the steamship line, will you?”
“Sure!” replied Patsy, glad to have something to do.
There was ten minutes at the telephone, and Patsy announced that Mr.
Portersham had been a passenger on the steamer _Spangled Star_, which
left at ten o’clock the night before.
“The blackguard!” ejaculated Portersham, adding something under his
breath that was rather strong, but hardly to be wondered at in the
circumstances. “You’ll follow him up, won’t you?”
The eyes of Nick Carter narrowed, and his firm jaw seemed to take on
additional hardness, as he replied:
“I have business with that fellow, John Garrison Rayne, Mr. Portersham,
that has brought me all the way from New York. That is the only reason
I am here. When I do round him up--as I will before he is a month
older--I’ll make him answer for all that he has done. That means that
you will be avenged, I assure you.”
“You will have to go to New York after him, I suppose?”
“That is where we must look first,” returned Nick.
Portersham clenched his fists, and, although weakened by his many hours
of torturing confinement, he showed an energy which would become more
powerful as he regained his strength.
“I wish I could go with you, Mr. Carter,” he said. “I don’t mind a
straight fight. But this----”
The telephone bell rang. Patsy whipped the receiver off the hook and
shouted “Hello!”
“What’s that?” he went on, into the instrument. “You say she’s in
trouble? Got a wireless?”
He turned to those in the room, putting a hand over the transmitter.
“Gee!” he ejaculated. “Here’s more of it! Well, what do you think of
that?”
“What?” demanded Chick.
“Great Cæsar! Wouldn’t that jar you?” was all Patsy responded, as he
turned again to the telephone.
He listened a few moments. Then, as he clapped the receiver on the
hook, he announced, trying to speak calmly:
“The steamer _Spangled Star_ is in trouble a hundred miles out. One of
her engines has broken down, and she is limping back to port as well as
she can with the other.”
“What? To San Juan?” demanded Chick.
“Sure!” replied Patsy.
“That’s good. We’ll be there to meet her when she comes in,” said Nick
Carter, with a smile that was partly a vengeful frown.