NICK GIVES A WARNING.
The clerk in the law office who received the rather startling
announcement of the identity of the stranger, also perceived and
recognized Nick Carter, who entered the office immediately behind the
man.
His impulsive assumption was, of course, that the two had come there
together, and that in some manner the detective had found trace of the
man for whom advertisements had been spread broadcast through the
country.
But a quick, warning glance from the detective warned the clerk that
such was not the case; and then followed the statement of the man who
called himself Carleton Lynne that he was there only because of an
advertisement he had seen in a Western paper.
Nick Carter, who was still behind the younger man, nodded his head
significantly toward the clerk and, with a jerk of his thumb toward a
chair, indicated that the stranger should be requested to take a seat
and wait until he could be received in the inner office; and at the same
time his lips noiselessly formed the one word, “Wait.”
The clerk saw and understood.
Stepping forward quickly, he said, with the utmost graciousness:
“Glad to see you, Mr. Lynne. Our advertisements have been spread rather
generously throughout the West, in the hope that you might see one of
them, and so communicate with this firm. We scarcely expected to see you
in person so soon. Will you be seated? Mr. Oaks will see you presently.
He happens to be engaged just now.”
He indicated a chair, and then, without waiting for a response to his
invitation, gave his attention to Nick Carter, who had taken the
opportunity to cross to one of the windows, where he now stood with his
back toward Carleton Lynne.
The clerk, carrying out the part which he had comprehended by the slight
signal that had been flashed to him by the detective, spoke to him in a
comparatively low tone, but yet so that the caller could hear the words.
“Please step right inside, to the private office, sir,” he said. “Mr.
Oaks is awaiting you with some impatience. You are late.”
The detective replied only with a curt nod, although he smiled inwardly
at the ready wit of the clerk, who had understood him so perfectly.
He passed quickly through the doorway into the private office, and
closed the door quickly behind him, finding himself in the presence of
the great lawyer, who was at that moment engaged in dictating his
correspondence to his secretary, and who raised his eyes to the
detective with a distinct frown of displeasure at being so
unceremoniously interrupted.
“I am sorry, Oaks,” said Nick, speaking quickly. “I know that you do not
like interruptions when you are occupied with your correspondence; but
in this case the end justifies the means. Carleton Lynne is--out there.”
He jerked a thumb toward the outer office.
The frown left the lawyer’s face, and an expression of perplexed
interest took its place.
“What?” he said. “Carleton Lynne--the heir?”
The detective nodded, and added:
“That is how he announced himself. He came up in the elevator with me;
he entered your office door just in front of me, and--well, I wanted to
see you before he did.”
“Quite right, Carter--quite right. I’m glad you came right in. Miss
McQueen, you may go into the library for a few moments, please.” This to
the stenographer, who left her chair at once and passed through a
half-opened doorway opposite the one by which the detective had entered
the room; nor did she close it after her, as it happened, although
neither of the men regarded that fact as one of importance at the
moment.
“Well?” said the lawyer, as soon as he was alone with the detective.
“I have already told you all there is to say about the arrival of
Carleton Lynne,” replied Nick Carter. “You know, now, as much about that
interesting fact as I do.”
“Then what?”
“I have come here directly from the courthouse and from the finish of
the Babbington case. I thought I would get here before the news was
being cried aloud on the streets.”
“An acquittal, Carter?”
“Yes.”
“It is no more than you expected--it is what you anticipated, isn’t it?”
“Precisely.”
The lawyer shrugged his shoulders.
“Oh, well,” he said, “what of it? Thomas Lynne has been convicted, and
will die for the two crimes he has committed. While there is no doubt
that the woman was an accessory, before and after the fact, I’m rather
glad--that is to say, I am not sorry--er--that she---- Oh, confound it!
One doesn’t like to see a beautiful woman condemned to death, or even
sent to prison for the rest of her life.”
The detective smiled enigmatically.
“I perceive that you have fallen under the spell of her witchery, as
well as others, Oaks,” he said.
“Nonsense! I----”
“I remember that the last time I was here you told me that you had
received a request from her to call upon her at the Tombs. I recall,
also, that you stated that you should not go to see her. Am I to
understand that you changed your mind and went there?”
“Yes. She sent me a second message, and I went to see her. Where was the
harm in that, Carter?”
“That, my dear Mr. Oaks, is for you to say; only it would appear from
what you have just said that she has fascinated you, as well as the
twelve men who held her fate in their hands.”
“That is all utter nonsense, of course,” replied the lawyer, with a
frown.
“Is it? I am not so sure of that. Did you go alone?”
“No; I took my secretary with me.”
“The young woman who just left this room?”
“Yes; Miss McQueen. I was glad that I had done so, too, for Mrs.
Babbington wished to dictate some letters, which I instructed Miss
McQueen to remain and take for her; on condition, of course, that the
district attorney should be shown copies of the letters before they were
sent away.”
“I see. How long did Miss McQueen remain with Mrs. Babbington after you
came away?”
“Not above an hour--less than that, I think. There were only four
letters. I have copies of them here. Would you care to see them,
Carter?”
“No. For what purpose, now that the woman has been acquitted? Were
copies of them sent to the district attorney?”
“Yes. They were unimportant. Merely letters to her former society
friends, in which she stated that, whether she should be convicted or
acquitted, she renounced all claims to her former social status.”
“Rather an unnecessary announcement, that, don’t you think?” remarked
the detective, with a slow smile.
“Perhaps--under the circumstances,” replied the lawyer.
The detective leaned back in his chair and lighted a cigar, which he
took from one of his pockets. After a moment, he said:
“When the verdict was announced, the district attorney and I spent a few
moments together, discussing the woman. We were quite agreed on one
point concerning her--and, after what you have just said, I haven’t the
slightest doubt that you will agree with us, too.”
“Concerning what, Carter?”
“The woman’s eyes. They seem to have had a strange effect upon you.”
“Look here, Carter, what are you driving at?”
“The district attorney and I agreed that the woman, Mrs. Madge
Morton-Hurd-Babbington by name, has wonderful eyes, which in repose are
like the eyes of a captive and sleepy tigress, and which can flame into
burning hate, also, like the eyes of an enraged tigress. The district
attorney assured me that her eyes had a strange and paralyzing effect
upon him, hardened as he is in the practice of criminal prosecution.
Ergo, you did not escape the paralyzing effect of them, Oaks.”
“What the dev----”
“The proof of it lies in the fact that you consented, at her request, to
come away from her cell in the Tombs and leave your stenographer there
alone with her.”
“What possible harm could befall Miss McQueen under such circumstances,
Carter? Because the woman was charged with murder, and because you
believed her guilty, and still believe her so, is it any reason to
suppose that she would do violence to a young woman who was left for a
few moments alone with her?”
Nick Carter shrugged his shoulders, and did not reply to the question.
Instead, he permitted his gaze to wander for a moment toward the
half-open door between the private office of the great lawyer and the
library, and then he abruptly changed the subject.
“What about this young man who is waiting outside to see you?” he asked.
“Why, he inherits the estate, of course.”
“But there must first be adequate and convincing proof of his identity,
I suppose?”
“Naturally.”
“I need not remind you, Oaks, that the newspaper notoriety which has
been given to the matter of the inheritance through the furore over the
Babbington case has opened up an immense opportunity for the commission
of a fraud?”
“No; you need not remind me of that. I am quite well aware of it,”
replied the lawyer, with a trace of offense in his tones.
“The estate is a very large one,” remarked the detective, taking no
notice of the tone the lawyer had used.
“Very large, larger than people generally suppose. It will figure up to
a dozen millions, probably.”
“Well, I came down here not only to tell you about the verdict in the
Babbington case, but also to offer you my services in the search for
Carleton Lynne. I arrive here and discover that the man is here. My
offer is still open if you find that you require any assistance in
establishing the identity of this young man who is outside, waiting to
interview you.”
“Good. I thank you. But the fellow would scarcely venture here
unless----”
“Unless he were well provided with the necessary proofs. I grant you
that. But, Oaks, I sometimes have strange ‘hunches’ in the practice of
my profession, and one of them tells me--told me the moment I entered
your outer office--that this man may not be all that he will represent
himself. That is all. I will give way to him now.”
“What do you mean--that the man is a fraud?”
“No; I mean that he may be one. I mean that the woman who has just been
acquitted of the charge of murder is not one to relinquish without a
struggle all that she has fought so hard to obtain. I mean that the
effect of the tiger eye, as practiced upon the jury, and upon you, too,
might well have been directed in other channels. I mean that if the
matter of establishing his identity were in my hands, I would subject
every proof that is offered to a minute inspection under a microscope. I
have a feeling that we have not heard the last of Madge Babbington, Mr.
Oaks.”