SECRET FOES AT WORK.
In spite of the sharp lookout maintained by Nick Carter and his
assistant for the launch with the five rascals in it all the way down
to that upper part of Manhattan Island where New York City has reached
only to give certain favored persons semirural homes, they saw nothing
of the evil-faced Larry Dugan and his companions.
“There’s Crownledge,” pointed out Chick, as they came opposite the
handsome house, in its own grounds, which Marcos and his mother had
taken for a temporary residence.
The launch ran up to the landing, and Nick Carter, leaving his
assistant to take care of the boat, went into the house.
He was met at the door by Claudia Solado, Marcos’ cousin. The girl was
delighted to see the detective.
“Mr. Carter, I am so glad you have come,” she said, as she put her
soft hand into his. “Marcos wants to start for Joyalita at once, and,
really, he is not well enough. After all he passed through in escaping
from Prince Miguel and my uncle, and being so nearly drowned, he is
weak and feverish. I am sure that if he will stay in the house until
to-morrow morning, he will be so much better that there will be no
danger.”
“You have not seen Don Solado, your uncle, or Prince Miguel, near
Crownledge this morning, have you?” he asked.
“No. The last I saw of them was when you saved Marcos from drowning and
allowed those two men to capture you to save him.”
“That didn’t hurt me much, you see,” laughed Nick Carter. “They seemed
to think they could hold me on that hired yacht of theirs up the river.
But I got the better of them. If I had not, probably I should not be
here now.”
“Where are they?”
“I don’t know. But so long as they are not bothering Marcos, I don’t
think we need care. Where is the prince?”
“In the library.”
“May I see him?”
“Of course. He is anxious for you to go in. He saw you through the
window, coming up from the river.”
Marcos was a well-built, robust young man at ordinary times. But he did
not look robust just now. His face was pale and his movements lacked
their usual resiliency.
Notwithstanding all this, his resemblance to Nick Carter was startling.
The features were alike, and even the poise of the head, the set of the
shoulders, and the general attitude, were identical.
“This is a pleasure, Mr. Carter!”
As Prince Marcos said this, the girl actually looked closely at her
cousin to make sure that he was speaking, and not the detective.
“Glad to see you are all right, sir,” returned Carter. “You’ll pardon
my not calling you ‘your highness,’ will you not? In the first place,
I do not think it would be wise for you to use your title while in New
York, and then again I must confess it is much easier to me to speak as
if you were an ordinary American or Englishman.”
“Quite right, my dear Carter!” returned Marcos heartily. “I wish you
would address me as plain Mr. Joyal. That will suggest my country to
me, and the name does not smell of royalty, does it?”
He asked this with a naïveté that pleased the detective. There was no
nonsense about Marcos.
“Very well, Mr. Joyal. That shall be your name hereafter. Where is your
valet?”
“He is here. In the adjoining room. Phillips!”
As he called this name, Phillips came in, a tall, quiet-mannered young
man in a plain business suit. He did not look like a valet. It was part
of his latest instructions from his employer that he should not appear
to be what he was. Marcos had wisely come to the conclusion that there
must not be any suggestion of royalty about him or his entourage if he
meant to get back in safety to his own realm within the time limit.
“You were hurt by those men who stole Prince Marcos--I mean, Mr.
Joyal--from Crownledge, the night before last, were you not?” asked
Nick Carter.
“Yes. But I am quite well now,” answered Phillips composedly.
“I am glad to hear it. Mr. Joyal may need your help. He will be
starting for Joyalita to-night.”
“Very good, sir.”
Phillips would have said “Very good!” if he had been told that he
was to be led to execution that night, or if it had been decided to
make him Prince of Joyalita. Which is by way of saying that he was a
perfectly trained man-servant of the European type. Impassiveness was
his trade-mark.
He withdrew now, without another word.
“My mother is at Newport, visiting friends, and desires to stay there
for a month,” remarked Marcos. “After that she will spend another month
or two in this country. I am glad of it.”
“So am I,” said Nick Carter quietly. “It is better for the party that
goes to Joyalita to be as small and unobtrusive as possible.”
“Is it necessary to wait until to-night before Marcos goes?” asked
Claudia. “Don’t you think it will be dangerous for him to remain in New
York all day?”
“I don’t think so. But there would be some likelihood of the enemy
spying out our doings in the daylight. We must get away without any
brass-band accompaniment.”
“Do you know where my Uncle Solado is now?” asked the girl.
“I do not,” replied the detective.
This was the absolute truth. He did not know. He could have told how
Solado and Miguel had been dragged away by Larry Dugan and his two
fellow ruffians and carried off in a power launch. But that would only
have led to more questioning, which he did not want.
“What time should we start?” asked Marcos.
“Not before nine o’clock,” replied the detective decidedly. “It will
be quite dark by that time, and we shall have a chance to slip away
without being noticed.”
“I suppose that is the better plan,” assented Marcos. “It will seem
like a long day, however.”
“All the better,” rejoined Nick. “You need a rest. These four hours may
do you a world of good.”
“You will not remain with me, I suppose?”
“I want to go down to my home to look after my mail and so on. But I
will come back early in the afternoon.”
“You have not had breakfast yet, have you?”
“I shall breakfast at home, with my assistant. And, by the way, he
is waiting for me down by the river. Before I go, there is one thing
I want to speak about. The other night, at the ball in the Hotel
Supremacy, there came into my possession, in a curious way, a valuable
jewel-incrusted watch, on which was the letter ‘M’ in diamonds, and----”
“Mr. Carter!” interrupted Marcos eagerly. “Have you that watch still?
Can you get it?”
“The watch is in my safe. I intend to bring it to you to-day.”
“Can you? Can you?” cried Marcos excitedly. “That watch means so much
to me. It is more than a mere timekeeper or ornament. It is bound up in
the destinies of the ruling house of Joyalita. I cannot tell you how
important it is. The watch, with the fob attached, is known as the Seal
of Gijon.”
“The watch shall be restored to you when I come back this afternoon.”
“You found it, you say?”
“At the Hotel Supremacy. It is claimed by Prince Miguel, your cousin,”
returned Nick Carter. “Mrs. van Raikes, who gave the ball at the hotel
that night, enlisted my services to find the watch. I had it then, but
I did not say so. I was sure that there was a significance attached to
it which required that it should not be lightly passed along without my
being sure that it did not get into improper hands.”
“As a matter of fact, Mr. Carter, I may as well tell you that that
watch is the insignia of the ruler of Joyalita. It has the character of
the great seal used in most monarchies. I did not take it to the Hotel
Supremacy that night. In fact, I never have been in the hotel at any
time. It could have been taken there only by my cousin, Prince Miguel.”
“How did he get it?”
“It disappeared from my desk, where I had it in a secret drawer.”
“Who knew of that secret drawer besides yourself?”
“No one that I know of.”
“Phillips?”
“Phillips is above suspicion,” returned Marcos coldly.
“No doubt. But did he know of the secret drawer?” persisted Nick.
“He did not. I am sure of it.”
“What other servants have had access to your room?”
“Only the maid who attended to the room, and she never was long enough
there to get at the drawer. Phillips always makes it a point to go in
and out of my apartment at short intervals when any one is there doing
work of any kind.”
“Hum!” was all Nick Carter replied to this. Adding: “Don’t speak of
what I have told you to anybody.”
He went away, giving the assurance that he would return in the
afternoon, and, after telling Chick to come home as soon as he had
returned the boat to the man from whom it had been hired, Joe Travers,
he hustled downtown as fast as a subway express could take him.
After breakfast and a change of clothing, Nick Carter’s first action
was to look in his safe to make sure that the jewel watch was safe.
He took it out and looked at it. When he had examined it for a few
moments, he saw that there was a spring, evidently intended to be
secret, hidden beneath the catch that opened the outer case.
“I should like to know what that spring controls,” he muttered, as he
looked at the watch under a strong light on his large library table.
“But it is not my secret. If it has any bearing on the attack of Solado
and Miguel upon Marcos, or if it was the principal inducement to Miguel
to steal the article, I may learn something about it later. At all
events, if there is anything more to interfere with the departure of
Marcos from New York, I will keep this secret spring in mind.”
The detective was accustomed to take clews wherever he found them, and
it was his experience that trifles like this spring in the valuable
watch often led to discoveries very much worth while.
He was still musing over the watch when his telephone bell rang.
Something seemed to tell him that there was a communication of
importance trembling on the wire, and he responded with a sharp “Hello!”
“This is Claudia,” was the response. “That you, Mr. Carter?”
“Yes. What is it, Miss Solado?”
“Your assistant, Mr. Chickering Carter----”
“Yes, yes?” cried the detective, as the girl paused.
“He has gone!”
“Gone? Where?”
“I can’t tell you everything on the telephone,” rejoined the girl. “But
if you will hurry up to Crownledge, you will know what to do.”
“I’ll come right away,” answered Nick. “But I wish you’d tell me where
my assistant was when he disappeared.”
“There was a scuffle in the house, and when Phillips and Jason went to
see what it was all about, Mr. Chickering had gone. Please hurry!”
“I’ll come at once, of course--be with you in about twenty minutes. But
one more question. Who is Jason?”
“Phillips’ assistant. The ‘second man,’ as they call him. He is a
chauffeur in Joyalita, but has not acted in that capacity in New York.”
“Mr. Marcos’--I mean Mr. Joyal’s--servant, eh?”
“Yes. Under Phillips.”
“I understand,” replied Nick. “Good-by! I’ll soon be with you.”
“You will find me waiting for you,” was the girl’s agitated answer.