THE STOLEN BRIDE.
Nick Carter evidently was the man George Vandyke was seeking. He
appeared unable to speak for a moment, nevertheless, so great was his
suppressed excitement.
“I’ve been looking for you,” he finally gasped, when Nick seized him by
the arm and shook him. “They told me you were here. I----”
“Out with it!” repeated Nick more sharply. “What’s the trouble?”
“Clayton has disappeared,” choked Vandyke. “He cannot be found. His
bride also is missing. Neither of them are in their rooms, nor----”
“Good God! Has the blow fallen?”
Mr. Langham staggered as if he had, indeed, received a brutal blow.
Nick Carter immediately took the ribbons.
“Don’t create a stir!” he commanded quickly. “Leave me to look into the
matter. Since both are missing, they may have departed together, bent
upon eluding their very zealous friends and a deluge of confetti.”
“That cannot be, Nick,” Vandyke hurriedly protested. “Clayton’s suit
case is still in his room. He would have taken it with him, of course,
if he----”
“Leave it to me. Don’t alarm the guests needlessly.”
“But some of them already know----”
Nick did not wait for more. He brushed by the two men, and, outwardly
perfectly calm, hastened through the crowded hall toward the main
stairway.
Both Chick Carter and Patsy Garvan then were on the main floor of the
vast house, the former near the open front door, where, both in the hall
and on the granite steps and the broad veranda outside, scores of guests
had gathered to speed the happy couple on their wedding journey.
Chick saw Nick approaching and caught the ominous gleam in his
expressive eyes.
“What’s up?” he asked quietly, hastily meeting him.
Nick now said what he really thought.
“That devil has got in his work again.”
“Not Margate?”
“I fear so. Both bride and groom are missing.”
“The deuce you say!”
“Nothing could have been pulled off, however, under the eyes of this mob
on the steps and veranda. Slip around to the side door and see what you
can learn,” Nick hurriedly directed. “Keep your eyes open and nail any
one acting suspiciously. Get word to Patsy and send him to the rear
door. The trick may not have been turned yet. They can have been missing
only a few minutes.”
“I’m wise,” Chick nodded, starting for the side hall and the broad exit
under the massive porte-cochère.
Nick hastened to the second floor and toward the two rear rooms used by
the bride and groom that evening, those in front having been needed to
accommodate the throng of guests.
Nick discovered a solitary bridesmaid near the door of Clara’s room, and
somewhat apart from the group of women then near the stairs. She
happened to be one with whom he was acquainted, and he hurriedly
approached her.
“What’s this I hear, Miss Arden?” he said quietly. “What do you know
about it?”
“Little enough, Mr. Carter,” she replied, pale and mystified. “I only
know that Clara sent us all from her room after she was dressed for her
journey. She explained that her father wanted to see her privately
before she left, and that she was momentarily expecting him. We left her
alone, therefore, and went downstairs.”
“You mean yourself and the other bridesmaids?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Not more than ten minutes; hardly as long, I think.”
“Who discovered her absence?”
“I did. I returned to get my handkerchief, which I had left in the room.
I found the room deserted. Clara had gone, but her suit case and hand
bag still are there. I came out, of course, and I at once saw Mr.
Vandyke coming up the side stairs. I told him about it, Mr. Carter, and
he said that Clara probably was with Mr. Clayton in his room. He
knocked, but received no answer. He then went in and found that Mr.
Clayton also was missing.”
“Did you make any inquiries among the guests here in the hall?”
“Yes, immediately. We could find no one who had seen either of them go
out. Strange though it seems, both of them have mysteriously
disappeared, leaving their luggage in their rooms.”
“You say that Miss Langham, or, rather, Mrs. Clayton, was clad in her
outside garments?”
“Yes, sir. She had on her hat, veil, and jacket, and was ready to leave
at any moment.”
“What is her traveling costume?”
“A navy-blue suit with hat and veil to match.”
“Who, now, is in her room?”
“No one, Mr. Carter. She----”
“Wait!” Nick interrupted. “I will look in there.”
He stepped into the room while speaking. It was in considerable disorder
after the change of attire from a wedding gown to a traveling costume.
There was no sign of the missing girl, no written line explaining her
sudden departure, no evidence of when, why, or how she had gone. Both
windows were open, but in each there was a wire screen secured on the
inside. Nick saw plainly that neither of them had been tampered with.
“By Jove, this looks bad enough. It looks, indeed, as if Dave Margate
has again got in his work,” he said to himself while retracing his
steps. “Has the rascal designs upon this girl, disregarding the valuable
gifts now in the house? Those were safely guarded from every side, but
who would have thought it necessary to guard her in such a throng as
this?”
“What do you think about it, Mr. Carter?” questioned Miss Arden, awed by
the more serious expression on the detective’s face when he came from
the room.
“I cannot say at present,” Nick replied. “Don’t be alarmed, nor spread
the news too quickly. There still is a possibility that they will
return.”
He did not wait for an answer, but hastened into an opposite room, that
occupied by Chester Clayton.
There Nick found, at first, the same negative conditions. A single
window overlooked the rear grounds. It was closed and locked. Clayton’s
suit case stood near the door. His overcoat and hat were missing,
however, though a pair of new kid gloves lay on the dressing stand.
Nick had only time to note these features of the scene when Vandyke
hurriedly entered, looking even more pale and disturbed.
“Why did you apprehend so quickly that something was wrong?” Nick asked
a bit abruptly, turning to him.
“Only because Clayton appeared to fear some mishap,” Vandyke replied.
“He admitted he had no definite reason for it, but he seemed very
nervous.”
“Where were you when he left? You were his best man.”
“True. I came here to tell you about that.”
“About what?”
“One of the caterer’s assistants came in here a short time ago, not more
than twenty minutes, and stated that Mr. Lenaire wanted to see me in the
dining room.”
“Lenaire is the caterer?”
“Yes. It was upon my recommendation that he was given this job. I asked
Clayton if he had any immediate use for me, and he told me to go ahead
and see what Lenaire wanted. I did so and found him in the dining room.”
“What did he want?”
“He wanted to thank me again for having recommended him, and also to ask
me to express his gratitude to Clayton for having seconded my
suggestion, which he feared he would not have an opportunity to do
personally before Clayton departed. He explained at some length, Nick,
and when I returned I found that Clayton was missing. Then, when unable
to find Clara, I feared something was wrong.”
“I see,” Nick nodded. “Did the waiter who came up return to the dining
room with you?”
“No, not with me,” said Vandyke. “I hurried down ahead of him. I did not
see him again.”
“Do you know his name?”
“I think Lenaire called him Toulon.”
“By Jove, I think I scent the rat in the meal,” Nick muttered. “Have you
looked in the closet, Vandyke?”
“Not yet. Who would expect to find Clayton in the closet, or concealed
in any part of the room? It would be absurd to suppose anything of the
kind----”
“Not absurd to me,” Nick suddenly interrupted. “See for yourself.”
He had, while Vandyke was speaking, looked hurriedly into the wardrobe
closet and under the bed. A broad, old-fashioned couch near one of the
walls then claimed his attention. It was draped with a valance, which he
quickly raised, and then he found what he was seeking.
Flat on his back under the couch lay the senseless form of Chester
Clayton, his eyes closed and his white face upturned, as ghastly as if
the hand of death had been laid upon him.
Vandyke recoiled with a shudder.
“Good heavens!” he cried. “Is he dead? Is he dead, Mr. Carter?”
“Quiet,” Nick cautioned. “No, not dead. The rascal who did this job
doesn’t thrust his knavish neck into a noose. Clayton has been drugged.
It’s the work of the same miscreant who downed him at the time of the
jewel robbery.”
“David Margate?”
“Yes.”
“What shall we----”
“Don’t stop to question,” Nick interrupted. “Lend me a hand and we will
place him on the couch. Slip out and find a physician, if there is one
among the guests. Don’t alarm them, however, by stating what has
occurred. A physician soon can revive him. Send Mr. Langham in here, but
not a word about this to Mrs. Julia Clayton. Leave me to inform her.”
“You think----”
“Never mind what I think,” Nick again cut in while they placed the
senseless man on the couch. “Do what I have directed.”
“But Clara, his wife--what of her?”
“There’s nothing to it, Vandyke,” said the detective. “It’s as plain as
twice two. The bride has been stolen.”