NICK CARTER’S INSIGHT.
Langham Manor, by which name the great stone mansion and vast estate of
the millionaire banker was known, presented a very different appearance
in the gray light of daybreak on the following morning.
The beautiful grounds and driveways near the house were littered with
bits of rubbish invariable to such an occasion. The lawns were marred
with great tire tracks, where divergencies from the driveways had been
unavoidable. Hundreds of paper lanterns that had lent an aspect of
fairyland to the attractive park now hung limp and discolored below the
drooping branches of the dew-damp trees.
Within the house was a mourning husband, robbed of his bride of two
short hours, and now resting in merciful slumber under drugs
administered by the physician.
Also a sad and anxious father was impatiently awaiting the work of the
detectives, necessarily deferred until daylight, but who had been
forbidden to accompany them when they left the house at early dawn that
June morning. It then was only four o’clock.
“He would be in our way and serve only to hinder us,” Nick said quietly,
after he and Chick had turned a rear corner of the house.
“Sure thing,” Chick muttered. “We can do better alone.”
The detectives were not then in evening dress. They wore the business
suits and woolen caps in which they had journeyed from New York the
previous day in Nick’s powerful touring car. Each had in his pockets,
moreover, a brace of revolvers and a disguise or two, taken from their
suit cases that morning, without which frequently needed articles they
never left home.
Danny Maloney, the detective’s chauffeur, then was asleep in the house,
Nick having decided not to arouse him before he was definitely needed.
“I want one look at the grounds near that bulkhead door,” he observed,
replying to Chick. “It will show whether Toulon put up any struggle with
his three assailants, if there really were three.”
“You doubt that, also?” questioned Chick.
“I doubt most of what Toulon stated.”
“You took extraordinary care to hide your distrust,” replied Chick,
smiling.
“Bet you!” said Nick tersely. “He was the best thread I could pick up,
if not the only seemingly reliable one, and I made sure of keeping him
in the dark.”
“But why did you suspect him so quickly?”
“Because he, or a counterpart of him, had been to Clayton’s room,” Nick
explained. “I no sooner began to question him, Chick, than I felt sure I
was right.”
“Why so?”
“First, because he has worked only two weeks for Lenaire. That smacks of
having got the job with a view to assisting in this crime.”
“I see,” Chick nodded.
“He betrayed himself a moment later by the readiness in which he
explained how the knave who had impersonated him could have learned of
Lenaire’s message to Vandyke.”
“By listening under the dining-room window.”
“Exactly. His readiness showed plainly that he was prepared with that
explanation.”
“True. I suspected that, also your own designs, when you agreed with him
so quickly and remarked to me that he had cleared up that point for us.”
“I knew you would, of course,” said Nick. “I then questioned him about
the short smoke he came out to enjoy. He said it was from a cigarette
and that he is in the habit of using them. He lied. The fingers of a
habitual cigarette smoker of his class are invariably discolored with
nicotine. There was not the slightest sign of it on his.”
“Good work, Nick.”
“I clinched it by carelessly asking him what kind he smoked,” Nick
added. “He hesitated, and then said any old kind. He could not think of
the name of one. Whoever heard of a cigarette smoker who could not
instantly state what kind he habitually buys?”
“Good work again, old man.”
“I then pretended I wanted one,” Nick went on, smiling. “That caught him
again. He had none, but quickly claimed that he had lit his last one and
threw away the box. A cigarette smoker always retains the box until he
lights his last one. Look around. Toulon could not have thrown a small
pasteboard box so far that, if it were out here, we could not see it.”
“Surely not,” Chick agreed. “Naturally, Nick, he would merely have
tossed it upon the ground.”
“Certainly. But it is not here, nor does the ground show any signs of a
struggle.”
“None whatever.”
“He said he was assaulted from behind, but he displayed a bruise on his
forehead, said to have been inflicted with a sand bag,” Nick added
derisively. “He should have been bruised on the back of his head, if
attacked from behind.”
“That’s right, too.”
“And when I suggested finding on his neck the finger prints of the
crook, you saw how quickly he objected and claimed to have been rubbing
his neck.”
“True again, Nick, and very significant,” Chick nodded.
“Plainly enough, Chick, all of his story and the evidence we found were
cut and dried, fixed for him to cover his tracks,” said Nick. “But the
rascal overleaped his mount.”
“He did, indeed, no mistake.”
“Afterward, when I talked with Lenaire, he told me that Toulon had
suggested his seeing Vandyke and sending a word of thanks to Clayton.
That was covertly done to provide a plausible reason for going to
Clayton’s room and getting Vandyke out of the way.”
“Undoubtedly.”
“I have cautioned Lenaire to keep his mouth shut about it. He fell for
the suggestion and gave Toulon the message. Toulon then went up and got
rid of Vandyke. Instead of returning to the dining room, however, he
stole out-of-doors, where he was fixed up as you found him. In the
meantime, made up to resemble Toulon, Dave Margate went up and downed
Clayton in the manner described. Take it from me, Chick, that’s how the
trick was done.”
“And all this, of course, is why you started Patsy on Toulon’s trail.”
“Certainly,” said Nick. “Lenaire and all of his assistants returned to
New York in a car attached to the special train. I put Patsy wise to my
suspicions and sent him along in disguise to shadow the rascal.”
“But what do you make of Patsy’s telegram?”
Nick took it from his pocket. It had been received at two o’clock that
morning, dated from New York at one, and it contained only the following
terse sentences:
“Toulon has telephoned long distance. Don’t know what. Heard only a
man’s name, Beardly. Find him and get next. Am still trailing Toulon.
Patsy.”
Nick read the message aloud and returned it to his pocket.
“It admits of only one interpretation,” he added. “The special arrived
in New York about midnight. Toulon, as soon as he was at liberty,
evidently telephoned to a man named Beardly. Patsy could overhear only
that name, but he knows that Beardly is located in this section, or he
would not have wired us to find and investigate him.”
“But no such man is known in these parts.”
“The name may be an alias, or the man may be living with some one who
has a telephone, and whose name Patsy could not get. That of Beardly
does not appear in the telephone-exchange book. We must follow up the
clew, nevertheless.”
“But how----”
“The way may be opened,” Nick interrupted, glancing toward the house.
“Here is a door opening upon an entry and stairway used by the servants.
The stairs are within ten feet of the rooms occupied by Clayton and
Clara Langham.”
“You think she left by this door?”
“I do. She certainly would have been seen if leaving by any other.”
“But would she have gone out with Margate, made up as Toulon?”
“No, probably not,” said Nick. “But suppose Margate removed his mustache
and the wig he must have worn, and thrust them into his pocket. Don’t
forget that he is a human counterfeit of Chester Clayton.”
“By Jove, I see the point,” said Chick. “You think he fooled Miss
Langham into going with him.”
“Exactly,” Nick nodded. “Clayton’s overcoat and hat are missing. It’s a
hundred to one that Margate put them on and got away with the girl, who
already was clad to leave at a moment’s notice.”
“In that case----”
“We must trace them,” Nick cut in. “Margate, if turning the trick in
that way, would not have ventured to the front of the house, nor the
opposite side. The couple would surely have been seen and recognized.”
“That goes without saying,” Chick agreed.
“It would have been equally hazardous to have gone toward the stable and
garage back of the house.”
“Surely. The driveway was brightly lighted and filled with people.”
“That leaves only the path by these outbuildings and through the east
park,” said Nick, walking in that direction. “The path is too hard to
have received any footprints, but there is a road through the woodland
beyond the park. You can see patches of it through the trees. We may
find tracks there.”
“It’s the road most likely to have been selected by the rascal, if he
had a conveyance of any kind,” Chick declared.
“That’s the very point.”
“None of the guests, and probably no one else, would have gone as far as
that into the woodland.”
“A possibility that may simplify matters,” said Nick. “If we find tracks
of a vehicle, or a motor car, we may reasonably infer that we are on the
right trail.”
“That’s as true as gospel.”
“I expect, too, that Margate has not fled many miles away.”
“Why so?”
“For several reasons,” said Nick. “First, because the main roads were
occupied by numerous cars departing after the reception, and there would
have been a possibility of recognition.”
“That’s true.”
“Second, because the scamp would prefer to remain as near as possible to
Langham Manor, in order to stealthily learn what would be done and who
is suspected.”
“That’s right, too.”
“Third, because it would have been easier to come here last night than
from a long distance. Fourth, because Margate undoubtedly has abducted
the girl with a view to forcing a big ransom from her father and
Clayton, and a near hiding place would be more convenient for getting
into safe communication with them, in order to frame up a desired deal.”
“All of those points are too consistent, Nick, to admit of a denial,”
Chick agreed. “It’s long odds that the rascal and his victim are within
twenty miles of us.”
“More probably half that distance.”
“Do you really think so?”
“I certainly do,” Nick said confidently. “It’s the course that would
appeal to me, Chick, if I was doing the same knavish job. Margate is as
clever in knavery as I could be, and he may have reasoned along the same
lines. If he has--ah, by Jove, this looks very much like it!”
“What’s that?”
Nick stopped and pointed to some damp earth near one side of the path
they had been following.
Distinctly outlined in it was a single, narrow footprint. Obviously, it
had been left there by a woman’s boot.
“By gracious, I guess you are right,” said Chick, crouching to examine
it.
“I think so,” said Nick. “We came near missing it, however, for it’s at
one side of the path.”
“They may have strayed a little from it in the darkness.”
“Probably.”
“The path is too hard to retain an imprint.”
“We may find others farther on,” said Nick. “It’s a hundred to one that
this was caused by the boot of the missing girl. Notice the stylish
length and pointed heel.”
“It seems to be a cinch.”
“She was going this way,” Nick added. “We’ll take the same direction.”
He glanced at his watch while they hurried on. It then was half past
four. They were the only two persons out at that early hour, but a
myriad of feathered songsters were thrilling the woodland, which the
beams of the rising sun now had begun to penetrate.
Fifty yards brought them to the gravel road mentioned, of which both
began to make a careful inspection. There were tracks to be seen, those
of wagons, carriages, and automobile tires; so many of them, in fact,
that nothing definite could be determined from them.
“Nothing denotes that a conveyance of any kind remained here for a
time,” Chick observed, after a vain scrutiny. “It ordinarily would have
been left on one side of the road.”
“We’ll seek in each direction,” said Nick. “I’ll go this way, you that.
If you discover anything reliable, whistle to me.”
“Enough said,” replied Chick, as they parted.
Nick had covered about fifty yards in an easterly direction, vainly
inspecting each side of the road, when he suddenly made another
discovery.
Somewhat ahead of him, lying near the wheel tracks on one side, was what
appeared to be a scrap of cloth.
Nick hastened to pick it up.
It was about two square inches of dainty lace, evidently torn from--a
navy-blue veil.
Nick turned back instantly and whistled to Chick, who hastened to rejoin
him.
“What is it?” he inquired, when Nick displayed his find.
“The bride wore a navy-blue veil,” said he significantly.
“Oh, by Jove, that does settle it.”
“It certainly does, Chick, and it’s a pleasure to serve such a girl,”
Nick said, with some enthusiasm.
“You mean----”
“Why, it’s as plain as the hole in a doughnut. She was taken away in a
carriage or a motor car. She sat on one end of the seat, and she had
discovered the knavery of which she was the victim.”
“Why are you so sure of it?”
“Simply, Chick, because this bit of lace shows that it was deliberately
torn from one corner of the veil. It is torn in two directions.”
“I see.”
“Plainly, then, the girl herself tore it off,” Nick continued. “No one
else would have done it. Nor would she, Chick, unless she had discovered
her perilous situation.”
“Surely not,” Chick now declared. “I see the point.”
“She contrived to tear it off without being detected, however, and then
dropped it in the road.”
“To show to searchers in which direction she was being carried.”
“Exactly.”
“By Jove, you are right,” Chick cried approvingly. “It is, indeed, a
pleasure to serve such a girl.”
“This is not all,” Nick added. “Take it from me, Chick, we shall find
another scrap of veil before going vary far. Since she was thoughtful
enough to drop one scrap, and able to accomplish it without being
detected, she would not stop with that. We shall, unless I am much
mistaken, find others along the road.”
“The trail of the blue veil,” cried Chick. “That would show us the way.
Let’s hurry on.”
Nick Carter needed no urging, and his prediction soon was verified.
They had walked only a hundred yards, when they discovered a second
piece torn from the veil.
An eighth of a mile brought another; and, after the same distance, a
fourth.
“She was in a motor car,” Nick then said decidedly.
“Why do you think so?”
“Because of the distance between these bits of evidence. If in a
slow-moving vehicle, a hack, or carriage, she could have torn off a
fragment more frequently, and stealthily dropped it.”
“You are right again,” Chick nodded. “She certainly would have done so,
moreover.”
“We’ll follow as far as the trail leads, Chick, at all events.”
“I’m with you.”
“It’s not worth while to turn back for our machine,” Nick added. “We can
phone for it from some point, if we find it necessary.”
“Sure.”
“I still believe, however, that Margate is located within ten or a dozen
miles, possibly half that distance. Time is too valuable for us to turn
back.”
“I agree with you.”
“We already have covered more than a mile.”
Walking on more rapidly, continuing to find at intervals a scrap torn
from the veil, the two detectives had covered nearly four miles at six
o’clock, and then they came to a point where the road forked in two
directions.
“By Jove, here’s a problem,” said Chick, pausing. “Which fork shall we
take? Neither road shows which our quarry took.”
“I’ll take one, you the other,” said Nick, after a moment. “We’ll follow
them until one of us finds another scrap of the veil. That will guide
us. Signal me with your revolver when you find a clew. I’ll do the
same.”
“But suppose I find no more?” questioned Chick.
“We’ll continue the pursuit separately,” Nick replied. “We shall know
that one of us is on the right road. Follow where it leads, then, and be
governed by circumstances.”
“Enough said,” Chick readily assented. “That’s the best course, I
guess.”
“Got any choice?”
“Of roads?”
“Yes.”
“Not a bit, Nick. You say.”
“Take the right, then. I’ll follow the left.”
“Shake. So long, Nick.”
“Good luck, Chick.”
They shook hands heartily and separated, striding rapidly away over each
of the woodland roads, neither so much as dreaming how soon fate would
again bring them together.