CHAPTER VIII.

ON THE BACK TRACK.

Nick Carter had reasoned correctly concerning the night telegram which

he had received from Patsy Garvan, whom he had directed to shadow Pierre

Toulon when the latter returned on the special train to New York with

Lenaire and the several assistants whom he had brought to Langham Manor.

Patsy expected to have a busy night, but the jaunt Toulon led him far

exceeded his anticipations.

It was after twelve o’clock when the train arrived in the station, where

Toulon was employed for half an hour in removing to a wagon the articles

belonging to the caterer.

He no sooner was at liberty, moreover, than he hurried to the nearest

hotel, where he entered a telephone booth and remained for several

minutes.

It was then that Patsy heard him call for a long-distance wire, also

catching the name of B. Ardley just as Toulon closed the booth door, but

mistaking it for Beardly precisely as Nick afterward suspected.

Unable to overhear more, Patsy seized the opportunity to write and send

the telegram to Nick, which the detective received an hour later.

Patsy then shadowed Toulon to an all-night restaurant, where the waiter

ate a hearty meal, remaining there until three o’clock and then

returning to the railway station, where he purchased a ticket.

Patsy inquired a little later and learned that the ticket was for the

same town noticed by Nick when approaching Dugan’s road house that

morning, and he immediately bought one for the same place.

“There’s nothing to this,” Patsy reasoned, quickly sizing up the

circumstance. “He’s going to take the back track. The rascal is going to

return and join the gang that did that job last night. He probably wants

his bit of the coin.

“The chief sized him up correctly, all right, and it still is up to me

to stick to the frog-eating miscreant. It will be a cold day, by

thunder, if I don’t have a hand in rounding up the whole bunch.”

Patsy did not think it necessary to again communicate with Nick by

telegram, intending to telephone to him after reaching his destination,

but the train did not enter the town until after seven o’clock that

morning, and Toulon then kept Patsy on the move.

For he started at once on foot for the Ardley place, diverging from the

road just before arriving there, and approaching it by a short cut

through the woods.

Patsy had kept him constantly in view up to that time, avoiding

observation with some little difficulty, but he lost sight of him when

the rascal suddenly plunged into the woods.

“Gee whiz! it won’t do to let him give me the slip at this stage of the

game,” he muttered, at once increasing his pace. “I’m dead sure he has

not seen me, so he cannot have ducked in there as a ruse, bent upon

holding me up. If there is any holding up to be done, by gracious, I’m

the gink who is going to do it.”

Patsy quickly confirmed his reasoning upon arriving at the point where

Toulon had entered the woods. There was no sign of the rascal.

Hurrying on in the direction Toulon evidently had taken, however, Patsy

soon came in sight of the sign on the top of Ardley’s building, and a

moment later in sight of the building itself, just as Toulon turned one

corner of it on his way to the door.

It was precisely at that time that Margate ended his mocking talk with

Nick, and then commanded Ardley to throw the lever that opened that

floodgate to the sluice.

The unexpected arrival of Toulon caused that murderous design to be

temporarily deferred, though by no means discarded, and in the interval

that ensued Patsy Garvan was not idle.

“By Jove, it was to this fellow that he telephoned,” he said to himself

upon again reading the sign. “Ardley must be one of the gang, and Toulon

has hiked back here to join them. The entire gang may be in the

building, for all I know.

“There’s a launch made fast at the river bank, but it don’t belong here,

or a float would be provided for it. I’ll make a bid, by gracious, to

find out who is in there and what’s doing. I can reach one of those end

windows without being seen from the house. Let come what may, by

thunder, I’ll have one stealthy look.”

Patsy was not slow in acting upon this determination. He sized up with a

glance the possibilities of approaching the building without being seen

from within.

Leaving the fringe of shrubbery at the edge of the woods, under which he

had briefly lingered, Patsy stole back of the huge pile of refuse

mentioned, then crawled back of several barrels and boxes, finally

reaching a point some twenty feet from an end window of the building

and near the corner around which Toulon had disappeared only a few

moments before.

Patsy now could faintly hear the sound of voices from within the

building.

He shifted both of his revolvers to the side pockets of his sack coat,

then crept from his concealment and peered cautiously through a lower

corner of the window.

He saw and recognized Margate.

He saw Ardley with his hand on the long iron lever.

He saw Dugan, Conroy, and Morley, all of them forming so ominous a

picture that Patsy instantly decided that there was more doing than he

had anticipated. He could not hear what Margate was saying, however, who

then was talking with Toulon, and he now went a step farther. He drew

both revolvers and crept around to the open door through which Toulon

had entered the building.

Patsy had arrived too late, nevertheless, to hear how Toulon had

explained his unexpected return, that he had thought it necessary to

report what Nick had said to him the previous night, denoting that he

might have incurred the detective’s suspicion.

“It’s no use talking, Mr. Margate, I’ve got a scare on,” he was saying,

when Patsy paused outside of the open door. “I went into this job under

protest, you know, and only because you said it would be soft walking. I

want to bolt, and I’m going to after you pay me what you agreed. I’ve

got a scare----”

“What are you afraid of?” Margate demanded, interrupting.

“Well, I know what it means to be up against Nick Carter,” frowned

Toulon. “He’s the worst ever, and likely to----”

“Stop a bit!” snapped Margate, with a scornful gesture. “Do you know

where Nick Carter is at this moment?”

“No. Do you?” gasped Toulon, staring.

“You bet I know,” cried Margate, pointing. “He is in a trap under this

floor, a trap adjoining the sluice. Do you see that lever Ardley is

gripping? It opens the floodgate of the sluice. When Ardley throws

it--we shall drown Nick Carter like a rat in a trap.”

Pasty’s ears tingled and his face turned as threatening as a

thundercloud.

“If that big bull moose throws that lever, then, he’ll throw it over my

dead body,” he said to himself, stealing close to the door and peering

in to watch the huge ruffian.

Toulon stared like a man nonplused.

“Nick Carter there?” he gasped. “Drown him like a rat? But that will be

murder. It means----”

“Never mind what it means, you milk-and-water monkey!” Margate fiercely

cut in. “I know what it means if we let him live. I’ll wipe this cursed

dick out of my path, if it’s the last thing I do in this world. Throw

the lever, Ardley! Throw the lever and drown the infernal sleuth!”

Patsy Garvan was in the building before the last was said.

Before he could utter a warning cry, however, for he would have held up

the entire gang without bloodshed, if possible, he saw Ardley, who was

ready and willing to obey, sag back on the iron lever.

Patsy’s revolver barked on the instant.

The report rang like thunder through the old building.

The bullet went true to its mark.

Ardley threw up his hands, with blood gushing from a hole in his head,

and without so much as a groan he pitched forward against one of the

walls. His huge figure struck a small door at that end of the building.

It broke from its hinges, and the crash of it was mingled with that of

the ruffian himself when both struck the floor.

Patsy did not hesitate for an instant.

“Hands up!” he yelled, striding toward the startled group. “I’ve got

bullets for all, and I’ll drop the first who reaches for a gun.”

Margate did not reach for a gun. He had been struck by Ardley when the

latter fell, and he was within a foot of the broken door. He moved like

a flash and darted through it.

“Hang him!” thought Patsy. “The worst of the bunch.”

He fell back a step, to a position from which he could watch both doors,

and also the four dismayed men who stood with their hands in the air.

Nick Carter Stories No. 158, September 18, 1915: The blue veil; or, Nick Carter's torn trail. · 第 8 / 15 章