THE VICTIM OF A NEMESIS.
Mercedes started to her feet with a cry of amazed delight, nor was
Reginald’s joy less deep, although he remained quite still in his place
on the bench. It was Mercedes who spoke first after the announcement
made by the detective.
“Then who was it whom I saw and believed to be my brother?” she
demanded.
“Ah!” said the detective, “that is another matter. I think, however,
that we will experience very little difficulty in determining that
question, when once I have had access to the lares and penates in the
room of Ramon Orizaba. However, I see Doctor Pollock returning, and so I
will leave you two together, with the injunction that you had better go
to your mother as soon as convenient. And, Danton, within a few hours it
must be generally known that your guest was murdered, so I would suggest
that you prepare your mother for the intelligence. In fact, I wish you
would tell her at once, for it is more than likely that I will find it
necessary to talk the matter over with her soon. Now, just one more
suggestion. I think you owe it to your sister to tell her everything
that has occurred, just as you told it to me, and to add to the telling
all that has taken place since you entered my house this morning. You
may also tell her who I am, and why I am here.”
The detective left them then and hurried across the lawn to meet the
doctor who had returned according to his promise, and together they
repaired at once to the room where the body of Ramon Orizaba had been
taken--to the rooms he had occupied always when he was a guest at Linden
Fells.
“Doctor,” said Nick, when they were alone together in the room and had
closed and locked the door behind them, “I have asked this favor of you
for two reasons. One is because I want a good, reliable witness to all
that happens and to support every discovery I may make, and the other is
because I require your professional services as an expert. The
undertakers will be here shortly, and we will then have to turn the body
over to them, but, in the meantime, we can easily complete such
researches as it is necessary to make.
“You will find, to begin with, that this man was killed by a needle
which was thrust into the back of his neck. Come; we will turn the body
over and search for it, and I will ask you to withdraw it for use as
evidence. There is the only mark left by the wound. It is scarcely
perceptible, is it?”
“No. I should not have seen it at all if you had not drawn my attention
to it.”
“Will you extract the needle? The broken end must be quite close to the
surface of the skin.”
“Are you sure it is there?”
“Positive.”
“Just beneath the skin?”
“Yes; but be careful; it is of glass and will break easily.”
There was a moment of silence, and then the doctor, who stood with his
back to the detective, spoke.
“You say the needle is of glass?”
“I have reason to believe it is.”
“Well, you are mistaken. It is of steel.”
“Steel? Let me see it.”
The doctor passed the tiny weapon to the detective, who examined it
critically, and then, after carefully wrapping it in paper, deposited it
inside his own card-case. But he did not hesitate to express his
surprise to the physician at the discovery, for the needle extracted
from the neck of the murdered man was in reality a needle--a
three-sided, sharp-pointed needle such as is used by furriers; in
fact--to give it its true colloquial name--a fur needle.
“A dangerous weapon,” said the doctor.
“Dangerous, indeed,” assented Nick. “Now, doctor, if you will proceed
with your examination from the professional standpoint, so that you will
be prepared to give your testimony in detail at the proper time and
place, I will give my attention to the other things in the room.”
From that time on the two men worked together in silence, only
occasionally calling the attention of each other to some discovery that
was pertinent to the occasion.
And Nick’s investigation of the desk and its contents, of the bureau and
of every nook and cranny of the room itself, was eminently
satisfactory--so satisfactory, in fact, that when at last he had
completed his researches, and discovered that the doctor was also done
with his part of the work, he said to him:
“Here, doctor, is quite a remarkable circumstance--one, in fact, that is
entirely unique in my experience, for I find by this correspondence that
I have examined that this dead man has been, during his life, in
constant correspondence with a person whom he believed would some day
murder him--as he has done--and more than that, that he has even lived
in close juxtaposition with the would-be murderer, for a period which,
according to the letters, covers almost ten years. But the remarkable
part of it is, that, although he has lived close to his Nemesis, and,
although he has corresponded constantly with him, he has, in all that
time had no idea of the identity of his enemy.”
“Do you mean that the murderer lives here in this house?” asked the
doctor.
“I mean that the murderer lived here in this house; but, unless I am
greatly mistaken, the murderer has fled before this.”
“You know, then, who is the murderer?”
“Yes. I know exactly. Have you finished with your work?”
“Yes.”
“Come, then. Let us go. I will ask you to join me in a family gathering
for a little while; after that, we will each turn our testimony over to
the proper officials, and I think there will be little or no trouble in
apprehending the assassin.”
Ten minutes later, in the library of the house, behind closed doors,
Nick Carter stood in the center of the room facing Mercedes, Reginald,
and their mother. Beside him was seated the doctor, and upon the table
before him were placed the articles he had collected during his
morning’s work--the things he had taken from the pockets of the dead
man, and the effects and letters he had discovered in Orizaba’s room.
“Mrs. Danton,” he began, “I feel that I should address my remarks to
you. You have been told, have you not, of the terrible thing that has
happened in your home?”
She bowed her head in the affirmative. She felt too much emotion to
trust herself to speak.
“Reginald,” continued Nick, “I have occupied the few moments while I
waited for you to bring your mother and sister to this room in
telephoning to New York, for I find that your valet, Rogers, has started
for the city without your leave. Ladies, and you, Reginald, the valet
whom you have known as Paul Rogers, is the murderer of Ramon Orizaba--at
least, I am sufficiently satisfied of the correctness of that statement
to have telephoned to police headquarters for his arrest. Presumably he
will be met at the station when he arrives in the city, but if he is
not, I think I shall have no difficulty in finding him later.”
“Rogers! My man, Rogers?” exclaimed Reginald.
“Yes. Had it ever occurred to you that Rogers was above his station?”
“Often. He was remarkably well educated for a man in such a position.”
“He occupied several positions; among them, he represented himself as an
agent for an enemy of Orizaba’s. Rogers was evidently clever at
disguises, for in his room, which I found time to visit for a moment,
there was, in addition to a half-filled bottle of chloroform, a very
good supply of wigs, pigments and other necessaries for manufacturing
disguises. Do you remember when Rogers came to you this morning in the
rose-garden and told you that Orizaba was dead?”
“Perfectly.”
“I noticed then that the soles of his boots were stained with clay--a
kind of blue clay unlike anything I saw during our walk together from
the station this morning--which you assured me was the route by which
you returned to the house from the banquet.”
“It was the same.”
“Do you remember that I asked you if there had been a shower here in the
afternoon of yesterday? I wished to know if the clay had been softened
sufficiently to make those stains. In discovering the stains upon the
boots of Rogers I paid no attention to them, more than to observe that
they were there; but when I saw stains exactly like them on the boots of
the murdered man I was interested. Also, the discovery of the burrs upon
his clothing, to which I called your attention, brought to mind the fact
that I had seen, also without heeding them at the time, marks of the
same sort of burrs on the trousers of your valet when he came to you in
the garden, so when I sent you to your mother, and before going in
search of your sister myself, I found Rogers’ room and looked through
it.
“I was already satisfied that Rogers was the murderer when I talked with
you and your sister in the arbor, but I chose to say nothing of the fact
at that time. Now I have additional proof. You will remember that I
asked you if you used purple ink on your desk?”
“Yes.”
“There were stains of purple ink in the thumb and finger of Orizaba’s
right hand. I asked you if he wrote with his left hand and you replied
that he used both. Let me tell you now that he has used his left hand to
rob you, systematically, for a long time. You have been careless with
your check-book and with your balances, so you have not discovered the
fact, but here is a check he drew on your desk last night--a check for
a much larger amount than he has ever dared to take before, doubtless,
since the drawing of it made his hand tremble so that he spoiled the
signature and was obliged to draw a second one. The second one is
perfect. I found it in your valet’s room, where he dropped it by
mistake, showing that it was given to him, that both were drawn for him,
that he was in the room with Orizaba at the time they were drawn--in
short, that he was the third person whom your sister saw and believed to
be you. Moreover, he is of your height and build, and in one of the
drawers of his bureau there is a false mustache exactly like yours,
which is still soft from recent use; so that it is not strange that your
sister believed she saw you in the dim light. The lights, by the way, he
turned off for the purpose of his work, and then turned on again when
that work was done and he was ready to depart, in order that you might
not see the difference and wonder at it. Also, while upon this subject,
a trivial matter, but one of interest, in connection with the checks, is
the fact that the ink inside Orizaba’s fountain pen is black. Also,
Orizaba carried a key which fits your desk and another which fits the
casket.
“Also, like all expert forgers, he carried his own blotter with him.
Fortunately in this case it was one that he had not used before, and
bears a very good impression of the two signatures he signed last night.
“Now, in Orizaba’s room I found many letters which partially explain
these mysteries; but only partially. We will have to conjecture for the
rest. At sometime in the career of Orizaba he had married and deserted a
woman who died in misery and want, and since that time he has been
pursued by a Nemesis in the shape of her brother who has taken a
vengeance that is truly Satanic, for he has held over Orizaba’s head all
these years--ten of them--the threat of imminent death, and, what is
still more remarkable, he has during that time managed to extort money
from his victim, while he has himself remained so darkly in the
background that Orizaba has never once guessed his identity.
“Of the occurrences of last night--or, rather of early this morning, I
can only surmise, but either by appointment, or because the man was
awaiting him, he encountered the man who he believed to be the agent of
his Nemesis between the station and this house. They walked away in
another direction, and so got the clay on their shoes. That agent was
Rogers, but so cleverly disguised that Orizaba did not recognize
him--probably the agent was so familiar to him that he never thought of
connecting him with Rogers, having known him a much longer time.
“When they met last night Rogers was insistent for a larger amount of
money than usual, and finally accompanied Orizaba to your rooms. Orizaba
was at your desk preparing to draw the check when you entered the room.
Rogers was here also, for they believed you were asleep in a chair on
the piazza. When you entered Rogers concealed himself, and he remained
concealed until you had composed yourself to sleep on the couch. Then he
chloroformed you, and the proceedings continued. Rogers then took his
check and went out, and Orizaba, overcome by all that had happened,
dropped asleep in the chair.
“Presently, for some reason, Rogers returned. Doubtless he had intended
to kill Orizaba last night, since the encounter on the road. He
administered more chloroform to you on the couch, and then performed the
remainder of the ceremony as your sister has described it to us, for she
saw it.
“And now, Reginald, there is just one point about which I am at fault,
but which I think this letter will possibly explain. I found it in
Rogers’ room, addressed to you, and I have not yet broken the seal.
Before I do so I will explain the point to which I referred.
“Your Cadillac needle was not the instrument which killed Orizaba. He
was killed with a steel needle--a furrier’s needle--but the cork handle
of your glass needle was used to press it into the flesh. The glass
needle was removed and the steel one substituted for it, but why I do
not know. Let us see now if this letter will inform us. Listen.”
Nick broke the seal, spread the letter open before him and read aloud:
“MR. DANTON: Although I have killed Ramon Orizaba, deliberately,
and after waiting ten years, and in the meanwhile gloating over the
prospect of doing so, I am not sufficiently a scoundrel to leave
you to pay the penalty of my crime. I have thought of many ways of
putting him out of the way, and your Cadillac needle has suggested
the best one. But I am afraid that the glass is not strong enough,
so I have substituted one of steel. At first I thought it might not
be discovered that he was killed and that his death would be
attributed to natural causes, but I will not take that chance with
your life and reputation in the balance, so I write this.
“Why I have killed him does not matter to you. I will say nothing
which will lead to my apprehension, and all the detectives in the
world cannot find me or take me.
“I was obliged to use the cork handle of your needle in order to be
successful--in order to push the weapon into his neck. You will
find the glass one under the vase on the mantle in my room.
ROGERS.”
“Brief and to the point,” said Nick, putting down the letter; and as he
did so Mercedes rose in her place and crossed the room to him, extending
both hands.
“You have been our savior,” she said; “my savior as well as Reginald’s.
God bless you!”