A FIGHT IN THE DARK.
Two men came surging into the room just as Nick and his assistant
backed away into the shadows behind the bed curtains.
“The light, Chick!” whispered Carter.
Chick understood, and instantly snapped out the electric light in the
ground-glass globe on the table, putting the room in black darkness.
They could hear somebody padding about without shoes not far away, and
they knew that Howard Milmarsh had jumped from the bed and was ready to
fight.
It was no part of the detective’s plan to have an open battle with this
young man, however. Whether he were the real Howard Milmarsh or not,
the detective did not desire to let him know who was on his track. He
might guess, but he shouldn’t _know_, if it could be helped.
Nick Carter had been in this bedchamber before, in the lifetime of the
elder Milmarsh, and he remembered where the switch was that controlled
the whole lighting of the room.
Taking out his jackknife and feeling his way to a certain part of the
wall behind him, he put the electrical connection out of business with
a skillful twist. He knew there could be no light in the bedchamber now
unless one were brought in from outside.
As he jumped back from the disabled switch, he heard the padding feet
moving toward it, followed, an instant later, by a muffled oath in the
tones of the young man from the bed.
“Fooled him!” muttered Nick.
Suddenly there arose a terrific racket across the room, and he knew
that Chick had come into collision with one of the two men who had come
in, at least.
“Get out, you monkey!” growled Chick in a disguised tone. “Here’s one
for you!”
A crash told the detective that Chick had floored his assailant, but
a quick renewal of the battle was indicated by more noise, with the
panting of two men in desperate contest.
It was at this moment that a sinewy arm was thrown around the
detective’s neck from behind, while a knee was thrust into his back.
The assailant evidently understood the gentle art of garroting, for he
pulled hard while he pressed his knee harder against the detective’s
back.
There could be only one result to an attack like this, made suddenly
and unexpectedly—Nick Carter had to let himself go to the floor.
As he did so his adversary was on top of him, trying to hold him down
and obtain a grip on his throat.
This was something different, however. Nick had no intention of
allowing such a liberty to be taken with him. He had yielded to the
garrote, because it was the only thing to be done. Now, however, when
he had a fair chance, things wore another aspect.
He rolled over like a panther, and in a second had his assailant by the
collar of his pajamas. It was not the detective’s desire to hurt the
young man. The thing was to escape from the bedchamber without being
recognized.
It was hardly likely that his identity was suspected. His disguise was
so good that nothing of his real personality could show through it, and
no one in the house had any reason to suppose he and Chick were near
Milmarsh.
The two men who had crashed into the room—and who had been summoned by
an electric bell sounded by a push button from the bed—were the two
liveried men—Kelly and Dobbs—who had cleared away the cloth and glasses
from the dining table, but who were without their coats when they broke
in.
It was these two men with whom Chick was engaged in the darkness while
his chief dealt with the occupant of the bed.
“You’ll spring ghosts on me, will you?” mumbled Nick’s adversary,
trying to break loose. “I’ll give you something that will make you wish
you were a ghost.”
Nick was obliged to admire the pluck and determination of the man. It
seemed to him just what the real Howard Milmarsh would do, and it made
the affair more complicated than ever to his mind.
There was a second crash at the other end of the room, followed by a
grunt of satisfaction which Nick knew was in the tone of his assistant
and which indicated that he was the victor.
But he could not say anything, for fear of betraying himself. He had
resolved that, at all odds, he must hide from this man who was fighting
so hard to get away from him that he had been followed into his very
bedroom by one who was resolved that the actual Howard Milmarsh should
have his rights.
“Somebody coming outside!” Chick squealed, hiding his real voice most
effectively. “Which way?”
“The same!” thundered his chief, in a husky bass entirely unlike his
own voice. “Hurry!”
He had been obliged to speak at last, but he did not think his tones
had revealed who he was.
There was no time for consideration. The disturbance in the
room—particularly the falling to the floor of the two servants under
the impact of Chick’s hard and skillfully used fists—had awakened the
two rascals who had been carousing in the dining room, and they were
coming to see what the fuss was about.
Louden Powers and Andrew Lampton were both seasoned drinkers. When they
staggered out of the dining room and into the elevator, both were well
steeped in wine. Many men in such a condition would have slept through
any disturbance.
But these were not of that kind. Powers awoke first, and, getting
into some of his clothing, went to the next room to get Lampton out.
Then the two went along the hall to see what was going on in Howard
Milmarsh’s bedroom.
It would not have mattered so much to Carter about these men coming if
they had been in the dark. But each one had lighted a candle—placed in
their room so that they could have a light for cigars—and these candles
gave light enough for them to see where they were going.
As soon as Nick knew that others were coming to the room, and that
they bore lights with them, he felt that he must act quickly to escape
recognition.
“Now we’ll have you, and find out what the game is!” chuckled the
supposed Howard Milmarsh, as he pushed Nick a little backward. “I’ll
tell you a ghost story of my own before I’m through.”
This boasting assertion was the last he had the opportunity of making.
Stooping and catching the young man around the waist, the stalwart
detective lifted him from the floor and hurled him clear across the bed
to the floor beyond.
As he fell, his head struck the wall, and he doubled up, unconscious.
Nick did not trouble himself to find out whether the man was hurt badly
or not. There was no time. Instead, he felt in the bed for pillows, and
grabbed up two of them.
“The door! Get!” he shouted, but carefully disguising his voice in a
sort of squeak. “You know where it is. I’ll attend to these others!”
Chick had seen the two men coming along the hall, and had recognized
them. Before he could obey his chief and retreat, they had seen him,
and Louden Powers cried out hastily:
“What’s the game, Howard? Why aren’t you undressed? Is it the jimjams
you have? Say, young fellow, you ought to let the wine alone after
this. It’s too much for that bean of yours. You’re not used to it. Get
into bed and sleep. That will give the rest of us a chance. Holy blue!
Have you been knocking the butlers down, too? Say, this is going to
make trouble. None of ’em will stay with us, and they’ll be wanting
their pay before they will get out, too!”
Louden Powders was advancing, with Lampton, as he said all this, and
both men were in the bedroom, candles and all.
Nick did not give them time to say anything more, and he stopped their
further progress into the room in a most effective fashion.
He hurled the two pillows, one after the other, at each candle, sending
them both flying out of the hands of their holders and plunging the
room again into black darkness.
Before he had thrown the pillows he saw that Chick had reached the part
of the wall where the secret panel door was situated, and he knew that
a simple pressure in the right spot would provide them both with an
exit.
His aim was true with the pillows. Notwithstanding that he was hidden
from the two rascals by the bed hangings, and that he had to hurl the
pillows nearly the whole length of the room, he sent each straight to
its mark, and neither Louden Powers nor Andrew Lampton saw where they
came from.
No sooner was the apartment in darkness than Carter rushed over to
where Chick stood and seized him by the arm.
“Do we beat it now?” whispered Chick.
“Yes! Quick!”
The secret panel swung open, and the chief shoved his assistant ahead
of him through the opening. Ere he could follow, he heard Louden
Powers’ voice remarking, with a shiver:
“What’s that? A window open? Hurry, Lampton! He’s getting out that way!
Come on! We’ll fool him yet!”
Nick slipped through the narrow doorway made by the opening of the
panel, and, as he closed it softly, he whispered to his assistant, with
a low laugh:
“Looks to me as if they are the persons who are fooled!”