GETTING A FOCUS.
“Do you mean that he was allowed to go walking about the hospital by
himself, so that he could slip away unnoticed?”
It was Nick Carter asking the question, and he was seated in the room
from which Howard Milmarsh had vanished, talking to the day nurse, Miss
Sawyer, while the night nurse, Miss Jordan, listened.
“I did not say that,” replied Miss Sawyer. “His brother was here.”
“His brother?”
“Yes. He was the very picture of Mr. Gordon—except that he was not
pale, from staying indoors, like the patient. In everything else they
were so much alike that you knew they were twins.”
“Oh, you knew it.”
“Yes. You could tell it from their remarkable resemblance to each
other. Besides, the other Mr. Gordon said they were twins.”
“Had you ever seen the visiting brother before?”
“No.”
“He had never paid a visit to the patient till to-day? Did he explain
why that was?”
“Yes. He said he had been away from New York for a long time—in the
West. He had heard of his brother being sick, and had come to the
hospital as soon as he arrived in the city.”
“And then—what?”
“He talked to Mr. Gordon for a little while, trying to make him
understand. He spoke of being in the West, and mentioned a place he
called Maple.”
“Well?”
“Mr. Gordon appeared to recognize that name, for he smiled and said
something that sounded like a girl’s name.”
“What name?”
“Bessie or Letty or Nelly. I could not be sure what it was, for he does
not talk plainly, you know. He never has had complete control of his
tongue since he came here.”
“Was that all you noticed when they were talking? Was there any other
word that seemed to penetrate to his brain?”
“Not that I saw. They talked for about fifteen minutes. Then Mr.
Gordon, as he said his name was—the visitor—proposed that he should
walk his brother about the hospital and out to the garden at the back.”
“And you let him do it?”
“Yes. It seemed reasonable that they should like to be together, after
so long a parting. Reasonable for the visitor, that is. The patient did
not make any sign one way or the other. Beyond a half smile, as if he
were pleased when the name of the girl was on his tongue, he was just
as he always is.”
“It might have been better if you’d gone along, too, Miss Sawyer,”
remarked the detective. “You would then have seen them when they went
out of the front door. The patient had his hat, I suppose?”
“Yes. He wore his usual clothing, hat and all. There was nothing in
his appearance different from hundreds of men you may see on Broadway
or Fifth Avenue at any time. I wish I had gone with them. But I argued
that he would be quite safe with his twin brother, and his absence gave
me an opportunity to look after little things about the room which are
difficult to attend to when he is there.”
Nick saw the nurse’s point of view, and resolved not to make a
complaint at the office, as he might easily have done. Instead, he
walked out, stepped into his waiting taxicab, and hastened home.
He told exactly what he had found at the hospital, leaving it to Chick
to make any comments that occurred to him.
The girl and her father simply looked bewildered. They did not feel
that any harm had been done by the patient leaving the hospital with
his twin brother. Indeed, Bessie smiled, as if pleased that he was well
enough to go out.
“You know who the twin brother is, of course, chief?” observed Chick.
“It is not hard to guess.”
“What is the game?”
“That we must find out.”
“When?”
“Now.”
“Where are you going to do it?”
“The Milmarsh residence, it appears to me,” replied Nick.
“Milmarsh, did you say?” asked the girl. “Do you suppose he has gone
there?”
“It seems probable.”
“So it does,” assented Bessie Silvius. “Oh, Mr. Carter! Perhaps he is
quite well—recovered his memory and everything! Well, if he has, that
is all I want to know. It is all I have a _right_ to know. We’ll go
now, my father and I. You won’t mind my coming again—to-morrow, or the
next day—to hear how he is, will you?”
The pitiful appeal in her tones would have touched a much harder heart
than the detective’s. He walked close to her and took one of her hands
in his.
“Miss Silvius, I hope you will not have to wait until to-morrow to hear
how Mr.—Mr. Gordon is. I was about to ask if you would go with us to
Milmarsh.”
“Milmarsh?”
“That is the name of the little place where the residence of the
Milmarshes is up on the hill. There is not much else there besides the
Old Pike Inn and a cluster of small stores to supply the country homes
around. We shall take a train in three-quarters of an hour.”
“It will get us up there in less than an hour,” added Chick. “It’s an
express. The chief has that train schedule down fine. He never has to
look at a timetable.”
“Meanwhile, I will have the housekeeper give us a meal of some kind.
She is a wonder at preparing a tasty luncheon or supper at short
notice.”
“I don’t think I’m hungry,” protested the girl.
“I know better,” contradicted Carter, smiling as he saw that Chick was
already at the house telephone, giving directions to the housekeeper.
“And your father needs something, too. You wouldn’t deprive him of the
refreshment he needs, I am sure, even if you were to refuse it for
yourself.”
Thus chatting, to prevent Bessie Silvius objecting further, Nick led
the way into the dining room, where, in a wonderfully short space of
time, there were tea, coffee, cold meat, cake, pie, and other articles
of food, set forth in appetizing array.
Roscoe Silvius evidently was hungry. The old gentleman attacked
everything set before him, and praised each dish as it reached him.
Bessie also was hungry, although she was not so ravenous as her father,
while the chief and Chick disposed of their food in the businesslike
manner of sensible men, who did not know when they would get a meal
again, and were determined to make the most of the one they had.
The taxi that was to take them to the Grand Central was at the door
when they went downstairs, and they were comfortably seated in a parlor
car two minutes before the time for the train to pull out.
“It all seems so wonderful,” declared Bessie, smiling, as she settled
down in the comfortable, roomy chair, and looked along the car. “This
morning I had no thought of finding him again in this world. Now, in
the evening, I am on my way to see him.”
“You are almost too optimistic, I’m afraid,” said Nick, with a smile.
“We may not find him at Milmarsh. Only, I think that he may be there.
I have reasons of my own for believing so, but they may all turn out
fallacious. There goes the train.”
In less than half an hour they were in a motor car, hired at the
station, and on their way up to the Milmarsh mansion.
“Hello! What’s all the fuss on the porch?” exclaimed Chick. “Look,
chief! It isn’t the poor people that were fooled on Paradise City there
again, is it?”
“I see Billings moving about very actively,” said the chief. “Hurry,
driver! Let’s get there!”
The chauffeur put on more power and sent his machine along at a
headlong pace, which brought it up in front of the porch at the main
door with a rush.
“What is it?” shouted Nick, at Patsy Garvan, who was by the side of the
big truckman.
“The guy they called Howard Milmarsh is back again,” was the reply
hurled back by Patsy.