IN AND OUT.
It would be hard to express in ordinary words the wave of relief that
surged through Nick Carter as he knelt by the side of Chick, and,
looking closely at the sleeve of his coat, saw that the crossed needles
had not gone in far.
“They haven’t reached his flesh, I’m sure,” murmured Nick. “They only
just catch in the cloth. The wretch who did this hadn’t time to finish
the job. The needles got entangled in the cloth, and before he could
drive them in, he heard, or saw, me coming.”
Cautiously, the detective withdrew the needles and laid them on the
walk, by his side. Then, picking up the unconscious Chick, he threw him
over one shoulder, and carried him into the Anderton mansion.
Nick Carter was blessed with extraordinary strength, and although Chick
was solid and of good weight, the burden was nothing to the detective.
“Merciful ’eavens!” squeaked Ruggins, as Nick came up the stone steps.
“What’s that, Mr. Carter?”
“Fainted, I think,” replied the detective briefly. “Let me put him on
this sofa in the hall.”
When Chick was laid out on a long leather settee that had been
encumbered with a raincoat and other garments untidily left there by
Ruggins, and which Nick Carter unceremoniously swept to the floor, the
detective hastily removed Chick’s coat, and pulled up his shirt sleeve
on one side.
“This was the arm,” he muttered. “There is no mark of the needles in the
sleeve, and I could not find any through the coat. I don’t think there’s
any danger of his having been struck. But I want to find out.”
With his flash lamp and magnifying glass, he went slowly and minutely
over the whole length of Chick’s arm. The skin was perfectly smooth,
without a prick or abrasion of any kind on it from shoulder to wrist.
“Just what I hoped. The needles never went through. If the point of one
of them had touched his flesh, he would be dead before this. A more
powerful poison I never came across, judging by its effects on Brand
Jamieson and poor Andrew Anderton.”
“Hello, chief! What’s the matter?” interposed a feeble voice.
“What, Chick? Are you all right again?” asked Nick, smiling, as Chick
raised his head. “I was just going to ask you what was the matter? Ah,
I see! You’ve been rapped on the head.”
“Oh, yes,” was the response, as Chick sat up on the settee and let his
feet fall to the floor. “I remember now. I was following the
professor--a few yards behind him, so that he shouldn’t see me. Then I
had a feeling as if a crowbar had come down on top of my head, and that
was all I knew.”
“It was a sandbag,” declared Nick. “There is a little mark on your head,
made by that metal initial you had put in the crown of your hat. The
sandbag came down on top of your derby, crushed it in, and caused the
brass letter to cut your scalp just a little. There is no mark on your
hat, however. It was merely slammed in by something bulky and yielding,
and the inference is that it was a sandbag.”
“‘Oly ’eavens!” mumbled Ruggins, who had been listening. “‘Ow easy it
seems when you know.”
“I guess you’re right,” agreed Chick, speaking to Nick. “But it was so
sudden and unexpected that I did not get a chance to see who did it, or
how.”
“It wasn’t the professor?”
“No. He was some distance in front, and I don’t think he knew I was
following him. He did not turn his head. He walked along as if he wasn’t
thinking of anything except to get to where he was going. I believe he
had a taxi. I saw one waiting about two blocks from the house.”
“There was none there when I went out,” observed Carter reflectively. “I
guess you’re right. But wait a minute. I have something to look after
outside. Go up to the study and wait for me.”
As Chick got up to obey, Nick Carter hurried out of the house and to the
place where he had left the crossed needles. He had put them close to
the iron fence of a house, so that there was no danger of their being
trodden on--even if anybody should happen to pass that way.
“I don’t think there has been any one going by since I left them,” he
muttered. “Anyhow, here are the needles.”
He put them carefully between the leaves of his notebook, which he
carried in his hand back to the house, and up to the study. When he got
there, he laid the book on the table and opened it.
“You see, Chick, the person who knocked you down belonged to the Yellow
Tong. That is proved by the fact that he tried to kill you with the
crossed needles.”
“What?” cried Chick, turning pale.
“Oh, it’s all right now, my boy!” laughed Nick Carter. “I wouldn’t have
told you otherwise. The needles did not get to you. But that is no
credit to the blackguard who knocked you down. They were sticking in
your coat sleeve when I found you on the sidewalk. I satisfied myself
that the points had not reached you, even before I picked you up. But I
don’t understand what the object was in attacking you, unless----”
He paused and walked several times up and down the room before he spoke
again.
“I have it,” he declared at last. “It is simple enough. Somebody saw you
following Professor Tolo--somebody in his employ. To prevent your
finding out where the professor was going--and perhaps in fear that you
might hit on the professor’s real identity--this stranger knocked you
down and tried to kill you with the needles.”
“Then you believe Tolo is connected in some way with the Yellow Tong?”
“I certainly do.”
“If that is the case, it ought not to be hard to get at the secret of
Mr. Anderton’s death.”
Nick Carter smiled slightly and shook his head.
“My dear Chick, don’t jump hastily to conclusions. What evidence have we
got against Professor Tolo?”
“Plenty, I should think. Wasn’t he snooping about in this room when we
came back to it, after going downstairs to see a man who had disappeared
when we got there? Then, doesn’t he hide his face with those big
spectacles? And wasn’t I following him when I was sandbagged and struck
at with the crossed needles?”
“All that is suspicious, but not proof, Chick.”
“Do we know where he lives?”
“That is easily found out,” replied Carter. “But even then, we shall
have to learn a great deal more before we can show that he is associated
with the Yellow Tong.”
“But you believe he is, don’t you?”
“I do. Only we haven’t anything conclusive with which to back up that
belief--yet. For the present, I want to find out how the person who
killed Andrew Anderton got into this room. When I have reached that
point, I shall have something from which to start on other inquiries. It
would give us a base of operations.”
Nick Carter picked up a small pasteboard box from the table which had
been filled with brass paper fasteners at one time, but was nearly empty
now. He threw out the three or four fasteners that remained. Then he
placed the crossed needles in the box and fitted on the lid. To make it
still more secure, he put on two thick rubber bands. Then he dropped the
box into his coat pocket.
“Going to examine those needles, I suppose, chief?” asked Chick.
“Yes, when I have leisure, at home. They are so dangerous that I don’t
like to handle them until I can do so carefully. I would not even trust
them in an envelope. The points could easily come through, and one touch
might mean death.”
Chick shuddered, in spite of himself, as he thought how easily he might
have been scratched when the ghastly instrument was thrust into his
sleeve, as he lay on the sidewalk.
“What are we going to do now?” he asked.
“Come out on that balcony, and then we will see. But first we’ll turn
out the lights in this room.”
This was done; then Nick went to the window he had gone out by before,
and the next minute he and Chick were standing outside, in the pitch
darkness. Just as they got out, a distant tower clock chimed twelve.
“Now, Chick, I have a theory. It isn’t anything more than that, but it
is a strong one. I want you to climb into that next yard. You see there
is a high wooden fence dividing it from this.”
“About fifteen feet, I should say,” put in Chick.
“Not quite that, I think,” returned Carter. “But high enough. Anyhow, I
should like you to climb over, if you will. Then look about and see if
there is a long plank over there, or a ladder. I will stay here, on the
balcony, where I can look over, in case of any interference with you,
and be ready to help. You will get over with this rope ladder.”
He turned the flash on the ladder already referred to, which was
intended by Andrew Anderton for use as a fire escape, if necessary, and
showed that it had two powerful and large steel hooks at the end.
“I see,” said Chick. “I’ll climb down to our yard by this. Then you’ll
drop it to me, and I’ll throw up the end to the top of the fence and
hook it on. Is that the idea?”
“You have it exactly. Now, are you ready?”
“Sure! Let her go!”
It did not take Chick long to carry out his instructions. In a very
short space of time he was astride of the high fence. This brought him
almost level with Nick, standing on the balcony, and not more than ten
feet away, for the window was almost at the corner of the Anderton
house.
“Careful, Chick!” whispered Nick. “Better drop your ladder into the
other yard and go down that way.”
“All right! Then what am I to do?”
There was a short pause, while Nick Carter considered his next move.
Then he said quietly:
“If there is a ladder, or plank, push it up to the top of the fence. I
want to see whether it could have been used as a bridge to get to this
balcony from the yard. Do you begin to see what I’m driving at?”
“I’d be a bonehead if I didn’t,” replied Chick, as he went to work.
For perhaps a minute there was silence. Then a gruff voice broke out,
demanding to know who was there. This was followed by a sound of
fighting, with Chick’s voice mingling with the gruff tones heard before.
“You’re a burglar. That’s what you are!” roared the gruff person. “I’ll
have you pinched as soon as I can get you to the front door! Come on!
You can’t get away! Lend me a hand here, Bill!”
“I’m here,” responded a voice that was strangely squeaky, and might have
been that of a Chinaman, except that it had not the Mongolian accent.
“And the others will help.”
“The durned, sneaking thief! Out with him!”
There was a little more noise. Then a door banged, and--silence!
Nick Carter hurriedly went through the window to the study, and, without
taking the time to close it, rushed to the door, down the stairs, past
the mystified Ruggins, and out to the street.
There he met Chick, very much ruffled, and with his battered hat in his
hand, coming along from the next house, and occasionally looking over
his shoulder, as if he expected to see somebody come out.
“Well, chief, they bounced me!” he said, in a rueful tone. “Chucked me
out on my head.”
“Who?” asked Nick Carter.
“I don’t know. I didn’t see anybody. I only felt that there were at
least three men, and they were all huskies, too. We were in the dark.
They shoved me clean through the house and out of the front door before
I had any chance to fight back. It was the quickest bounce I ever
had--or ever gave any one else. What shall we do? Break down the door
and go in?”
“No. We’ll leave them for the present. The caretaker had a right to
throw you out if he thought you were a burglar, and, naturally, if he
had any friends with him, they would help. We can’t break in, unless we
want to bring the police. I am glad he didn’t call the police, as it
was.”
“Do you think he would dare do that?” asked Chick significantly.
“No,” was Nick Carter’s slow reply. “I don’t think he wants the police
to get into that house. That is where, I think, we have them.”
“You mean----”
“I mean that I am convinced the murderer of Andrew Anderton came in from
that house. But we can’t do anything more now. We’d better go in and
close that study. Then we’ll go to bed. Do you feel like walking?”
“Yes.”
“Very well. We’ll walk home.”