NICK SHOWS HIS HAND.
It was after eleven o’clock when Nick Carter, in immaculate evening
dress, sauntered alone into the fashionable restaurant. He had found
certain persons whom he had been seeking, more of them than he had been
expecting to find. He had discovered them in a box at the opera, and had
followed them in a taxicab after the curtain had fallen upon Leonora’s
tragic death.
The scene over which Nick cast a seemingly indifferent eye was a
brilliant one. The glare of light, the throng of well-dressed men, of
beautiful women in gorgeous attire and radiant with jewels, the clink of
fragile glasses, the rippling laughter of pretty girls, the murmur of
cultivated voices, all mingled with the fascinating strains of
orchestral music--Nick Carter took it all in with a few swift glances
while the head waiter approached to conduct him to a seat.
“There is a vacant table near that at which Senator Barclay and his
friends are seated,” Nick quietly remarked, deftly slipping a generous
tip into the waiter’s hand.
The crisp bank note was felt and properly appreciated.
“Certainly, sir. This way, sir.”
“Forget that I suggested it,” Nick added.
“My mind is a blank, sir.”
“A waiter who knows his business,” thought Nick.
He followed him to a small table near one of the lace-draped windows.
At a large one in an alcove scarce ten feet away seven persons were
seated. They included Senator Barclay and his daughter Estella, a
handsome brunette in the twenties, who with her father appeared to be
entertaining the others.
A well-built, distinguished-looking man, attractive aside from a
habitual sinister squint, was seated next to Miss Barclay. He was close
upon fifty and his hair was streaked with gray. There was a bruise on
his brow, partly hidden by a treatment of paint and powder. He was the
victim of the recent assault by unknown thugs--Captain Casper Dillon.
Next to him sat a massive, powerful man, with a large head and a profuse
growth of tawny hair and beard, giving him a leonine aspect. Obviously,
he was a foreigner, as was a corpulent, showily dressed woman seated
opposite.
Another was the government engineer, Garland, looking drawn and white,
in spite of his efforts to appear congenial; while next to him was
seated a slender, graceful woman of almost dazzling beauty and
brilliancy, her sinuous figure ravishingly clad and her abundance of
auburn hair fairly ablaze with costly gems.
“H’m, just so,” thought Nick, furtively gazing. “Verona Warren, eh?
Wonderful eyes, an irresistible smile, a mouth like a rosebud, and a
matchless complexion--but not all her own. She is a skillful woman who,
at thirty-five, can strip off enough years to appear like a debutante.
Lost his head to Madame Irma Valaska, eh? I thought I might be
right--and now I know it.”
Ten minutes passed.
None of the group in the alcove had an eye for the solitary man seated
near one of the windows, apparently absorbed in his wine and lunch. Only
one among them would have recognized him. Not Garland, however, for
Garland had seen him only in disguise that afternoon.
Nick could occasionally catch a few words uttered more vivaciously than
others, but none were of special significance. He saw Stella Barclay
frowning at times upon Garland, however, and finally heard her inquire:
“What on earth, Harry, has come over you? You’re as dumb as an oyster,
and dreadfully white.”
“Pardon!” Garland exclaimed, brightening quickly. “I did not realize it,
Miss Barclay.”
“I have noticed it all evening. You are not ill, are you?”
“No, indeed.”
“Miss Barclay is right,” said Captain Dillon, with a squint from one to
the other. “I have noticed it. One would think, Garland, that you have
lost your best friend.”
“My best friend is here,” smiled Garland, glancing at the woman beside
him. “I have not lost her, I hope”.
She laid her hand on his and bent nearer to him.
The others laughed and Captain Dillon gazed, turning slightly from his
companions, for the first time on face of the detective. He started
perceptibly and lost color for a moment.
Nick pretended to see him at the same moment. He bowed and smiled,
touching his lips with one finger at the same time, and glancing
significantly at the chair opposite his own.
Captain Dillon nodded slightly, and a few moments later he excused
himself, remarking to his companions:
“There is an old friend of mine. I want just a word with him.”
They glanced at Nick, but none knew him by sight, and the incident was
entirely conventional.
Captain Dillon took the opposite chair and extended his hand, which Nick
pressed cordially while remarking:
“I thought I remembered you, Captain Dillon, and I made haste to put you
on your guard when I saw that you recognized me. I am here incognito. I
don’t wish to be known. Pray don’t expose me to your friends.”
“Certainly not!” Dillon quietly exclaimed, squinting at Nick over the
table. “I’m very glad you warned me, or I certainly would have done so.”
“I foresaw it, captain,” smiled Nick. “You have not changed much in the
several years since we met. You hold your own like an old war horse. I
am pleased to meet you again.”
“That feeling is reciprocated, Mr. Carter, I assure you,” Captain Dillon
said quietly. “How long have you been in Washington?”
“Not long,” said Nick. “I am here on important business. I cannot tell
when I may leave. That depends.”
“Upon the business mentioned, of course,” said Dillon, with an
expression between a smirk and a smile.
“Exactly,” bowed the detective.
“Government business, I suppose.”
“Yes.”
“Secret business, or----”
“Well, in a way,” said Nick, when the other paused with an inquiring
squint. “It relates to the theft of some important documents.”
“I see,” Captain Dillon nodded, with steadfast scrutiny. “Diplomatic
correspondence, perhaps, or----”
“No, not exactly,” smiled Nick. “They are, in fact, of a very different
character. I am not at liberty to inform you precisely, however, as you
may infer.”
“Yes, certainly,” Dillon readily allowed. “But did you expect to find
them here, or----”
“Well, no, not quite that,” Nick again replied agreeably, as if
oblivious to the other’s insinuating manner. “That would be too much to
have expected. I am inclined to distrust a certain person who now is at
supper, here, however, and I’m keeping an eye on him.”
“Ah, I see.”
“But do not imagine, Captain Dillon, because I am seated so near your
table, that he is in your party,” Nick added, in jesting fashion.
Captain Dillon laughed softly and shrugged his shoulders.
“I should hope not,” he replied, with a deprecatory gesture. “All of my
party are above suspicion. You know Senator Barclay by sight, of course,
and the dark-haired girl is his daughter. That tall, fine-looking chap
is Captain Garland, a government engineer in the war department. I
really must rejoin them now. Here is my card. If you remain long in town
and find it convenient, call and see me. I would be delighted.”
“I will try to do so,” said Nick, a bit dryly. “I am at the Willard.
Drop in and inquire for Mr. Arthur Greenleaf.”
Captain Dillon laughed and promised to do so, then bowed and rejoined
his friends.
“A rat, if there ever was one,” thought Nick. “No need to tell him more
definitely what business brought me here. He will infer that I suspect
Garland of having stolen the plans, however, and that will throw him off
his guard. He will feel dead sure, too, that I do not suspect him, or I
would not have confided in him. No sane man could reason otherwise.”
Nick left the restaurant before Senator Barclay and his party, but he
did not go far. He waited outside in disguise, one easily and quickly
adjusted, until the suspects emerged. He saw the hairy foreigner, in
company with the corpulent woman and the said Verona Warren, part from
the others and ride away in a limousine.
Senator Barclay and his daughter left in another, after shaking hands
with Garland and Captain Dillon, who then hailed a taxicab and rode away
together.
Nick had one waiting near by, to which he hastened and gave the driver
his instructions.
“To the Grayling, Vermont Avenue. Drop me there as quickly as possible.”
Ten minutes served to turn the trick.
Nick waited in the doorway of an opposite dwelling. His watch said one
o’clock when Garland put in an appearance. He came on foot, walking
slowly, staggering at times as if drunk. Nick had noticed, however, that
the young man drank nothing in the restaurant. He crossed over and
intercepted him at his door.
“You return late, Garland,” said he. “I have been waiting for you.”
Garland stared at him with feverish eyes, as white as a sheet, with that
terrible expression of anguish and anxiety on his drawn features that
Nick had noticed in the afternoon.
“Beg pardon!” he muttered, pulling himself together. “I don’t think I
know you.”
“Yes, you do,” said Nick. “We met this afternoon in Welden’s office. I
am Nick Carter.”
“Oh, good heavens!” Garland seized the detective’s arm. “Welden said I
would not have known you. Tell me--do you bring me good news? You have
been waiting for me. You must, then, have learned something.”
“Invite me in,” Nick replied. “There will be time enough for me to tell
you.”
“Pardon! Certainly,” Garland said, fishing out his keys. “I’m so
frightfully upset that I scarce know what I’m doing. I started for home
in a taxi, but couldn’t remain in it. I was so infernally nervous. I
wanted to walk--walk--walk. I shall go stark mad, Carter, unless those
plans are recovered. Come up to my room.”
Nick followed him to a handsomely furnished double room on the second
floor.
Garland switched on the lights, throwing off his hat and inverness, and
then placing cigars and cigarettes on the table.
“Help yourself, Mr. Carter, but don’t keep me in suspense,” he pleaded.
“What have you learned?”
Nick did not hurry. He settled back in an armchair, lighting a cigar,
and inquired:
“Where have you been?”
“To the opera.” Garland swung round from the roller shades he had
lowered. “God above! isn’t it ghastly! Think of it! To the opera--with a
heart of lead and blood like ice in one’s veins. But I had to go, have
to keep up appearances, or the truth might leak out. On the dead,
Carter, I think I am booked for the bug house. Do tell me what you
have----”
“Patience,” Nick interrupted. “Sit down and be calm. When I talk with a
man I want him to have a level head on his shoulders. That’s right;
light a cigarette. It will steady you--temporarily. Where did you go
after the opera?”
“To supper with a party of friends.”
“Including whom?”
“Senator Barclay and his daughter, the Baron Esterveldt and his wife,
with Miss Warren, whom I mentioned to you this afternoon. Captain Casper
Dillon, an ex-army officer, joined us in our box and accompanied us to
supper. He is a friend of the Esterveldts.”
“Captain Dillon,” Nick observed, blowing a wreath of smoke toward the
ceiling. “Ex-army officer, did you say?”
“Yes.”
“Are you well acquainted with him?”
“Quite well. I meet him frequently at the home of the Esterveldts, when
I go there to see Miss Warren. She is their niece, you know, and Captain
Dillon is an intimate friend of the family.”
“Miss Warren is their niece?”
“Yes.”
“How did that happen? Hers is an English name.”
“Her father was an English naval officer.”
“Ah!”
“He married a sister of the Baron Esterveldt. Both have been dead for
several years, and Verona since has lived with the Esterveldts.”
“H’m, I see.”
“They have an extensive estate in Bohemia and a residence in Berlin.
They have been in Washington nearly a year, however, for Verona is very
fond of America and of Miss Barclay. They met abroad more than a year
ago and became very friendly. The Baron Esterveldt entertained the
Barclays at that time, and Senator Barclay is now doing all in his power
to return the compliment.”
“Naturally,” said Nick oddly.
“It was through him that I met Miss Warren and--well, I fell over head
and ears in love with her.” Garland enthused for a moment. “She’s a
wonderful girl, Carter, a marvel of beauty, wit, and brilliancy. You
ought to meet her. To see her is to worship her. She’s the most
fascinating girl----”
“Where do the Esterveldts reside?” Nick interposed.
“They rent a fine place near the Dupont Circle, that of the late General
Dexter.”
Nick mentally noted the location, then said a bit bluntly, throwing his
half-smoked cigar into a cuspidor:
“That, I infer, is all you know about these people?”
Garland stared at him.
“Know about them?” said he. “What more need one know? Why do you speak
like that? Why have you delayed to question me about them? Tell me,
Carter, I implore you, what have you learned about----”
Nick checked him with a gesture.
“I have learned enough, Garland, to convince me that I am justified in
what I am about to say,” he replied impressively. “It is going to hurt
you. It is going to stab you in a tender spot, but it will be for your
own good, and I have no alternative but to say it. Your honor is at
stake, Garland, and the integrity of a United States senator is in
jeopardy.”
Garland lurched forward in his chair.
“Good God!” he gasped hoarsely. “What do you mean, Carter? What do you
mean?”
“Did you see Captain Dillon talk with a man at another table this
evening?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Did you see the man?”
“Certainly.”
“Could you identify him if you were to see him again?”
“Yes, yes, surely! But why----”
“Have a look.”
Nick removed his disguise and thrust it into his pocket.
Garland swayed unsteadily, staring with wide, dilated eyes and twitching
lips. He did not speak for a moment. He seemed to be trying to grasp the
situation, to take in the full significance of what Nick had said, and
evidently had done. He made a desperate effort to steady himself,
clenching his hands till the nails ate into the palms.
Then, suddenly, he hurled his cigarette into the fireplace and spoke
with a sort of fierce composure, as a man might who had clutched his
heart with his hand and held it with an iron grip.
“I have heard that you are a man of many faces,” said he. “I now can
believe it. I know, too, that you are one man in a million, that you are
above dramatic claptraps and needless subterfuge. I’m nerved for
whatever you may say to me. Come across with it.”
“Good for you,” said Nick approvingly. “You’re a big man, Garland, big
in more ways than one, and a splendid future awaits you. You are so big,
in fact, like other men I have known, that you are blind to the servile
treachery and dirty trickery of which some are capable, both being so
foreign to you. That is one reason why big men are sometimes easily made
the dupes of the others.”
“Dupes?”
“I heard you say to-night, Garland, that you hoped you had not lost your
best friend.”
“Best--best friend! You don’t mean--you don’t mean----”
Garland choked and loosened the collar on his throbbing neck.
“I mean the woman you know as Verona Warren,” said Nick. “I am going to
take her away from you--for your own good.”
“You mean----”
“I mean that her name is not Verona Warren,” Nick went on impressively.
“I saw her in St. Petersburg three years ago, while engaged on a case
for this government. She did not see me, or know of my presence there,
but I learned all about her. She then was a spy in the Russian secret
service, one of their cleverest, bar none. Her name is Irma Valaska. She
is the widow of a Russian soldier who was killed in Korea. Two years ago
she failed in a mission intrusted to her, and she fled from Russia. She
then entered the secret service of one of the Balkan states. I don’t
know just what European power she now is serving, but I do know----”
Nick leaned forward and spoke with redoubled earnestness.
“I do know that she is here as a spy for some foreign power, or powers;
that her secret mission is to get information concerning our coast-line
fortifications and defense. I know that she, with them to whom she
pretends to be related, this Baron Esterveldt and his wife, have made
you and Senator Barclay their dupes, and that the theft of your
portfolio and the government plans was the work of this woman, as base,
treacherous, and----”
“Stop! I cannot believe----”
“You stop!” Nick forcibly interrupted. “Do I need to say, Garland, that
I would not tell you this if I were not absolutely sure of it? I am
absolutely sure. Listen to me. I will tell you something more.”
Garland obeyed and listened, not once interrupting. He looked like a man
turned to stone.
Nick told him from beginning to end what he had learned since talking
with Chief Welden, also much that he had done and suspected.
It brought home the truth to his hearer. It opened his eyes to the
treachery of which he had been the victim. It turned to dead ashes the
love that had made it possible. He covered his ghastly face with his
hands, sobbing convulsively for several moments, and then he met the
blow man fashion.
“My God, it is terrible, terrible!” he said hoarsely, gazing again at
Nick. “You have forced me to believe, to realize, but--oh, this woman!”
“She has deceived abler men than you, Garland,” said Nick kindly. “You
must tear her out of your heart.”
“Must--I have!” said Garland, with sudden vehemence. “There is no
alternative.”
“As a matter of fact, Garland, this conspiracy dates back more than a
year,” Nick said confidently. “It began with the Baron Esterveldt’s
hospitality to the Barclays when they were abroad. It was framed up at
that time and the way paved for what since has occurred. Captain Dillon
had a hand in it as long ago as that, for I since have learned that he
then was in Europe.”
“You must be right, Carter,” Garland said, more calmly. “I now see it
plainly. My honor is at stake, as you said, and the integrity of Senator
Barclay. What’s to be done?”
“You can do nothing,” Nick replied. “The recovery of those plans before
any advantage can be derived from them is my work.”
“But is it possible?”
“I must make it possible. You, Garland, must do what I direct.”
“I will. But what?”
“I want you where I can reach you quickly, if necessary,” said Nick. “I
also think it wise for you to disappear temporarily. I may be able to
turn that to some advantage. I am stopping at the Willard. Leave here
to-morrow morning and register there in this disguise under the name of
John Black. Get a room on the third floor, if possible, on which I am
located.”
“I will do so,” said Garland, taking the disguise.
“I am registered as Arthur Greenleaf,” Nick added. “Two of my assistants
are in same suite. Don’t seek me, however, nor make any inquiries.
Merely lie low and wait till I come to you. Do you understand?”
“Perfectly,” said Garland. “I will follow your instructions to the
letter.”
“Very good,” Nick replied. “Where is the dummy portfolio and the papers
it contained?”
“Here, in my safe.”
“Just as you found it when you arrived home last Friday evening?”
“Yes.”
“Let me have it,” said Nick. “I think I can make use of it.”
Garland hastened to get it.
Nick examined it for a moment, then arose and extended his hand.
“That’s all for to-night, Garland,” said he. “Keep a stiff upper lip.
There will be something doing to-morrow.”