A DESPERATE MOVE.
It was nearly noon.
Less than three hours had passed since Nick Carter and his two
assistants set to work on that eventful morning.
There was a change in the scene in Captain Casper Dillon’s library.
Nick Carter was seated in one of the large chairs near the wall, tied to
it and with his arms secured behind him. His strong, clean-cut face,
nevertheless, wore an expression of absolute indifference. He sat
listening without concern to the discussion that was in progress.
There was another prominent figure in it at that time. He was seated
near the library table, on which still lay the plans Nick had brought
there, and the safety of which was all that then gave him any
uneasiness. This figure was that of the Baron Esterveldt, who had
followed Irma Valaska there in a touring car, then directed his
chauffeur to return home.
The woman, one of Europe’s cleverest spies, then was seated near him.
Captain Dillon had been liberated, of course, and was in nervous
exultation over the less threatening turn of affairs.
There then were three other persons in the room--Andy Margate, Tom
Carney, and Larry Trent.
They had arrived upon the scene ten minutes before. The forces that had
been in operation had come together, had united for the first time, and
explanations formed a part of the discussion, conducted almost entirely
by the Baron Esterveldt and Margate.
“Never mind how I came to know of your designs,” Margate was saying to
the other just as a French clock on the mantel struck twelve. “That’s
neither here nor there. All that we need come to is a settlement of the
matter as it stands.”
“What do you consider a settlement?” Esterveldt demanded, with sonorous
voice.
“That can be told with few words,” returned Margate coldly.
“Brevity is desirable under the circumstances,” said Esterveldt, with a
sneer.
It was ignored by Margate.
“There is just this much to it,” he went on icily: “I have in my
possession certain articles for which you people have conspired. They
are intact, just as we found them when Captain Dillon reluctantly parted
with them.”
Dillon scowled darkly, but did not interrupt.
“We will return them to you for a price,” Margate continued. “What that
sum shall be, and when the deal can be completed, are the only two
questions to be settled.”
“Ah, indeed?” queried Esterveldt, frowning. “What about this detective
and his assistant, the one you say is in your hands?”
“You may dispose of them as you please, Baron Esterveldt,” Margate said
coldly. “I can imagine that your subsequent safety will permit of only
one course.”
“There is some truth in that.”
“What you do with them is immaterial to me,” added Margate. “Carter is
too dangerous a man for me to leave alive, if I were the one seriously
threatened. That, however, will be up to you.”
“We can take care of him,” snapped Irma Valaska, with a fiery glance at
the unruffled detective. “We’ll be sure to close his mouth.”
“Possibly.”
Nick dropped in the single doubtful word indifferently.
“A settlement, then, should be easily arrived at,” said Margate,
resuming. “As a matter of fact, so far as I and my two friends here are
concerned, there is nothing else to it. There is nothing----”
“Oh, yes, there is! There is much more to it!”
The interruption, one that turned the scene into a tumult, was shouted
from outside.
It was followed by the crash of the French window, through which came
Chick Carter and Patsy Garvan, weapons drawn and with four policemen at
their heels.
Others were battering down the back door.
Others were stationed at the front.
A shout of satisfaction from Nick Carter was drowned by a roar of dismay
from the Baron Esterveldt, a shriek of mingled fear and fury from Irma
Valaska, and oaths and imprecations from knaves instantly involved in a
vain but terrific struggle.
Only one man succeeded in making a move for liberty--Andy Margate.
He sprang through the parlor door, as quick as a cat and defiant of the
bullet that whizzed by his head. Two bounds took him across the room. He
did not seek the front door of the house, knowing it must be guarded.
Without an instant’s hesitation, a devil indeed when cornered, he leaped
straight through a side window, carrying away panes and sashes, and
alighted in the side yard.
Two policemen in the front yard tried to stop him.
Margate dodged them, cleared the front fence cleanly, and in an instant
was in the runabout Irma Valaska had left at the curbing. He uttered a
defiant yell and was away in a moment.
Patsy Garvan rushed out of the house in time to fire twice, only to miss
the crouching rascal, and in another moment the speeding car had turned
the nearest corner.
At one o’clock that afternoon, Nick Carter, in company with Chick and
Patsy, knocked on the door of a suite in the Willard and waited for the
occupant to open it. There was an odd smile on the face of the famous
detective, an odd smile on that of each of his companions. The light in
their eyes was one that never shone on land or sea.
They had not long to wait, scarce a moment. Well enough the man in the
suite knew that only one person would be likely to knock on his door,
that only Nick Carter and his assistants knew that he was there.
Harold Garland, as anxious and distressed as if his life was at stake,
ran to the door and opened it.
“Ah!” said Nick, smiling. “I thought you might be at lunch.”
He had an overcoat on his arm when he entered with his assistants, and
he placed it on a table in the parlor.
“Lunch!” Garland echoed the word derisively. “Heaven above! will I ever
eat again, Carter?”
“Well, I hope so,” said Nick, laughing.
“Do you laugh at me?” Garland stood and stared. “Tell me----”
“Oh, I haven’t much to tell you, Captain Garland. I came near losing
those plans you brought me from the war office this morning.”
“Losing them!” Garland spoke with a gasp. “God above! that would be
heaping Pelion upon Ossa. If you had lost them, also----”
“Oh, but I didn’t,” said Nick.
“Where are they, then, and----”
“Have a look.”
Nick picked up his overcoat and revealed on the table--two portfolios
stuffed with government plans.
Garland stared for an instant, then uttered a shriek that might have
been heard a mile away--a shriek imbued with joy and relief that words
could not describe. He tore open both, viewed their contents for a
moment, and then he threw his arms around the detective, sobbing like a
child and crying wildly:
“Oh, Carter, Carter, Carter, how am I to repay you? They are all here,
all here! Both portfolios--every plan! Oh, my God, I think I’m going
daffy!”
“Let it be with delight, then,” said Nick, kindly forcing him to a
chair. “We have called the turn on the foreign spies, at least, and put
them where they belong. They have learned nothing from these plans,
moreover, and you can bank safely on that, Garland, to the day of
judgment. Calm yourself and listen. I will tell you what we have done
and where you now stand.”
Nick then told him what had transpired that morning; of the finding of
the stolen portfolio by Chick and Patsy; of the subsequent arrest of the
Baron Esterveldt and his confederates, and the imprisonment of the
entire gang, with the exception of Andy Margate.
“But we shall get him later,” Nick added, after thrilling Garland with
the entirely favorable outcome of the case. “The others will get all
that is coming to them, and are as good as booked for long terms in a
Federal prison. As for Andy Margate, he is a clever and elusive crook. I
have wormed out of Trent that he got an inkling of this job before
leaving Europe, and that he came over here to take advantage of it. He
did not know just what it was, but he kept an eye on Madame Valaska and
discovered her friendliness with you. He saw you only by chance when you
were met by her at the Union Station, Trent and Carney being with him,
and they saw her slip the portfolio to Dillon, then in disguise, just
before the touring car started. Dillon passed by the car to receive it,
and Margate at once suspected its value. They waylaid him later,
and--well, that’s the whole story. But he will not escape. We’ll get him
later, Garland, take my word for it. We’ll get Andy Margate a little
later.”
Nick Carter’s prediction proved to be correct.
THE END.
How Nick Carter’s prediction was fulfilled will be told in “Paying
the Price; or, Nick Carter’s Perilous Venture,” the long, complete
story which you will find in the next issue, No. 146, of the NICK
CARTER STORIES, out June 26th. The further adventures of the
celebrated detective and his two famous assistants in their efforts
to run down Andy Margate is related in a most graphic manner. Then,
too, there is the usual installment of the serial now running,
together with several other interesting bits of information.
Where’s the Commandant?
By C. C. WADDELL.
(This interesting story was commenced in No. 140 of NICK CARTER
STORIES. Back numbers can always be obtained from your news dealer
or the publishers.)