THE MYSTERIOUS BANDAGE.
The first thing to catch Nick Carter’s eye after stepping out on the
veranda was a strip of white cotton cloth, also a piece of common white
string, both lying on the veranda floor near the willow chair mentioned.
The strip of cloth was somewhat soiled and wrinkled, also creased and
curled in a way, and Nick picked it up and examined it.
He found that it was about two feet in length and five inches wide,
also that it had been carefully folded lengthwise. On one soiled end of
it were stains of blood.
“By Jove, here’s another bit of curious evidence,” said he, after a
careful examination.
“It looks like a bandage,” said Fallon.
“That’s just what it is.”
“But why curious?”
“Note the wrinkles and creases and the way it curls,” said Nick.
“Plainly enough, Fallon, it has been bound around a man’s hand, or it
would not have retained these several turns and creases.”
“I see.”
“Hold out your hands, both of them. We can find out by readjusting these
quirks and turns on which hand it was worn.”
“Certainly. That’s a simple problem.”
Nick proceeded to fit the bandage, so to speak, to Fallon’s hands. It
would not fit the right hand, though turned in either direction, without
altering the original turns and wrinkles. It could be perfectly bound
around the left hand, however, and the result of Nick’s experiment was
convincing.
“This is as plain as twice two,” said he. “It was worn by some man on
his left hand.”
“Surely,” Fallon agreed. “He probably had a sore hand, or a cut.”
“You are wrong,” said Nick. “That’s the curious part of it.”
“Wrong?” questioned Fallon, puzzled. “Why so?”
Nick still had the bandage twined around his companion’s left hand.
“Notice these bloodstains,” he replied. “They are not on the inside of
the bandage, which would come next to a cut, or sore. They are on the
outside of it.”
“By Jove, that is a bit strange,” Fallon now declared.
“The blood did not soak from a wound, moreover, for the layer of cloth
beneath this outside one is perfectly clean, as you see.”
“True.”
“So, as you now can see, is the inside of the bandage, which came next
to the hand,” Nick continued, removing it and displaying the inner side.
“There is not a sign of blood, pus, salve, or liniment, as if it had
been bound around a wounded hand. It is perfectly clean, in fact.”
“Humph!” Fallon ejaculated, gazing at it with increasing perplexity.
“There is no question as to your being right. It speaks for itself. But
what in thunder do you make of it?”
“The hand was not injured,” said Nick.
“It may have been lame, or sprained.”
“The bandage would not have been removed in that case, Fallon,” Nick
replied. “If sufficiently lame to require a bandage, it would not have
been removed when the man arrived here. No man about to attempt a
desperate job with a lame hand would first weaken the hand by removing a
bandage with which it had been protected, or strengthened.”
“That’s true, also,” Fallon nodded. “You think it was worn by the
assassin?”
“I do.”
“When he entered?”
“No. Before he entered,” said Nick. “In order to have free use of his
hand, he evidently tore off the bandage and string and threw them aside
before he entered. Here are stains of blood on the string, also, proving
that those on the bandage were on the outside of it, as I have already
demonstrated.”
“You’re right, Nick,” agreed Fallon. “There is no denying it.”
“Take it from me, too, the man’s hand was not injured.”
“But why that bandage, then?”
“For some other reason,” Nick said dryly. “What that reason was, Fallon,
remains to be learned. It would be a waste of time for us to try to
guess it.”
“I agree with you.”
“The blood on the outside of the bandage evidently came from the man’s
right hand, moreover, which I already have pointed out was stained, not
after, but before he entered this door. This mysterious bandage confirms
my previous deductions.”
“By Jove, it’s a perplexing mess,” said Fallon, brows knitted. “I cannot
fathom why the scoundrel’s right hand was soiled with blood before he
entered this house. Why it afterward may have been is simple enough.”
“Let’s go a step farther,” said Nick, thrusting the string and bandage
into his pocket.
He then began a careful examination of the veranda floor, but he could
find no tracks, nor evidence of any description.
Leaving the veranda, Nick then inspected the walk leading out to the
street, also the neatly trimmed lawn adjoining it. The gravel walk
retained no footprints, but Nick had taken only a few steps when,
abruptly halting, he pointed to the greensward.
The grass was slightly bent and bruised. Faint though it was, the track
of a small shoe was discernible, showing its size and the direction in
which it was turned.
“I see,” Fallon nodded, crouching with Nick to examine it. “Some one
recently stepped here, not longer ago than last evening.”
“That some one was a child, a girl, or a woman with a small foot,” Nick
replied. “It most likely was the last, a young woman.”
“Why so?”
“Notice the prints of the heel, which sank a little into the sod. It was
small and quite high. The deduction is a simple one. Only young women
wear shoes with French heels. They are seldom found on girls, or on
elderly women.”
“By Jove, you overlook nothing, Nick.”
“Not this, surely, for it stares me in the face,” Nick replied. “Here’s
another. Notice that the first points nearly toward the street. This
points toward the rear grounds. Plainly, then, the woman was going
toward the street when she first stepped from the gravel walk, and she
then turned in the opposite direction.”
“That’s plain, too,” Fallon agreed. “But what do you make of it?”
Nick glanced back at the veranda for a moment.
“The woman came from the side door, or from that opening on the
veranda,” said he. “She walked as far as here, as if about to go to the
street, then she turned toward the rear grounds. Take it from me,
Fallon, she was Father Cleary’s first visitor last evening. He let her
out, probably through the door opening upon the veranda, and she started
for the street. After hearing him close the door, however, and knowing
he was not watching her, she turned in the other direction.”
“By Jove, I think you are right.”
“Come. We’ll try to follow the tracks.”
Nick traced them with no great difficulty. The trail led him for a short
distance diagonally across the grounds toward the back street. Then it
diverged abruptly in the direction of the low wall dividing the church
property from an adjoining estate.
Gazing over the wall, Nick discovered other tracks in the next yard,
where the grass was not as closely trimmed and was considerably trampled
down. It was in the side yard of a wooden dwelling somewhat back from
the street and about thirty feet from the wall.
Leaping over the low wall, Nick examined the sod and grass. He found
numerous intermingled tracks and indentations, including that of a
slender heel and others much broader and deeper. Passing his hand over
the grass and glancing at the palm, he found it slightly stained with
blood.
“Here we have it, Fallon,” he said, rising and displaying his hand.
“Here is the key to the mystery, or to a part of it.”
“Good heavens!” Fallon exclaimed, gazing at it and then at the trampled
grass. “There was a fight here.”
“A very one-sided fight, Fallon, unless I am much mistaken,” Nick
replied.
“You mean?”
“It’s as plain as twice two, Fallon, as far as it goes,” said Nick,
confidently. “Father Cleary had a woman visitor last evening. She
confided something to him, or revealed it in a confession, about which
he then sat down to write to Bishop Cassidy.”
“As the unfinished letter indicates.”
“Exactly. After leaving him and pretending to start for the street, the
woman came this way and got over the wall into this yard. Here are her
heel prints in the sod. Why she came here and where she intended going
is an open question.”
“Plainly.”
“Be that as it may, she went no farther voluntarily,” Nick continued.
“She was intercepted by two men, at least; possibly three. I can find at
least two different heel tracks in the sod. The depth of them, also the
trampled condition of the grass, show plainly that there was a brief
struggle. The woman was overcome, though not without bloodshed, as also
appears on the grass.”
“Considerable blood, too, Nick, judging from your hand.”
“Enough to tell this part of the story,” Nick replied. “Probably, too,
here is where Father Cleary’s assailant got the blood on his right hand,
as well as on the outside of the bandage, before entering the rectory.”
“Yes, surely.”
“He tore off the bandage and cast it aside before undertaking the more
desperate game,” Nick added. “My opinion is, at present, that the
scoundrel knew that the woman had revealed something to the priest, whom
he then killed to prevent further exposure, while confederates who were
with him got away with the woman. That is my theory. Whether it is
correct, or not, remains to be discovered, as well as the identity of
the knaves and the whereabouts or fate of the woman.”
“I agree with you,” said Fallon gravely. “That seems to be the most
reasonable theory, if not the only one. What’s next to be done. Can we
trace these tracks any farther?”
“Not beyond the street, I fear, though I will try to do so,” said Nick.
“I will also question the people living in this house. They may have
heard some disturbance last evening. In the meantime, Fallon, you return
to the rectory and notify the coroner and a physician.”
“The coroner is a physician, Doctor Hadley.”
“He will be sufficient, then, for the present,” said Nick. “You had
better talk with the chief, also, and tell him what I make of the case.
I saw a telephone on a stand in the hall.”
“I saw it, too.”
“Go ahead, then. I will rejoin you there a little later.”
Fallon readily acquiesced, turning and quickly retracing his steps to
the rectory.
Nick glanced again at the trampled grass, then traced the several faint
tracks as far as the sidewalk, where, as he had expected, the trail
ended abruptly.
He then rang at the door of the house, in the side yard of which he had
made his latest discoveries. The summons brought a middle-aged woman to
the door, who stated in reply to his questions that no disturbance had
been heard the previous evening, and that she knew nothing of what had
transpired outside of the house.
Nick saw plainly that she was telling the truth, and he did not long
detain her. Returning to the sidewalk, he noted that there were no
dwellings opposite, only several vacant lots, none of which was inclosed
with a fence.
“The rascals may have gone in that direction,” he said to himself, after
vainly searching the street for tracks of a carriage or a motor car.
“They must, if they got away with the woman, have had a conveyance of
some kind. They may have crossed those lots, however, to the next
street.”
Bent upon confirming this, if possible, Nick walked in that direction.
He had only just entered the nearest of the several lots, however, when
he saw some pieces of white paper scattered over the dry ground. They
appeared to be fragments of a torn letter, and were so fresh and clean
that they must have been recently dropped.
Nick picked up a few of the fragments and examined them. They were
written on only one side, in a dainty, feminine hand; but the few words
on each piece, none of which was more than an inch square, gave him only
a vague idea as to the character of the entire letter.
That was so suggestive, however, that Nick carefully searched the ground
for the remaining fragments, which had been somewhat scattered by the
wind, or designedly done by the person who had destroyed the letter. He
succeeded in finding enough of the fragments to feel reasonably sure
that they would nearly complete the torn sheet, and he inclosed them in
his notebook.
Nick then crossed the vacant lots to the next street, noting that the
locality was one in which such a crime as he now suspected could have
been committed without much danger of detection; but he could discover
no further clew to the movements of the woman and her assailants, and
then retraced his steps to the rectory.
The coroner had arrived during his absence and was viewing the remains
of the murdered priest. Nick did not remain to talk with him, however,
but beckoned for Fallon to join him on the veranda.
“I must be going, now, for I have an appointment this morning,” he
explained. “You can tell Doctor Hadley, also the chief, what I make of
the case. Here is Father Cleary’s unfinished letter, which you had
better hand to the coroner. I will try to see you later and give you
further assistance.”
Detective Fallon thanked him, and Nick then departed.