IN THE TOILS.
It was noon when Nick Carter entered the vast building on Pennsylvania
Avenue, in which the state, war, and navy departments of the nation are
located.
Nick proceeded at once to the west wing and the office he was seeking,
which he entered without the ceremony of knocking. He found a young
woman at work with a typewriter.
“Is Mr. Garland inside?” Nick inquired, glancing at the closed door of a
private office.
“No, sir,” said the stenographer, turning from her table. “But he is
likely to come in at any moment.”
“Where has he gone?”
“To an office on the next floor, sir. A young lady is mysteriously
missing, one with whom he is acquainted, and he wanted to inquire about
her.”
“Is she employed in the office to which he has gone?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How long has she been missing?”
“She was at work yesterday, sir, and left at the usual hour. She has not
been seen since, according to Mr. Barstow, in whose office she is
employed. She was on some very important work and should have been here
this morning, which led to an immediate investigation. She lately has
been acting strangely, which also has caused some misgivings.”
“How strangely?” questioned Nick.
“Well, as if she was worried or in trouble of some kind, as near as I
could learn from one of Mr. Barstow’s clerks, who came here a short time
ago to inform Mr. Garland.”
“You said that Garland is acquainted with her?”
“I think so.”
“Are you?”
“I know her only by sight and name.”
“What is her name?”
“Charlotte Trent,” said the girl. “She is more commonly called Lottie
Trent.”
Nick Carter evinced no surprise upon hearing the name of the missing
girl. It told him, nevertheless, in view of all of the circumstances,
that the case was rapidly becoming more serious and complicated. He
knew, recalling what Fallon had said that morning, that this same Lottie
Trent must be the sister of Larry Trent, the crook confederate of Andy
Margate in the recent theft of the government plans, a fact that at once
increased the detective’s misgivings.
Nick did not then stop to consider the matter, however, nor to further
question the stenographer. He saw that she could tell him nothing more
definite. Without evincing any special interest in what he had heard, he
now said to her:
“I wish to see Mr. Garland on very important business. Ask him to wait
for me if he comes in presently. I will return in a few minutes.”
“I will, sir,” replied the girl. “I think you then will find him here.”
Nick thanked her and withdrew to the corridor, where he found an
attendant who directed him to Barstow’s office on the floor above. While
he was approaching the stairway to walk up, Nick saw Garland leaving the
elevator, just returning to his own office.
He looked gaunt and white, a shadow of his former self, as Senator
Barclay had stated. His refined, clean-cut face, which was as strong in
many respects as that of the detective, wore an expression of
overwhelming anxiety. His eyes had an abnormal glitter, as if the fever
of prolonged mental distress was consuming him.
Nick watched him for a moment, then went up to Barstow’s office. There,
after partly confiding in the government official, whom he pledged to
subsequent secrecy, Nick obtained a specimen of Lottie Trent’s
handwriting. He also learned that Garland had been sent for only because
he recently had been seen talking with the girl in the corridors, which
had given rise to a hope that he might know what now occasioned her
absence. He had asserted, nevertheless, that he knew nothing about her.
Nick returned to the corridor and compared the girl’s writing with that
in the torn letter found near the scene of the murder. A mere glance at
both, for Nick was a keen chirographist, convinced him that Lottie Trent
was the writer. He replaced the letter in his pocket and returned to
Garland’s office.
“He came in soon after you went out,” remarked the stenographer, looking
up and smiling. “You will find him in his private office.”
Nick entered it without knocking.
Garland was seated at a large roll-top desk. He swung round in his
swivel chair and sharply eyed the detective.
“Oh, you’re the gentleman who called while I was out,” he said, a bit
brusquely. “Sit down. What can I do for you? My clerk said you spoke of
having important business.”
“It is very important,” Nick replied, drawing up a chair.
“Concerning what? I don’t recall having met you.”
“My name is Parsons,” said Nick, turning the lapel of his vest and
displaying the edge of his detective badge. “I am in the bureau of
secret investigation.”
“A detective?”
“Yes, in other words.”
“But why have you called on me? What’s your business?” Garland demanded,
with sharper scrutiny.
“This may give you a hint at it,” said Nick, unfolding the pasted letter
and handing it to him.
Garland took it and viewed it curiously for a moment. He then read it
without speaking, but with brows knitting closer over his feverish eyes.
Looking up with a perplexity not easily to have been distrusted, he
asked, a bit curtly:
“Why is it pasted together in this way? It gives me no hint at your
business. What’s the meaning of it?”
“You don’t know?” questioned Nick, though already convinced of it.
“Certainly not. It’s Greek to me.”
“Have you never seen it before?”
“No, never.”
“Do you recognize the writing?”
“I do not. I haven’t the slightest idea who wrote it. Why is the
signature missing?”
“Because I could not find the fragment containing it where I found the
others,” said Nick. “I happen to know, however, who wrote the letter.”
“Who?”
“A girl named Lottie Trent.”
“Lottie Trent--oh, by thunder!” Garland’s frown vanished as quick as a
flash. “By Jove this may help to clear up a mystery, Mr. Parsons. Lottie
Trent is missing and cannot be found. I have just talked with her
employer. He----”
“So have I,” Nick interrupted. “He told me that you have frequently been
seen talking with the girl. Talking with her so earnestly that----”
“Stop!” Garland’s teeth met with a quick snap. “And that led you to
suspect that this letter was sent to me. I see, now, why you covertly
approached the matter. You aimed to evoke some sign of self-betrayal on
my part. Understand one thing, Mr. Parsons, right here and now,” he
added with threatening vehemence. “I know nothing about this letter nor
about Lottie Trent.”
“You did not see her, then, last evening,” said Nick, unruffled.
“No, sir; I did not.”
“Nor attempt to meet her?”
“Certainly not,” snapped Garland. “Why would I attempt to meet her? I
would not have known where to find her. The girl is nothing to me.”
“I also happen to know, Mr. Garland, where she was about half past eight
last evening,” Nick replied. “Unless I am very much mistaken, she was
forcibly abducted by two or three men. That was accomplished just before
the murder of the priest.”
“Murder? Priest?” gasped Garland, staring. “What are you talking about?
What do you mean?”
“I think, too, that it must have been before you, Mr. Garland, arrived
in the grounds back of the St. Lawrence Church and rectory. Otherwise,
you might have prevented the abduction of Lottie Trent and the murder of
Father Cleary. If you had arrived earlier----”
“Stop a moment!”
Garland lurched forward in his chair. He now was more than pale. The
last vestige of color had vanished from his cheeks, leaving him ghastly
and drawn, with lips as gray as ashes.
“See here!” he cried, half in his throat. “At what are you driving? What
do you mean by the murder of a priest and the abduction of this girl?
Have you come here, Mr. Parsons, bent upon leading me into a net? Are
you one of those infernal, double-dealing detectives who seeks to stab a
suspect from behind, instead of attacking him openly? Why do you say I
was in the grounds of the St. Lawrence Church last evening? Why----”
“Only because you were there,” Nick interrupted. “I can read it in your
eyes, in your colorless face. This patched letter alone would convince
me that you were there. What was the occasion? Why did you go there? A
denial will not avail you anything. Shape the opposite course, Mr.
Garland, and confide in me. It would be to your advantage, as it already
has been. I am not half a stranger to you--as you can see.”
Nick whipped off his disguise with the last, but the immediate effect
upon his hearer was not what he expected. For a half-smothered cry of
alarm broke from Garland, instead of the cordial greeting the detective
anticipated, and the young man leaped up and darted to the door, at
which he listened intently for several seconds, as pale and trembling as
if a sheriff with a death warrant awaited him in the outer office.
Nick was compelled to admit to himself that he was somewhat puzzled. He
waited without speaking, nevertheless, until Garland turned back and
resumed his seat.
“I overlooked for a moment that you came in disguise,” he said
nervously, while he seized and warmly pressed both hands of the
detective. “Heavens, what a call-down I gave you. But it goes without
saying, Nick, and very well you know it, that I fairly worship you and
am overjoyed at seeing you.”
Nick smiled oddly and shook his head.
“That remains to be seen, Garland,” he replied.
“What do you mean?”
“I might believe it under different circumstances.”
“Different circumstances? How different?”
“You were not glad when you first recognized me. You were seriously
alarmed. You were glad only when you remembered that I entered this
office in disguise. You feared at first that some one had seen and
recognized me. Your looks and conduct admit of no other interpretation.
Come, come, what’s the meaning of it? What’s the answer?”
Garland hesitated, settling back in his chair, looking white and worried
again, as if burdened with fears he could not overcome.
“Really, Nick, there is no answer----”
“Stop a bit,” Nick interrupted. “Don’t hand me anything of that kind. I
can read deeper than most men. You cannot get by me, Garland, with any
flimsy denials. You are living in abject fear of some one. You fear that
you are being secretly watched, and that this office is also under
stealthy espionage. You fear that I was seen and recognized when I
entered.
“There can be only one reason for such a fear as that. Crooks are
putting something over on you, Garland, and you have been warned against
appealing to me for aid. You feel that you are absolutely in their
power, too, or you would have ignored their warning and their threats.
No other deductions are tenable. They would not have feet to stand on.”
“Good heavens!” Garland huskily exclaimed, nervous and trembling. “You
don’t know what you are saying, Nick, nor----”
“Oh, yes, I do,” Nick again interrupted. “Nor have I finished, Garland,
by any means. You listen to me for half a minute.”
“But----”
“There aren’t any buts,” Nick insisted impressively. “You hold your
horses and hear what I have to say. Father Cleary, of the St. Lawrence
Church, was murdered last evening. He was stabbed to death in the
rectory. Lottie Trent, after having seen him and confided something to
him, was abducted by the knaves who afterward killed him. Both crimes
were committed to prevent further exposure of what the girl had told
him. You, Garland, know what it was!”
“On my word, Carter, I----”
“Wait!” Nick cut in again. “I have adequate proof of all this. I am on
the case and I’m going to sift it to the bottom. You, Garland, were near
the scene of these two crimes. This torn letter written by Lottie Trent
convinces me of that. I now can guess, too, with what object it was left
there, and with what designs you were lured there. This girl is a sister
of Larry Trent, now in prison for complicity with Andy Margate in the
recent theft of your government plans. Now, Garland, you tell me the
truth. I’ll stand for nothing else, nor can anything else save you. I
once have pulled you out of the fire. I can, if necessary, do it again.
There is no middle course for you. I must arrest you, or know the whole
truth. Out with it. What is Andy Margate putting over on you?”
There was no resisting Nick Carter under such conditions, and Garland
now seemed to realize it. A look of relief had appeared on his pale
face, that relief with which one burdened with a terrible secret sees
the way open to confiding in another.
“You are right, Nick,” he admitted, with sudden determination. “I am in
just such a position as you suspect. I did fear that you had been seen
coming here. Now that you are here, however, and can leave in disguise,
as you entered, I will take a chance and tell you the whole business. I
have, in fact, been tempted to send for you in spite of threats and
warnings. Heavens, how I have longed for your aid and advice.”
“You now may have both,” said Nick. “Get right at it, then, and tell me
the whole truth. You look like a nervous wreck.”
“I am,” Garland admitted. “I have suffered the tortures of hell for more
than a week.”
“Omit nothing. Tell me the whole business.”
“It can be briefly told,” Garland began. “I was called up by telephone
nine days ago by an unknown man. He stated that I was about to receive a
package by mail, and that the sender of it insisted upon having a
personal interview with me. I was warned against confiding in any one,
and threatened with direful consequences if I did so. I was told that an
automobile would arrive at the first corner east of the Grayling, where
I am living, at precisely nine o’clock that evening, and I must be
there to immediately enter it, when I would be taken to the sender of
the mailed package. I was repeatedly warned, mind you----”
“I understand,” Nick interposed. “Never mind the warnings. Let’s get at
the facts. What followed?”
“I waited with indescribable misgivings, Nick, for the package said to
have been sent to me,” Garland continued. “It came an hour later. I
opened it and found--a photograph of the portfolio that contained the
government plans of which I was robbed by Irma Valaska and Captain
Casper Dillon, whose infamous designs you so successfully foiled.”
“H’m, is that so?” said Nick, with brows drooping. “A photograph of the
portfolio, eh?”
“Yes.”
“Is there any doubt about it?”
“Not the slightest. It shows the flap of the portfolio, turned back so
as to show my name and address, which I had written on the inner side of
it. The writing is plainly discernible and it corresponds precisely with
that in the portfolio now in my possession.”
“Where is the photograph?”
“Here in my safe, also the portfolio. I will get them. You may see for
yourself.”
“Wait one moment,” Nick interposed. “I will examine them a little later.
Go on with your story. What did you do after receiving the photograph?”
“What could I do?” questioned Garland nervously. “My misgivings were
redoubled, and since have been confirmed. I did not dare to deviate from
the directions given me. I confided in no one. I locked the photograph
in my safe and determined to learn what was back of such an ominous
beginning.”
“Very good,” Nick nodded. “With what result?”
“I followed the instructions given me,” Garland proceeded. “I was on the
corner mentioned at precisely nine o’clock that evening. A limousine
approached. I saw plainly that the chauffeur was prepared to speed on,
if in any way threatened.”
“You entered it?”
“Yes. It hardly stopped for me to do so. A masked man was seated in it.
He at once assured me that I was in no personal danger, and he then
insisted upon blindfolding me. I consented reluctantly and he drew a
black cap over my head. I then could see nothing, absolutely nothing,
and I have no idea where I was taken.”
“Where did you bring up?” Nick inquired.
“In a house or building into which I was led, still blindfolded,” said
Garland. “I do not know where it is located. I haven’t the slightest
idea. I heard the closing of a heavy door after entering, and I
presently felt the downward movement of an elevator. I found myself in a
lighted room a moment later, and the cap was removed from my head.”
“And then?”
“Two masked men stood beside me. A third was seated at a table. In one
corner stood a large photographic camera. The man at the table was not
masked. It was, as you probably infer, Andy Margate.”
“Yes, no doubt,” Nick said dryly. “Well, what followed? What did Margate
want of you?”
“That may be told in a nutshell.”
“Briefly stated, then?”
“Margate has photograph copies of all of the government plans stolen
from me a month ago. They were taken during the short time he had the
plans in his possession.”
“Ah, I see!” said Nick. “That is, indeed, a serious matter. What does
Margate intend doing with them?”
“He threatens to sell them to foreign powers,” replied Garland,
shuddering. “Think what that would mean! Thank God, however, he offered
me one alternative.”
“Ah!” Nick again exclaimed a bit dryly. “What is the alternative?”
“The privilege of buying them myself.”
“Humph! Have you consented to do so?”
“What else could I do?” Garland demanded. “My position is worse than it
was a month ago. If photograph copies of the government plans are
possessed by this scoundrel, they are even more dangerous than the
originals, which could be entirely changed if known to be hopelessly
lost. In view of uncertainty concerning photograph copies, however,
construction work in accord with the plans might be adhered to with
disastrous consequences. You know what might follow if----”
“If war were declared, and our foes had photographic plans of our coast
defenses--yes, I know all about that,” Nick interrupted. “But that’s in
the dim and distant future. Let’s stick to the game that now is being
played. Did you consent to buy the photographs?”
“Yes.”
“For what price?”
“One hundred thousand dollars was demanded,” Garland said, with a groan.
“I protested that it was more than I could possibly raise. Margate had
learned, however, that I had a fortune of about sixty thousand dollars.
He agreed to compromise at eighty thousand, and I was allowed ten days
in which to raise the needed twenty. The infernal knave will not only
leave me penniless, but also plunge me deep in debt.”
“Have you raised the money?”
“All but five thousand, for which I think I can make arrangements
to-morrow.”
“To-morrow,” Nick echoed. “That is your last day of grace, is it not?”
“Yes. I am to see Margate again to-morrow night.”
“Where?”
“Under the same conditions as before.”
“And he expects you to hand him the money?”
“He does. He insisted, in fact, that he would allow me only this one
meeting; that he would, if the price is not paid to-morrow, at once take
steps to sell the photographs abroad. He warned me that I would be
constantly watched, and threatened to instantly end all negotiations
with me if I confided in any one, or appealed for aid to the police. He
mentioned you in particular, and threatened----”
“Never mind what he threatened,” Nick interrupted, with an ominous
frown. “He shall have good cause to threaten me.”
“But consider my position, Nick,” Garland cried hopelessly. “I am
placed----”
“I see just where you are placed,” Nick cut in again. “You have made the
whole knavish business sufficiently plain. But I, Garland, now propose
to take a hand in it.”
“You mean----”
“I mean that the price shall be paid--but Andy Margate is the man who
shall pay it,” Nick forcibly declared. “I’ll bring that rat up with a
round turn, Garland, or I’ll chuck my vocation.”
“But how----”
“Don’t ask me how,” Nick interrupted. “Let me see your portfolio and the
photograph you received by mail.”
Garland hastened to get them from his safe.
Nick examined them carefully, inspecting the photograph with a powerful
convex lens, particularly the address mentioned. He saw plainly that the
photograph was a genuine one, that the writing could not otherwise have
been so perfectly imitated, and he then returned them to his waiting
companion.
“Lock them up again,” he directed. “Now, Garland, answer me a few
questions. Why have you recently been talking with Lottie Trent?”
“For only one reason, Nick. She has repeatedly stopped me in the
corridors, or on the stairs, to beg me to use my influence to have her
brother pardoned and liberated from prison. I have told her it would be
useless, but she still persisted. She is a good girl, mind you, honest
and industrious, with none of her brother’s characteristics.”
“There was no other occasion for your interviews with her?”
“Absolutely none.”
“Did you go to the St. Lawrence Church last evening, or somewhere in
that locality?”
“I did,” Garland admitted.
“For what?”
“I was called up by telephone at the Grayling about nine o’clock. I
recognized the voice of the same man who had talked with me about the
photograph sent by mail. He said that he must see me, and directed me to
meet him back of the St. Lawrence Church. I went there and waited until
midnight, but he did not join me. I inferred that I had arrived too
late.”
“Have you since heard from him?”
“Yes, this morning. He telephoned that he was prevented from meeting me,
and that I must keep the appointment made for to-morrow night.”
“That will be kept, all right,” Nick said a bit dryly. “Can you get a
New York wire with this telephone?” he added, glancing at the instrument
on Garland’s desk.
“Yes, of course.”
“Do so. I want my business office. I will have Chick and Patsy join me
here to-morrow,” said Nick, referring to his two most reliable
assistants. “We’ll show Andy Margate what wood shingles are made of,
take my word for it.”
Garland hastened to obey, and Nick soon was in communication with Chick
Carter, to whom he gave such instructions as served his purpose, the
nature of which will presently appear.
“Now, Garland, you must leave this matter to me and follow my
instructions to the letter,” said he, after talking with Chick. “There
must be no change from your recent conduct and appearance. I do not want
our meeting suspected, in case you are being watched, and you must
govern yourself accordingly.”
“I will do so,” Garland assured him. “Heaven knows, in fact, I see no
way out of this scrape.”
“I’ll find the way,” Nick replied. “Let me have the key to your
apartments in the Grayling.”
“Certainly,” Garland consented, with a look of surprise. “But what do
you intend----”
“Never mind what I intend doing,” Nick interrupted, carefully replacing
his disguise. “At what time do you usually arrive at your apartments?”
“After business hours?”
“Yes.”
“About five o’clock.”
“Very good,” said Nick, rising to go. “You will not need the key,
Garland. I will be there to admit you.”