A SEMICIRCLE OF CRIME.
Nick returned to the house. In the dark hall he paused.
Voices could be heard. Men were talking in subdued tones in a room on
his left.
The room where he had met with the adventures already narrated was on
his right.
A moment’s thought convinced Nick that the voices were those of the men
who had been in the room with him, and had been led out by Benton.
He resolved to join them. Therefore he threw open the door on his left
and entered a room.
It was not perfectly dark, as the other had been. A small bead of gas
flame struggled with the shadows.
In its light Nick saw three men, whom he instantly knew to be crooks.
One of them, Reddy Miller, had been suspected of belonging to Helstone’s
gang.
Nick, it will be remembered, was disguised as Ellis Benton.
“Come, Ellis,” said Miller, the instant Nick appeared, “we’ve had enough
fiddling round. Tell us what’s the object of all this mystery.”
These words delighted Nick’s heart. He saw the lay of the land at once.
Benton had evidently given no alarm to these fellows when Pete had
brought the news of Nick’s presence.
He had been confident that he could put the detective out of the way,
and he had reasoned that if he did it without letting the thieves know,
they would stay, and he could do a good stroke of business with them. On
the other hand, if he let them know that a detective had got in, they
would clear out at once.
If Benton had seen any signs of a police trap, he would not have tried
this game, but he was shrewd enough to infer from the circumstances that
Nick was not the forerunner of a squad of police.
All these thoughts passed through Nick’s brain in a flash as Reddy
Miller spoke.
Counterfeiting Benton’s voice and manner exactly, Nick replied:
“Mystery? Well, why not? This isn’t the sort of business to be
proclaimed from the housetops.”
“Rats!” replied Miller, in a tone of disgust; “you go through all these
monkey tricks because you’re a cussed old crank. Now come down to
business.”
“But we can’t come down to business yet,” said Nick. “Our friends are
not all here.”
“What I want to know,” said Miller, “is whether you’re ready to make the
big deal. Can you take all of the stuff off our hands?”
“Don’t be so fast, Reddy,” said one of the other crooks. “Wait till the
others get here. The Doc himself is coming.”
“Don’t you believe it,” said Miller. “The Doc is going to lay mighty low
for a while. Things are pretty warm for him.”
“Shut up, Reddy,” said the third crook, and they all relapsed into
silence.
The bell rang again. Nick had learned to distinguish the alley bell from
the other. This time he was summoned to the front of the house.
The person whom he ushered in was Chick.
“I’ve had a fearful time getting in,” said Chick. “Sixth Avenue seems to
be plastered with Benton’s lookouts.
“I tried to get by the sentry, but he wanted a password. I said
‘Helstone,’ at a venture, and it didn’t go.
“My game was to pretend that I was too drunk to remember the password.
Finally I went around to the alley where I met Patsy, who had learned
the password from a crook whom he had let in.
“Of course I might have gone in that way, but I thought it best to pass
the other sentry, convince him that I was all right, and thus quiet any
suspicion which I might have aroused.”
In reply Nick rapidly sketched his own adventures.
“I’ve got three of them in the room at the rear. I think we’d better
secure them now, and then take the others singly, as they drop in.”
Chick signified his readiness.
The two detectives went at once to the rear room, and before the three
crooks had time to suspect any danger, they found themselves covered by
revolvers in the hands of Nick and Chick.
They were secured without trouble.
It was now a little after midnight. For half an hour the members of Doc
Helstone’s gang arrived rapidly.
Each man was secured as he came in.
While Nick answered the bell, Chick stood guard over the captives,
revolver in hand.
A strange spectacle was presented in that room.
Eleven criminals, every one a specialist in some line of theft, sat in a
semicircle, facing a sort of desk which Benton ordinarily used when he
had business on hand.
Nick had found a lot of heavy wooden chairs in one of the rooms, and in
these the crooks sat, every one handcuffed and fastened to his chair.
The infernal regions could hardly furnish such a row of scowling faces.
The crooks saw themselves trapped, and their rage was boundless.
On the desk and around it was spread out the plunder which they had
brought. Its value went up well into the tens of thousands.
A richer haul had not been made in New York in many a day.
It had been arranged that Inspector McLaughlin should come at three
o’clock. He wished to see the mice in the trap.
Exactly at that hour he arrived. Chick met him on the outside.
The crooks had stopped coming by that time, and so Benton’s sentries
were gathered in and sent to the station.
Inspector McLaughlin smiled when he viewed the semicircle of fettered
crooks.
Several of them were men whom he had long desired to have in exactly
this position.
“Your mouse trap was a great success, Nick,” said he.
“It has caught a fair lot of vermin.”
“Shall we take them to headquarters?”
“Not yet, inspector. I wish them to remain here.”
The inspector drew Nick into a corner.
“Is Doc Helstone among them?” he asked. “There are two or three of these
fellows whom I don’t know. Is he one of them?”
“No; Helstone is not here, but he is coming.”
“Coming?”
“Yes; but before that I have something to do.”
“What?”
“I am going to call on Morton Parks.”
“Right; he should be here to look over this plunder. And more than that,
he has a right to see the capture of his wife’s murderer.”
“I am going to him,” said Nick.
A light was burning in the library of the residence on Madison Avenue
when Nick rang the door bell.
Parks himself came to the door. He had sent his servants to bed.
“Mr. Parks,” said Nick, “I have something of great importance to say to
you--so great that I would have roused you at this hour, but I see that
you have not retired.”
“No; I am in no mood to sleep.”
These words were spoken while Parks led the way to the library.
“In the first place,” Nick said, when they were seated in that
apartment, “let me ask what you have heard regarding your wife’s
condition?”
“I have secured hourly reports,” Parks replied. “There has been no
change.”
“You can hardly wish, believing what you do of her, that she should
recover. Her fate might be worse than death.”
Parks pressed his hands to his forehead.
“Nevertheless,” Nick continued, “you cannot be indifferent to the arrest
of the assassin.”
Parks sprang to his feet.
“Has he been taken?” he cried.
“Not yet; but he will be in custody to-night.”
“Who is he?”
The question was asked in a voice that was like a groan. The man’s eyes
blazed.
“I will not answer that question now,” said Nick, “but come with me and
in an hour at the furthest I will set you face to face with the cowardly
villain who struck that blow.”