FOUND DEAD.
"What's the trouble yonder, Nick?"
"Where?"
"In the park."
"Humph! Something wrong, evidently. Come on, Chick, and we'll see."
It was nearly sunset one Monday afternoon, and almost two weeks
subsequent to the incidents last depicted.
That at least one of Dave Kilgore's suggestions had been adopted, and he
and his gang had become rigorously guarded, appears in that the Carters
had utterly failed to accomplish anything against them in the interval
mentioned. Despite constant vigilance and incessant work on the case,
neither Nick nor Chick had been able to secure an additional clew.
Kilgore and Matt Stall had vanished as if the earth had swallowed them.
The mammoth vaudeville troupe had completed its engagement, and was now
disbanded for the season.
Señora Cervera still retained her uptown house, and frequently received
Venner as a visitor; but never a sign of the diamond gang, or of any
stranger, could the detectives discover, in or about her place.
Rufus Venner was attending to his business as usual, and appeared all
aboveboard. Now and then he called upon Nick about the stolen diamonds,
expressing a hope that they would be recovered; but in no way did he
lay himself open to further suspicions than Nick had at first conceived.
Yet Nick was too shrewd to press him with questions, and so perhaps
betray his own hand. As a matter of fact, the famous detective was in
quite a quandary over the case, because of his conviction that some big
game was secretly afoot, and his utter inability to strike any tangible
clew to it.
Such a state of affairs was very unusual, and Nick chafed under it. It
indicated that he was up against men as good as himself, and his vain
work of the past ten days served only to aggravate him, and embitter his
grim and inflexible determination to unearth the whole business.
This Monday afternoon, as Nick and Chick were passing Central Park, the
attention of the latter was drawn toward a group of men in one of the
park walks, somewhat removed from the street. A policeman was among
them, and they appeared to be gazing at something upon the ground.
"It looks like the figure of a woman," said Nick, as he and Chick
entered the park. "Officer Fogarty is there, and--yes, by Jove! it is
the form of a woman."
The two detectives quickly reached the scene, and the park officer at
once recognized Nick, respectfully touching his helmet.
"What's amiss here, Fogarty?" inquired Nick.
Fogarty pointed to the motionless form upon the ground.
"Dead!" said he, tersely. "We've just found her."
"Keep those people further away, Fogarty," said Nick, with a toss of
his head toward half a score of men gathered near by. "I will see what I
make of the case."
The figure was that of a girl, rather than a woman, apparently about
eighteen years of age. She was lying partly upon her side upon the
greensward, and evidently had fallen from one of the park seats upon
which she had been resting, and upon which her straw shade hat was still
lying. She was neatly clad in a suit of dark blue, and her girlish face
indicated some culture and refinement.
Near her, upon the grass, lay a piece of brown wrapping paper, and a
yard of two of string, evidently removed from a small, square box, which
she had dropped and partly fallen upon when stricken with sudden death.
A mere glance gave Nick these superficial features, and he quickly knelt
beside the girl, and felt her hand and wrist.
"Dead as a doornail," he murmured to Chick, who also had approached. "I
find her hand still warm, however. She can have been dead only a few
minutes."
"Heart failure, perhaps," suggested Chick.
"I don't think so."
"Why?"
"She doesn't look it. Her form is plump, her cheeks full, and she
appears to have been in perfect health."
"Yet she is dead."
"No doubt of it."
"A pretty girl, too."
"Very. See if there is any writing on that brown paper."
"No, Nick; not a line."
"Here, here, let me see it! What's this? It is punctured with tiny
holes, evidently made with a pin."
"So it is, by Jove!"
"Perhaps she made them with her hat pin, while sitting there on the
seat. See, Chick, there is the pin still in the hat."
"I see it, Nick. What now?"
Still kneeling beside the girl, Nick was holding the sheet of paper
between himself and the sky.
"No, the punctures are not uniform," said he. "I thought that they
possibly had been made with some design, and perhaps formed some word or
sentence that would give us a clew to the mystery."
"None such, eh?"
"Not a sign of it. Evidently she jabbed the pin through the paper only
in idleness."
"She is lying on a box of some kind, from which she probably had taken
this wrapping paper."
"So I see," nodded Nick. "Lend me a hand, Chick, and we'll have a look
at the box."
With gentle hands the two detectives moved the girl's lifeless form, and
Nick then took up the box mentioned.
It was about four inches square, and was made of silver, with an open
work design of vines and leaves, which displayed a blue silk lining
through the metal apertures. Plainly enough it was a lady's jewel
casket, and one of considerable value; but it was entirely empty, and it
bore no name or inscription.
For several moments Nick Carter examined it very intently, with his
brows gradually knitting closer and closer; and all the while Officer
Fogarty, and the group of men in the gravel walk a few yards distant,
mutely gazed and wondered.
Chick Carter, however, who could read Nick's every change of expression,
saw at once that the great detective not only was making some startling
discoveries, but also was arriving at deductions far too subtle and
significant to have been reached by any less keen and practiced
observer.
"What do you make of it, Nick?" whispered Chick, dropping to his knee
beside his companion.
Nick also lowered his voice, and for several minutes the two conversed
in rapid whispers.
"It is a jewel case, Chick; and quite a valuable one."
"So I see."
"I don't think it belonged to this girl. She looks as if she were the
maid, or possibly the companion, of some woman of wealth or distinction.
Her attire also indicates that. Hence so valuable a toy can hardly have
belonged to the girl, but more likely was the property of her mistress."
"No name on it?"
"Not even an initial. Not a mark of any kind."
"It is empty."
"Yes."
"Can the girl have been robbed of its contents, here and in broad
daylight?"
"Worse, Chick!" whispered Nick, between his teeth. "Worse even than
that."
"Good heavens, Nick! What do you mean?"
"Chick, this girl was foully murdered!"
"Murdered!" echoed Chick, with an involuntary gasp. "Can it be
possible?"
"It certainly appears so to me."
"But the means?"
"That is the mystery."
"There are no signs of violence."
"Wait a bit. Notice her right wrist, just back of the thumb and near the
pulse. Notice that tiny red spot, barely observable. It might have been
made with the point of a pin. Do you see, it?"
"Yes, now that you call my attention to it."
"It means something. I am convinced of that."
"Others are not likely to discover it."
"I hope they may not, Chick," Nick hurriedly rejoined. "I am flooded
with ideas and suspicions, which I wish to consider and put in order
before too much of this mystery leaks out. I'll explain later."
"Perhaps her hat pin is poisoned," suggested Chick.
"I don't think that."
"Or possibly--"
"Wait a moment. Look at this box."
"Well?"
"That wrapper was punctured while still on the box," explained Nick.
"Notice that the pin went through the spaces in this metal design, and
then through the silk lining inside."
"Plainly enough, Nick."
"Notice this particular puncture in the interior of the lining."
"By Jove! there's a faint tinge of red around it."
"Left when the pin was withdrawn," whispered Nick, significantly.
"Chick, it's a tinge of blood!"
"I believe you're right, Nick."
"I am convinced of it. Also that there's a mystery here which cannot be
solved in a moment," said Nick, impressively. "I wish to conceal these
discoveries until after I have considered them more fully, and also
identified this girl. See if you can find her purse, or anything that
will reveal her name."
While Chick was thus engaged, Nick arose and glanced sharply around in
search of any evidence indicating that such a crime could have been
committed unobserved in so public a place.
The seat which the girl had occupied stood on the greensward, about
eight feet from the gravel walk. By several clusters of shrubbery some
feet away at either side, the seat was somewhat obscured from the view
of persons approaching along the walk from either direction. Several
trees cast shadows nearly over the spot, which was one very likely to
have been selected by a couple desirous of being somewhat alone while
resting from an afternoon stroll.
Nick quickly noted these several features, then glanced at Chick and
asked:
"Do you find anything?"
"Nothing by which to identify her."
"Her purse?"
"It contains only a few pieces of silver. No cards, nor so much as a
scrap of paper. Other than her purse, there is only a latchkey in her
pocket, and a perfectly plain handkerchief. Her identification must come
later."
"I guess we have missed nothing here," nodded Nick. "I'll have just a
word with Fogarty, and then we'll go along."
"What do you make of it, Detective Carter?" inquired the officer, as
Nick approached.
"I am not prepared to say," replied Nick, ignoring the startled glances
of the several men who heard his name and now beheld the great detective
for the first time.
"The girl is dead, sir, isn't she?"
"Oh, yes; there is no doubt of that," bowed Nick. "It may be a case of
heart failure. You had better take the proper steps for the removal of
the body. This box and wrapping paper, however, I am going to take with
me, and will be responsible for them."
"All right, sir."
"By the way, Fogarty, how long ago did you discover the body?"
"Scarce a minute before you came, sir."
"Were you the first to see it?"
"I was, sir."
"Had you seen the girl about here before during the afternoon?"
"No, sir."
"Did you see anybody leaving here just before you arrived and discovered
the body?"
"I did not, sir."
"That's all, Fogarty. I'll get any other particulars later."
Thereupon, as Nick was about to turn away, a young man in the crowd came
suddenly forth, and exclaimed:
"One moment, Detective Carter, if you please! I saw that girl, about
half an hour ago, walking this way with a gentleman."
Nick turned abruptly to the speaker.
"What is your name?" he asked.
"Tom Jenkins, sir."
"And your address?"
"I live at the Hotel North, and am employed by Hentz Brothers, in Broad
Street."
"You say that you saw the girl walking this way with a gentleman?"
"Yes, sir."
"Did they appear to be on good terms?"
"Excellent, sir. They were talking and laughing, and seemed to be
enjoying themselves."
"Do you know the girl's name, or where she lives?"
"I do not, sir; nor anything about her."
"Do you know anything about her companion, the gentleman you saw with
her?"
For the bare fraction of a second Jenkins hesitated, as one might do who
was loath to bring trouble upon another. Then he replied, in faltering
tones:
"Well, yes, sir, I know the name of the man who was with her."
"State it, please."
"His name, sir, is Harry Boyden."
Nick felt his blood start slightly, yet his countenance did not change
by so much as a shadow.
He glanced at Chick, however, and the same thought was in the mind of
each.
"Harry Boyden! The clerk employed by Thomas Hafferman, the dealer in
diamonds!"