THE CUNNING OF JEAN PYLOTTE.
Kilgore had reasoned shrewdly, in so quickly suspecting that Nick Carter
would lose no time in getting a line on the Venner residence. Even while
the diamond gang were discussing the plan by which to capture the
Carters, the two detectives were at times within a hundred yards of the
secret plant.
It was dark out of doors that night, with only a few stars in the
clouded sky, and the wooded locality and neighboring streets were but
poorly lighted.
It was in a northern suburb of New York, a section not yet much
encroached upon by the spreading city, and the dwelling owned and
occupied by Rufus Venner was that in which three generations of his
family had lived and died.
It was a square, old house of brick, set fifty yards from the suburban
street, and was flanked in either direction by extensive, ill-kept
grounds, made damp and dark by the huge, old trees, which nearly covered
the estate.
Back of the house, and off to one side, was a large wooden stable, fast
running to ruin; while a rusty iron fence, falling to fragments in
places, skirted the dismal grounds in front.
Beyond the trees, far to the rear, could be seen the roof and chimneys
of an old, wooden mansion, fronting on another street, and having a very
similar environment. There, too, the house and grounds were running to
ruin and decay, both places being but crumbling monuments of former
opulence and grandeur.
It was upon this scene that Nick Carter and Chick arrived just before
midnight, having left their carriage at a remote corner, to await their
return.
"Yonder is Venner's house, Chick," said Nick, as they picked their way
along the unpaved sidewalk. "We'll vault this iron fence and steal
across the grounds."
"It doesn't look much as if our quarry was there," observed Chick, as
they scaled the fence.
"Their deeds are dark, and like seeks like," replied Nick. "They now may
be making darkness their cover."
"Not a light in the house, is there?"
"None visible from this side. We'll steal between the house and stable,
and have a look at the opposite elevation."
"Not much danger of being seen. It's as dark as a nigger's pocket under
these trees."
"So much the better in case anyone is watching."
"Who lives here with Venner?"
"Only an elderly housekeeper, of whom I don't hear anything very good,"
replied Nick. "Venner is here but part of the time, I am told. In fact,
I don't quite fathom his habits."
"Why so?"
"I can't learn what takes him from home so much of the time. He does not
leave the city, nor patronize any hotel that I can discover, yet he
frequently is away from this house overnight."
"Perhaps he secretly keeps another house, and is leading a double life."
"Possibly," admitted Nick. "He is on friendly terms with numerous women,
I learn, and other quarters may be essential to designs of some kind.
Quietly, now, and we'll slip across the back lawn."
Like shadows, as dark as the night itself, they silently reached a point
from which they could view the north side of the house. Here they
discovered that one of the lower rooms was lighted, with the curtain at
the single window nearly drawn.
"Somebody is up," murmured Chick.
"We'll learn who, if possible."
"Going to have a look?"
"Yes. Come, if you like, but don't get into the glare from the curtain.
Kilgore has a very wicked air gun, and if he and his gang are about
here, we might invite a bullet."
"I'll have a care."
Stealing closer over the damp greensward, they approached the house and
peered beneath the curtain mentioned. There was but one occupant of the
room, which was a small library.
In an easy-chair near the table, with a newspaper fallen across his
knees, sat Rufus Venner, apparently sound asleep.
This was only a part of the game, however, for Venner was wide awake.
By means of their secret wire, he had been informed of Cervera's arrival
at the diamond plant, and of Kilgore's designs upon Nick, and Venner at
that moment suspected that he might be under the eye of the detective.
For nearly half an hour Nick waited for some sign of this artifice, but
Venner in no way betrayed it.
Presently a clock on the mantel struck the half after one, and the sound
appeared to awake him. He yawned, glanced at the clock, then took the
lamp from the table and went up to bed. But never so much as a glance
toward the window.
Nick led Chick away, and they returned across the lawn to a point beyond
the stable.
"It rather looks as if Cervera had been here, doesn't it?" inquired
Chick, with a grin.
"Yes," admitted Nick. "Two facts are very significant of it. First, that
Venner is at home on this particular night; and, second, that he should
be asleep in his chair after midnight. It has a fishy look."
"That's my idea, Nick, exactly."
"Yet the way to prove it doesn't appear quite easy."
"Not just yet. But who occupies that house over yonder, where the roof
shows above the trees?"
And Chick pointed to the distant dwelling, little dreaming that the
diamond plant and the gang they sought were established under its
many-gabled roof.
This was not the first night Nick had watched Venner's house since the
diamond robbery, the doubtful character of which he had suspected at the
outset, and incidentally he had informed himself concerning Venner's
neighbors.
"One Dr. Magruder, I am told, a retired physician from Illinois," he
replied. "He bought the place at a forced sale some little time ago."
Nor did Nick, when thus replying, dream that Dr. Magruder and Rufus
Venner were one and the same; or that, in attributing to him a double
life of shameful iniquity, Chick had hit the nail squarely on the head.
"Come this way," added Nick.
"Where now?"
"We'll go down to the corner of the grounds, and watch the house for a
time."
Before Nick's reply was fairly uttered, however, both detectives were
startled by distant cries, which fell with frantic appeal on the
midnight air.
"Help! Help! Help!"
The startling cry was thrice repeated, the last time as if choked in the
speaker's throat, yet the direction of the sound was unmistakable.
"Something's up!" muttered Nick. "This way!"
With Chick at his heels, he tore across the wooded grounds and bounded
over the iron fence at the street.
Then the occasion of the outcry at once became apparent.
Some two hundred yards away, in the yellow glare of one of the
incandescent lights by which the little-frequented street was illumined,
a man was battling desperately with three assailants, one of whom he
had knocked to the ground.
Without a word, both detectives rushed down the road to his assistance.
As they drew nearer there came a flash of light, then the report of a
pistol, followed by another shriek for help.
Then Nick saw one of the ruffians reel a little, as if shot, while a
second hurled their victim to the ground. The third leaped to his feet
at the same moment, yelling wildly:
"Look out! Scatter, boys! The cops are upon us!"
"Kilgore's voice, or I'm a liar," muttered Nick, over his shoulder.
Both detectives were still fifty yards from the scene of the furious
conflict, and were running at the top of their speed along the rough
road.
Before they could come near enough to use a weapon, however, the three
ruffians scattered like frightened cats, leaping the wall near an
adjoining woodland, into the gloom of which they speedily vanished.
It was obvious to Nick that pursuit would be vain, so he hastened to the
side of the fallen man, who had been left prostrate in the road, and
helped him to his feet.
The man was Jean Pylotte.
He was panting hard after the conflict, the fake character of which Nick
could not then foresee. His coat was ripped up the back, his linen
collar torn off, and he was deathly pale, with a smutch of blood across
his cheek. In one hand he held a revolver, and in the other--a chunk of
coal.
"Are you wounded, stranger?" Nick quickly demanded, as he studied the
man's pale face.
"Not much--not badly, I think," gasped Pylotte, trembling violently.
"But it's lucky you came. They'd surely have killed me."
Nick noticed that he spoke with a slight foreign accent, and was a man
of considerable physical prowess.
"There's blood on your face," said he.
"It came from one of them, I think," said Pylotte, drawing his sleeve
across his cheek to remove the stain. "I must have wounded one of them."
"It's a pity you did not kill him," said Nick, bluntly. "Was it you who
fired the gun?"
"Yes. I tried to fire again, but one of them struck me down before I
could do so. The ruffians came upon me before I fairly realized it."
"Do you know them?" inquired Chick.
"Only one of them, a man named John David," replied Pylotte, now
appearing to pull himself together.
"John David, eh?" grunted Nick.
"He has swindled me, and I--I saw him at a theater to-night, and
afterward followed him out here."
"For what? If he has swindled you, why didn't you have him arrested at
the theater?" demanded Nick.
"Well, I--I wanted to learn where he lives. He must have discovered
that he was being followed, and then tried to do me up."
Nick observed the speaker's faltering manner, and it increased his
curiosity.
"Why do you wish to know where he lives?" he demanded.
Pylotte hesitated, and shrugged his shoulders.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," said he, after a moment.
"Not believe you?"
"I hardly think so."
"Suppose you tell me, and see," suggested Nick, with a faint smile.
"I have no objection to telling you, none at all," Pylotte now replied.
"The man I spoke of, John David, swindled me yesterday with two
artificial diamonds."
"Ah! is that so?" cried Nick, with a significant glance at Chick. "What
is your name, my man?"
"Jean Pylotte, sir."
"Who are you, and where do you live?"
"I am a Frenchman by birth, and arrived in New York only this week. My
home is in Denver. I am a diamond cutter by trade, and came here to buy
some gems for a Denver woman of wealth, who wishes to obtain a certain
size and quality."
"Then you are a judge of diamonds?"
"One of the best," Pylotte modestly admitted, with a faint smile. "I am
an expert judge of diamonds, and so it happened that I discovered the
swindle of which I am a victim."
"Then you bought a diamond of the man who said his name was John David,
did you?"
"I bought two, sir," nodded Pylotte. "They appeared like natural and
very perfect stones when I first examined them, but after subjecting
them to more careful tests, I found them to be the most extraordinary
imitations I ever beheld."
"Artificial diamonds, were they?"
"Yes, artificial. But only the best of experts, and after the most rigid
tests, could discover the fraud. I never saw such imitations. The stones
are really almost as good as natural ones."
"Have you them with you?"
"Yes."
"You feel quite confident that they were manufactured, do you?"
"Oh, I am positive of it," cried Pylotte, with emphasis. "That is why I
was secretly following the swindler."
"You wanted to discover his house, and learn how he made such perfect
imitations, eh? Was that your motive, instead of having him arrested at
the theater?"
"Well, yes, it was," admitted Pylotte, with feigned reluctance.
"Do you know any process for manufacturing diamonds?" Nick next
demanded.
"I am pretty well informed on the subject."
"Quite an art, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is."
"And one that could be made very profitable, perhaps?"
"I judge so."
"Put up your revolver," said Nick, abruptly. "What's that black object
you dropped just now?"
Pylotte glanced down at his feet, then laughed faintly.
"That's odd," said he. "It's a piece of coal. I must have seized it from
the road, thinking to defend myself with it."
"What is there odd in that?"
Pylotte laughed again.
"Diamonds may be made from coal," said he. "The fact that I should have
got hold of a piece in the road here, while tracking that diamond
swindler in search of his house, strikes me as being rather odd."
"So it was," said Nick, a bit dryly, thinking of Venner's house in the
near distance.
Then he added, decisively:
"Put up your gun, Mr. Pylotte. I want you to go with me. I think you are
the very man I want."
"Go with you!" exclaimed Pylotte, drawing back.
"If you please," said Nick, politely. "I want, at least, to hear more of
your story."
"But who are you, sir?"
"My name is Nick Carter."
"Not the celebrated detective?" cried Pylotte, with feigned amazement.
"Precisely."
"That's quite sufficient, Mr. Carter!" the Frenchman now cried, with
much bowing and scraping. "I'll go with you when and where you wish. If
any man can run down these swindling ruffians, sir, you certainly are
the man."
"Thanks," said Nick, dryly. "I'll take you home with me for the night."