NOT SO DEAD, AFTER ALL.
Two days later a striking-looking, conspicuously well-groomed man
presented himself at Nick Carter’s door.
He did not give his name, which is not to be wondered at under the
circumstances, for the caller was Green-eye Gordon—not his ghost, but
the man himself, substantial flesh and blood, escaped convict, and
first-class criminal.
For once Chick’s intuitions had been keener than his chief’s. The
younger detective had been inclined to question the validity of
Gordon’s death in the absence of any more conclusive testimony than
that given in the first accounts of the fire. Nick, however, had been
in a mood to discourage such skepticism—perhaps because of that relief
to which he had confessed.
The fact was that it was Green Eye who had escaped, and not the yegg
from Buffalo. Gordon had stumbled over the latter’s body during that
mad rush for safety. The yegg was by no means dead at the time, but had
been overcome by the smoke, and, without a moment’s hesitation, Gordon
had determined to profit by the encounter.
He had no definite plan, but it was characteristic of him that whereas
the others were interested only in escaping the flames, he was looking
for the opportunity to escape from the prison itself, and was prepared
to profit by every promising circumstance.
It occurred to him at once that an exchange of coats would be to his
advantage, and he proceeded at once to make the exchange, stripping off
the unconscious man’s coat, and putting his own halfway on in place of
it.
The reason for this may be easily guessed. The gray coats—for stripes
are no longer in vogue in New York State—bore each man’s prison number,
and, therefore, by such a simple exchange, identities could be shifted
temporarily.
Gordon’s number was 39,470, and, of course, it was known to all the
keepers and prisoners as standing for the identity of the formidable
Green Eye. The other man’s number, on the other hand, had no particular
significance, for the yegg was an ordinary criminal, of comparatively
little intelligence, who had not made himself conspicuous in any way,
either in or out of the prison.
Consequently, if there should prove to be later on any reason to
believe that Libby was missing, his absence would not be likely to
cause any great commotion, for it would be taken for granted that his
capture was only a question of time.
Gordon had reasoned shrewdly, as usual, and had thus, by his own
promptness and resourcefulness, put himself in the way of the luck that
subsequently favored him.
He had feigned an injury, and had thrown himself down in the prison
courtyard, after taking care to stagger close to the main gates, and a
shadow of the projecting section of the wall. There he was ignored, for
the flames in the burning wing were mounting higher and higher, and all
the men were not yet out of it.
It was some minutes before Green Eye’s chance had come, but it did
come, as he had felt sure it would. One of the guards rushed past him
and approached a small door at one side of the big, double gates.
Evidently the man had been sent on some important errand, which would
take him outside the prison walls.
The keeper looked behind him with a wary eye to make sure that he
was not followed. He had fears of a general break for liberty, but
apparently no one was paying any attention to him.
Therefore he excitedly inserted a key in the lock, and, after some
fumbling, opened the door. It was then that Gordon had pounced upon him.
One blow had been enough. It caught the unfortunate guard behind the
ear and sent him hurtling through the opening. In a moment the convict
had followed.
Gordon dashed across the road before the vanguard of the crowd from the
town had reached the spot, and, dodging through the extensive lumber
yard, made his way to the outskirts of Dannemora, his goal being a
certain tumble-down, abandoned house.
There he found what he sought—a moisture-proof box of considerable
size, containing a complete outfit of clothing, an automatic of the
latest model, and no less than five hundred dollars in gold.
We have hinted that Ernest Gordon was no ordinary criminal, and the
truth of that has doubtless begun to shine through this narrative.
Here, at any rate, is striking evidence of it.
Green Eye had always preferred to work alone, as many of the most
successful criminals have done. He had friends, however, and one of
these had carried out his directions. The gates of Clinton Prison had
not even closed behind Gordon, when the latter had begun to plan for a
possible escape, and the planting of this box played an important part
in the arrangement.
During his many months in the prison, Green Eye had not succeeded in
liberating himself, but now that the fire had enabled him to escape,
the box was waiting for him, thanks to his unusual foresight.
Thus it was that he had completely eluded pursuit. The authorities were
looking for a commonplace, unimaginative yegg, who went by the name of
Shang Libby, and who might be expected to retain some, at least, of
his prison garments. It is little wonder, therefore, that they failed
to capture the polished and superdaring Gordon, who lost no time in
starting for New York City in a sleeping car.
The fugitive’s first thought when he reached the metropolis was one
of revenge. He had no idea of killing Nick Carter for the part the
latter had played in his downfall, for murder had never been in his
line. There are many other kinds of revenge, however, and Gordon was
determined to avail himself of one or more of them.
He wished to humiliate Nick to the utmost, if possible, and,
incidentally, to do so in such a way that his success would line his
pockets with gold.
He had a plan, when he presented himself at Nick’s door, but it
was lacking in many details, for these he had decided to leave to
the inspiration of the moment. In any case, however, he meant to
palm himself off as a would-be client, and, having thus gained the
detective’s confidence, to proceed with the rest of the scheme, or some
modification of it.
“Is Mr. Carter in?” he asked anxiously, when the butler opened the door.
“No, sir,” the servant replied, noting with approval the visitor’s
apparent prosperity and air of importance. “Mr. Carter is out of town
at present.”
“Is it possible? For how long?”
“He went away day before yesterday, and expected to be absent for two
weeks.”
“How unfortunate! I have a case of the utmost importance—the sort of
thing no one else can handle,” the caller said, with the semblance
of profound disappointment. “One of his assistants might help me to
some extent, however, or bring the matter to Mr. Carter’s attention by
telegraph.”
Again the butler shook his head regretfully. He was being very
indiscreet, but he did not suspect it for a moment, owing to the
impression the stranger made upon him.
“I’m afraid that’s out of the question, too, sir,” he answered. “There
is no one at home who could attend to you. It’s the first time it has
happened in years.”
The stranger seemed greatly distressed.
“This is terrible!” he cried. “I don’t know what I shall do if I can’t
get hold of Mr. Carter. I would be very sorry to break up his vacation,
but I’m sure if he knew the circumstances, he would not hesitate for a
moment. Some very prominent people are involved, and, unless something
is done speedily, there will be nothing short of a national scandal.
Surely, you will give me Mr. Carter’s address, will you not?”
The butler hesitated—and fell.