CHAPTER XVIII.

GORDON TACKLES NICK’S SAFE.

Green-eye Gordon stood looking at the safe that was built into the wall

of Nick’s study, and, as he stared at it, his eyes were very greedy in

expression.

For one thing, he felt certain that the famous detective kept money

there—very likely a large sum—for, in Nick’s profession, it is often

essential to lay one’s hands on plenty of cash at very short notice.

Expensive journeys have to be undertaken on little warning, often at

hours when the banks are closed, for instance, and there are many other

ways in which ready money comes in handy. It remained to be seen, of

course, whether the detective’s absence had made any difference in this

respect.

This, however, was but a very small item in Gordon’s expectations.

As we have seen, he was after very much bigger game, in the shape of

the secret records of Nick’s most important cases, records which he

hoped would be the means of netting him a very much larger sum than

that represented by the missing relief fund.

The rascal’s mouth fairly watered now as he thought of the

possibilities. The possession of the papers he desired would mean a

chance of blackmail, such as the world had never known. Until now,

these papers had been perfectly safe in Nick Carter’s possession, but

should they tail into Gordon’s hands, they would suddenly acquire a

destructive power far more terrible than that of dynamite.

What a prospect! Aside from the enormous advantage which he expected to

reap from it, Green Eye could conceive of no more effective retaliation

for Nick’s part in sending him to prison.

“A fool would only think of killing Carter, or at most, of giving him a

taste of physical torture,” thought the criminal. “But I can understand

his point of view, and I know that the loss of such papers—and the use

I shall make of them—will be infinitely worse than death itself in his

eyes.”

Gordon started as he heard the front door open, and moved across the

room. He felt sure that it was Mrs. Peters returning from her afternoon

constitutional, and he wished to give her an order, but he paused, as

he remembered the police dog. It would be better to have Prince out of

the way before he sent for the housekeeper.

He waited ten minutes, therefore, before ringing the bell, and

presently Mrs. Peters arrived, somewhat out of breath.

“If any one calls, say that I’m away,” the masquerader said sharply.

“On no account am I to be disturbed by any one—by any one, mind you. If

Joseph is about, tell him so, too.”

“Very well, sir,” Mrs. Peters answered. “Is that all?”

“Yes.”

Despite Green Eye’s eagerness to get at the safe, he remembered

Prince’s alarming behavior, and narrowly watched the housekeeper’s

face. He felt sure she could not deceive him. If she had the slightest

suspicion that all was not as it should be, her face and manner would

be sure to reveal the fact.

“No, she hasn’t tumbled to me,” he assured himself, as Mrs. Peters

left the room. “It was not to be supposed that she would, but she

must have thought the beast’s actions very peculiar. Thank Heaven,

all of Carter’s assistants are away. I’ll have to keep the butler at

a distance, too, as much as possible. I don’t believe he’s capable of

seeing through the deception, but he’s a man, and he’s been with Carter

for a good while. His eyes may be sharper than I think.”

He turned the key in the lock hurriedly, took off his coat, and began

to roll up his sleeves.

“Now, where, does he keep the outfit?” he muttered, his pale, keen eyes

darting about the room.

With quick steps he crossed to the cabinet and tried that, but,

obviously, he did not find there what he sought, for he turned away

from it with a snarl of impatience.

The desk was the next thing he examined, but it was not until he had

picked the lock of one of the hitherto unopened drawers that he found

what he sought—a small black bag.

When he had opened the latter, his lips curled into an ugly grin.

“What a burglar he would have made,” he muttered, as he emptied the

contents of the bag carefully on the floor in front of the safe.

There were bits of various sizes, ordinary drills and wheel drills,

jimmies, glass cutters, skeleton keys, acids—in fact, everything that

goes to make up the outfit of the most up-to-date burglar.

Green-eye Gordon turned them over caressingly, but it was not for long

that he was idle. He knelt before the safe, his eyes roving over it at

close range. Soon he smiled with satisfaction.

It was scarcely as modern a safe as he would have expected Nick Carter

to possess, but that was probably because the last thing in the world

the famous detective expected was a burglary in his own house.

Among other accomplishments, most of which had brought him into

conflict with the law, Ernest Gordon numbered safe-cracking, and,

as he knelt before the massive steel door, with its shining nickel

fittings, he had no doubt that he would be able to master this one in a

comparatively short time.

After a brief examination of the lock, to make sure that he could not

open the combination by ear, the masquerader picked up the powerful

wheel drill, fitted a bit to it, and, pressing the other end against

his stomach, set to work.

At first the bit seemed to make little impression upon the specially

hardened metal, but presently a little hole appeared, and grew deeper

and deeper as Gordon kept the wheel in motion.

For the time being, the criminal forgot the relief fund that he hoped

to appropriate, forgot even the great, unique haul he counted on

obtaining from that very safe, and was lost in the joy of being at his

old trade again, and handling the old, familiar tools with undiminished

skill.

Gh-r-rh!

Gordon paused to squirt oil into the deepening hole, as the note of the

revolving bit changed and grew harsher. It was working smoothly again

after a moment, and the particles of metal were rapidly accumulating.

Thus the work went on. One hole was sunk to the required depth, then

another, and finally, after various deft operations, the inner secrets

of the lock were disclosed, and the thick door swung back on noiseless

hinges.

A little chuckle of satisfaction sounded as the door began to move,

but, by the time it was wide open, a snarl of surprise and rage burst

from the criminal’s lips.

Snarled Identities; Or, A Desperate Tangle · 第 18 / 48 章