THE MASQUERADER JOINS CRAY.
Green-eye Gordon, Nick Carter’s double for the time being, did full
justice to the excellent dinner that he found ready for him when he
reported to the detective’s dining room.
To have asked for special dishes would have been a risky thing to do,
and even if he had had an active dislike for anything that was served
to him, he had sufficient self-control to conceal that fact.
To be sure, he would have preferred other things, and his craving for
drink often nearly overmastered him, but he succeeded in fighting it
down—at any rate, during the hours he spent under the eyes of Nick’s
servants.
It was a few minutes after seven when one of the detective’s cars
drew up at the curb, and Danny Maloney, Nick’s chauffeur, honked an
announcement of the fact.
The supposed Nick Carter left the table, explored his pockets for the
last time, to make sure that his loot—including the automatic—was all
in his possession, and then went out to the machine.
He was more afraid of Danny, than any of the rest, for the chauffeur’s
eyes were very keen, and he had had more than a taste of detective work
on the various occasions when he had jumped in and helped out in a
crisis. Nevertheless, the impostor felt that he could not afford to do
too many unusual things, and he had sent for Danny instead of calling a
taxi.
“I’ll be behind the fellow as soon as I get into the machine,” he
mused. “He’ll only see me for a few minutes. Therefore, as I’ve already
stood Jack Cray’s scrutiny, and am going to invite it again, I ought
not to have any trouble with this fellow.”
He did not, of course. Danny had no reason to doubt that his chief had
returned unexpectedly, and therefore, it did not occur to him to give
more than a passing glance.
Gordon was dropped at the station in plenty of time to catch the
seven-thirty for New Pelham, a small suburban place a few miles to the
north, in Westchester County. Both the motor car and the train afforded
opportunity for very agreeable day-dreams connected with the papers in
the scoundrel’s pocket, and by the time he stepped from the train at
the village he had persuaded himself that a big fortune was as good as
within his grasp, and that there could be no possible hitch.
It is not to be wondered at that his hopes ran high, for certainly his
daring had carried everything before it, thus far.
High tide is invariably followed by low, however, and although the ebb
might not set in for some time in Green Eye’s case, it was sure to come
sooner or later. For wrongdoing is its own worst enemy, and devours its
own children.
Jack Cray was waiting on the platform when Gordon alighted at New
Pelham, and it was plain from the ex-police detective’s bearing that he
had had news of unusual importance to communicate.
“You have hit upon something, I see,” Green Eye remarked in Nick’s
quiet tones.
“Cleared up the whole thing, I hope,” Cray assured him excitedly.
“Let’s stroll in this direction—there are not many houses, and we need
not be afraid of being overheard.”
“Lead the way,” the masquerader agreed, adding, when they had left
the platform behind: “I’m curious to hear what you have dug up, Cray.
Before you begin, though, I’d like to give you a few of the results I
have arrived at in my study since you left me. It will be interesting
to see how near they come to your findings.”
He was proud of the way he had analyzed the matter, and could not
resist the temptation to parade his results.
“Go ahead,” invited Cray in an expectant tone.
He was thinking of Nick’s achievements in that line, and looked for
something out of the ordinary. To be sure, his famous friend might
“take the wind out of his sails,” as had often been the case in the
past, but Jack’s admiration was sincere enough to stand even that test.
The fact that he was not disappointed in this instance is perhaps the
most remarkable tribute that could be paid to Gordon’s intelligence.
“Just a word or two, then,” Green Eye said in a self-satisfied tone
that was far from characteristic of the man he was impersonating. “In
the first place, I’ve made up my mind that there’s no use in looking
for Simpson in New England. The trail starts there, of course, but it
ends here.”
“Here!” echoed Cray in amazement. “How the dickens did you hit upon
that?”
Gordon had not meant the word to be taken quite so literally. He felt
sure that the fugitive had headed for New York, or some place in the
immediate neighborhood, and he was inclined to believe that he was
lurking in the vicinity of New Pelham, but he was prepared to shift his
ground, if necessary.
Now he realized, as a result of Cray’s amazing question, that he was on
the right track. Furthermore, that realization gave him confidence, and
helped him to fit in the rest.
“Oh, I’ve just arrived at it,” he said carelessly, determined to use
his companion’s unconscious tip for all it was worth. “He has been back
in New Pelham, and will be again, if he isn’t at this moment. More than
that, I have a suspicion that he has been lurking about his own house.”
“For the love of Mike!” Cray breathed, looking his admiration as they
strolled through the gathering dusk. “You sure are a wizard!”
“Not a bit of it. I simply use my reason, and when I find two and two,
I don’t hesitate to put them together, knowing that the result is bound
to be four.”
“But what in thunder led you to think that the fellow would come
back here—especially that he would dare to return to his own place?”
demanded Jack.
“I called up Griswold and learned that he had never lived in New
England, and had spent most of his brief vacations here at home, or out
in the Middle West. That helped to give me a start, and I sized Simpson
up as a man with some clever ideas, but probably timid and unacquainted
with the world in many respects. I reasoned that such a man might
conceive the idea of outwitting his enemies by hiding his stealings
in the last place which would be likely to be searched—his own—and
once thought of, I felt sure he would decide on it for other reasons.
Because he was essentially a home body, for instance. Also, because he
was not in touch with crooks, and wouldn’t wish to trust any one with
his secret.
“Of course,” he admitted, “it wasn’t all reasoning—some of it was
intuition, or plain hunch. His use of an electric machine, though, went
far to convince me that I had the right idea. Its only advantage seemed
to be its silence, and I couldn’t imagine what good silence would do
him, unless he expected to hide the gold somewhere, without those in
the immediate neighborhood being aware of it. The bulk of the stuff,
you see, made it necessary to use a vehicle of some sort to transport
it. Well, it naturally occurred to me that the person he would least
desire to know anything about it was his wife.”
All the time thinking, or seeming to do so, he was keeping one eye on
Cray, and thus he was able to tell that he was not going astray.
“In short,” he concluded, “the more I thought about it, the more
certain I became that the chap had hidden the stuff somewhere within
earshot of his own house. Of course, though, I didn’t attempt to carry
the theory any further. That would have been a waste of time. Let’s
hear, though, what you have discovered.”