GORDON MAKES HIS GET-AWAY.
As it happened, Jack Cray’s skull was a pretty tough one, and,
therefore, the criminal’s first blow, vicious as it was, did not end
matters.
It badly dazed the ex-police detective, making him totter and throw out
his hands instinctively, but the attack was so extraordinary, coming,
as he believed, from Nick Carter, that he fought with all his might to
retain his senses long enough to see what it meant.
“Mr. Carter!” he muttered; then, lurching forward, peered at his
assailant.
The act took Gordon by surprise. He had been prepared to strike again,
but his blow missed its mark and struck Cray on the shoulder.
“Curse you!” Green Eye snarled, raising the weapon a third time. “Take
that, then!”
But Cray seized him in a clumsy, though powerful grasp, and, with
blinking eyes, peered into his face at close range. A moment later,
Gordon wrenched himself loose, but the emergency seemed to have made
Cray’s brain act with more than its customary speed.
Despite the poor light, Jack had got a near and clear view of that
distorted face and those rage-filled, greenish eyes. Had he been his
normal self, he probably would have disbelieved the evidence of his own
senses, for he would have recalled the seemingly conclusive reports of
Gordon’s death. As it was, however, he recalled nothing of this at the
time, and only remembered the peculiarity which had given Ernest Gordon
his nickname.
“Good heavens! Green-eye Gordon!” he whispered.
A second later, the criminal’s third blow fell squarely on his
forehead, and he went down, without a groan.
Immediately Green Eye bent over him and switched on his flash light.
“Curse you, curse you!” he reiterated wildly, striking Cray’s
unprotected head again and again, apparently with all his might.
He had no definite intention of killing the detective, but he was
seeing red just then, and did not care in the least how hard he struck.
As a matter of fact, he was inclined to believe that he had murdered
his victim, and he actually hoped that he had, for Cray’s recognition
of him had enraged him beyond measure.
On the other hand, that sort of thing had never been in his line. He
had prided himself on his ability to succeed without resorting to such
extremes, and for that reason he shrank from any attempt to ascertain
definitely whether Jack Cray were living or dead.
Besides, he was naturally impatient to be off with the gold, and away
from this place where he had momentarily forgotten himself.
Accordingly, he rose from his knees, without another glance at the
unconscious man, and, pocketing his weapon, returned to the door of
the garage. The prisoner could not have seen what took place; but, as
the attack had occurred just at the corner of the little building, and
within a few feet of the door, it was quite possible that he had heard
enough to reconstruct the whole scene, despite the remarkable quietness
which had prevailed.
That, however, could not be helped, and as Gordon planned to lock the
absconding treasurer in the garage, he did not anticipate any immediate
trouble from that direction.
Moreover, Cray had, so to speak, introduced himself and his companion
to Simpson, speaking of Gordon as Nick Carter, of course. That promised
to furnish the basis of a nice mystery.
Green Eye found the prisoner almost fainting with terror, and finished
the work already begun, by fastening him in such a way that he could
not budge from his place, or make any noise to amount to anything.
“This will have to be your cell for the present, Simpson,” he informed
the trembling thief. “Don’t worry, though, you’ll find yourself in a
real one, before long.”
And he turned his back on the wretched man and stalked out, pushing the
door to and locking it behind him.
Cray remained to be disposed of, but Gordon had not forgotten that
fact. He had had no intention of placing the two men in the garage,
for he considered that unwise, on general principles. If Cray were
dead, as he believed, the presence of the body might drive Simpson to
extraordinary exertions, and thus bring about a premature discovery.
On the other hand, if Jack were still alive, the two men might find
means of communicating with or helping each other.
What then?
Naturally it occurred to the criminal that it might be well to bundle
Cray into the car and carry him for some distance from the scene of the
affair before attempting to dispose of the body. A moment’s thought
caused him to veto that plan, however.
The car was not overlarge, and if Cray’s bulk were added to that of the
two gold-laden suit cases, the interior of the electric machine would
be overcrowded.
Furthermore, the upholstery was rather light in hue, and Gordon was
afraid of bloodstains.
On the whole, therefore, he decided to leave his victim in the yard,
but to conceal him as well as he could.
To that end, he dragged Jack’s inert form around the corner of the
garage to a point close beside the lumber pile. Then very quietly he
began removing boards from the top of the pile and placing them in
another and narrower pile just on the other side of the body.
When he had raised this smaller pile to the required height, he began
placing more boards in such a way that each one projected an inch or
so beyond the one below it, thus forming a sort of arch over Cray’s
outstretched form—a one-sided arch that soon touched the original pile
of lumber and leaned against it more or less securely.
“There!” Green Eye muttered. “Now he can’t be seen from the house or
the road here at the back. The ends are open, to be sure, but I can’t
help that. I haven’t anything here to cover the openings. All I ask,
though, is a start of a few hours, and that I shall certainly have.”
As best he could, he obliterated the track he had left in dragging Cray
to the lumber pile, after which he climbed into the machine, disposed
of the precious suit cases to the best advantage, and touched the
starting lever.
He had not yet turned on the lights of the car, but the hours he had
spent in the gloom had thoroughly accustomed his eyes to the darkness,
and, therefore, he had no trouble in guiding the easily controlled car
out through the gate and into the road beyond.
There he brought it to a stop, and, returning hastily, obliterated the
tire marks in front of the garage and such of his own footprints as he
could find. He did not wish to use his flash light too much, however;
therefore, it is quite possible that the job was not a very thorough
one.
Finally he passed through the gate, closed it, and reëntered the car,
which quietly purred away into the night.
Green-eye Gordon’s extraordinary daring had put him into possession of
a fortune of close to seventy-five thousand dollars, at least, as well
as a bundle of papers which might yield him several times that amount.
He had robbed a thief and left the latter an unofficial prisoner,
doomed to starvation, in all probability, if he were not soon found.
And he had murderously assaulted Jack Cray and left him, a battered
and bleeding hulk, supposedly dead.
It was quite a day’s work, and Green-eye Gordon may be excused for
feeling considerably elated. His work was full of holes, however, and
far from detection-proof, as Nick Carter could have proved to him in
short order.
The question was, would Nick have the chance in time to avoid a chase
around the world?