NICK DISCOVERS HIS LOSS.
“By George!” ejaculated Lane Griswold.
He was beginning to see light.
“Is this Gordon of the same height and build as yourself?” he asked
eagerly a moment later.
“Quite near enough for the purpose, as I recall,” Nick replied. “More
than that, he’s a master of make-up, and would have had very little
trouble in copying my features. His eyes are light, nondescript, to be
sure, but——”
“Then I don’t see how it would have been possible for him to have
fooled everybody in that fashion,” the millionaire objected.
“The human eye is far from perfect, Mr. Griswold,” Nick reminded
him. “Besides, we have to allow always for the action of the mind
behind it—that mind which interprets everything it sees. In short,
we generally see what we expect to see. Such a successful masquerade
appears little short of miraculous to one who isn’t a special student
of such things, but it’s far from an impossibility. My butler and
housekeeper, and Cray himself, had no reason to suppose that it was not
I they were seeing; therefore, as I had been a familiar sight to them
for years, they would never have thought of examining the masquerader.
They merely gave him fleeting glances, and as those glances did not
detect any glaring defect, that was all there was to it.”
Nick paused and smiled.
“Well, are you as sure as ever that I’m a rascal?” he asked.
The newspaper proprietor held out his hand with an embarrassed air.
“I’m afraid you’ll never forgive me, Mr. Carter, for making such an
accusation,” he said apologetically. “You may be sure I shall never
forgive myself. I ought to have known better, of course, and I’m very
much ashamed that I didn’t.”
“Say no more, please!” the detective cried heartily, grasping the
millionaire’s hand and giving it a good shake. “I don’t blame you—I
can’t. There didn’t seem to be any other way out. Here we are, though,
at the house. Will you come in, Mr. Griswold? Then, a little later, we
can go up to New Pelham together, if you wish, and see if poor Cray is
any better? Naturally, I’m anxious to get his side of the story, in
order to make sure that he really did identify Green Eye.”
“That program suits me,” Griswold responded. “Naturally, if a man of
Gordon’s stamp has got hold of the fund, the chances of recovering the
money are slimmer than ever, and if you are willing to undertake the
case, there’s no time to be lost.”
“Of course, I shall undertake it,” Nick assured him. “You could not
drive me off with an ax. My honor and reputation are involved, and,
under the circumstances, I shall refuse to accept a fee.
“No, that’s final,” he insisted, in response to Griswold’s objections.
“I trust, however, that you will fully recompense Cray, no matter
whether he does anything more or not. He has earned it.”
They had reached the detective’s study by that time, and Nick and his
lieutenant were gazing about curiously. In a moment the former stepped
forward and snatched up a pair of gloves that lay on the desk.
“Look here, Chick!” he cried. “These are from my room up in Harlem. I
see I shall have to move it. I didn’t dream that any one had discovered
it, but Gordon must have done so, it appears, before he was sent up.”
Chick, meanwhile, had approached the safe, and was just about to
examine it, when his chief called his attention to the gloves. Now he
returned and pushed away the chair that Green Eye had placed in front
of it.
“Good heavens, chief!” he ejaculated a moment later. “He’s broken into
your safe!”
Nick reached the spot in one bound, and, after glancing at the
makeshift which Green Eye had employed to hide his handiwork, he pulled
the great door open, and, bending, pressed the spring that operated the
inner one.
The latter in turn clicked open, was seized, and drawn back.
A momentary glance revealed several empty pigeonholes, and a confused
mass of papers in others.
“Merciful Heaven!” exclaimed Nick, clenching his fists and raising them
aloft, while his face became as white as a sheet. “The fiend has taken
what he wanted here! I wouldn’t have had this happen for anything in
the world. It means—Heaven knows what it doesn’t mean!”
His assistant realized only too well what the catastrophe foreshadowed,
but, for the time being, he was stricken dumb. He could only look from
Nick’s shocked face to the gaping safe.
But, of course, Griswold did not fully comprehend, and managed to put
his foot in it again.
“It’s too bad that you have lost any valuable papers,” he said. “I have
lost eighty thousand dollars, though, and the sooner you get on the
trail of the fellow, the better.”
Nick turned on him with a look of scorn. “What do I care about your
infernal eighty thousand dollars!” he demanded fiercely, his patience
exhausted at last. “It doesn’t amount to a row of pins—or oughtn’t
to, at any rate. The papers in this safe, though—the most valuable of
which have doubtless been stolen—involve the honor and peace of mind of
scores of men and women who are prominent in all walks of life. Don’t
you understand, man? They are my private and most confidential records,
covering the most important cases of years—records which would mean
hundreds of thousands of dollars to the blackmailer. And that isn’t
all, for if used in that way, as this fellow doubtless intends to use
them, and will, if he isn’t prevented at once, they will bring anguish
to a great many people. Finally, the fact that they have fallen into
unscrupulous hands will work me more harm than anything else could
possibly do.”
His anger against Griswold had cooled while he was speaking, however.
“But, fortunately,” he went on in a calmer tone. “We have every reason
to believe that your gold is in the same hands as my papers; therefore,
the trail isn’t likely to fork.”
“That’s it,” Griswold agreed eagerly. “I beg your pardon again, Carter.
I didn’t realize what this loss meant to you and others. It gives you a
supreme incentive, however, to go after the fellow.”
Before he could add more, the desk phone rang, and Chick answered it.
“Yes, this is Mr. Carter’s house,” the young detective said. “You are
speaking from Mr. Griswold’s office? Yes, Mr. Griswold is here. Do you
wish to speak to him?... All right, I understand. I’ll tell him at
once. Good-by.”
The receiver clicked back into its place, and Chick turned to the
expectant listeners.
“They say that the doctor has phoned from Simpson’s house, at New
Pelham, Mr. Griswold,” he said. “Cray is conscious at last.”
“Good!” ejaculated Nick. “You and I will go there at once, Chick. How
about you, Mr. Griswold? Will you come along?”
“Certainly,” was the prompt answer.