AN ASTOUNDING RUSE.
Gillespie went on more confidently: “It ought to give him the shock of
his life to think he’s dealing merely with me, and then to have you
reveal yourself to him. Of course, we could both stay there, and you
could walk in and collar him while he was holding me up, but I’m afraid
he may be watching the house. In that case, he would be suspicious
if he saw any one else going in and not coming out again, no matter
whether he recognized you or not.”
Nick smiled slightly. “You must have been reading detective stories
lately, Gillespie,” he commented. “However, it isn’t a bad idea, and
I’m inclined to try it. There are certain other advantages about it
which make it appeal to me. How about you, though? You would have to
remain here as long as I found it necessary to stay at your place.”
“Oh, that’s all right. I don’t mind. I’ll promise to keep out of sight,
and if I have to stay overnight, I suppose I can find a bunk somewhere,
if you’ll explain my presence to your servants.”
“You certainly can,” Nick assured him; “and let’s hope that you won’t
have to kick your heels here very long.”
The detective conducted him into another room, and, seating him in
the light, proceeded to busy himself with his make-up materials and
appliances. At the end of half an hour, the transformation was complete.
“Will this do?” asked Nick, turning from the glass and facing his
visitor.
“By Jove, marvelous!” Gillespie cried enthusiastically. “By the time
you’ve got into my clothes, you’ll be able to pass for me anywhere.
Luckily, there’s only my old butler, Simms, and his wife, at the house,
as I’ve been abroad, and was not expected home as yet. The chauffeur
outside is a new man, and has never seen me before.”
“Good!” Nick answered. “Now for the clothes.”
Soon the disguise was complete, and after another careful inspection of
himself, Nick was ready to leave.
“I’ll explain matters to my people here as I go out,” he said. “Come
this way and I’ll show you the room you may occupy in my absence. I
hope you’ll find it comfortable. Don’t hesitate to ask for anything you
want, and I’ll let you know as soon as there’s anything to report.”
After conducting his guest to one of the spare bedrooms, the detective
parted with Gillespie, and ascended the stairs. Five minutes later he
stepped into the waiting car as if he owned it.
“Home!” he ordered, and the machine whirled away in the direction of
upper Fifth Avenue.
Meanwhile, from behind one of the curtains at the front of the
detective’s house, the young man had seen the car drive off, and as
it passed out of sight, a remarkable change came over him. He threw
back his head and laughed in a curiously noiseless way that many an
ex-convict has.
He laughed until the tears rolled down his cheeks, and at last flung
himself into a chair and fairly panted for breath. At length, he
recovered himself and wiped his eyes. Simultaneously, his face took on
harsher lines.
The fresh complexion of youth seemed singularly out of place now, for
age and experience—and evil—peered through the veneer.
Had there ever been any doubt about Green-eye Gordon’s daring, there
could be none any longer, for this was the criminal himself.
In some manner best known to himself, he had managed to learn of
Nick’s return, and had taken this extraordinary means of fooling the
detective—an example of supreme audacity, in which he was manifestly
taking the greatest delight.
He expected to kill more than two birds with the one stone.
“Oh, what a sell!” he thought. “How are the mighty fallen! You don’t
happen to know, my dear Carter, that the real Chester Gillespie is
still abroad, and that while you are waiting for your bird in that
gloomy old mansion across from the park, your enterprising little
friend Ernest will be tapping the various other sources of income as
rapidly as he can.”
Nevertheless, when the first flush of triumph had passed, there seemed
to be an undercurrent of uneasiness in the scoundrel’s mood and manner.
Doubtless, he knew that in boldness lay his only hope, but perhaps he
allowed himself to fear for the time being, that even boldness would be
insufficient in the long run against such an antagonist.
Apparently, the great detective had been completely taken in by this
latest astounding ruse, but very likely Gordon realized that he was in
the lion’s mouth, and that there was no knowing when the jaws might
close with a snap.
Some time after Green Eye returned to Nick’s study, the door opened,
and Chick entered. He did not look any too well satisfied with his work
thus far.
“I beg your pardon,” he said, halting at sight of the supposed
Gillespie. “I didn’t know any one was here. Are you alone?”
“Yes,” Gordon answered coolly. “Mr. Carter has gone out. I think he
left word for you with the butler, but I might as well explain that
he’s absent on an errand for me, and that I’m to remain in more or less
close confinement here until he returns.”
And in response to a look of surprise on Chick’s face, he explained a
little further: “If you wish to call him up——”
“No, not now,” Nick’s assistant interrupted quietly. “I have nothing to
report as yet.”
That was good news to Gordon, for he felt sure that Chick had been
trying to pick up some clew to the whereabouts of the electric car, and
if so, it was plain that he had failed to make any headway.
“Well, I’ll leave you in possession here and go into the room Mr.
Carter placed at my command,” Green Eye remarked easily, rising to his
feet and helping himself to another of Nick’s cigars. “If there’s no
objection, I shall appropriate some writing materials.”
Chick supplied him with paper, envelopes, et cetera, and assured him
that the study was his to use if he wished, but the visitor would not
consent to “be in the way.” Three minutes later, he was in the bedroom,
with the door closed.
Quickly he removed the tapestry cover and droplight from the small
table between the windows, and, drawing up a chair, set to work.
It was clear that his desire to write some letters was genuine enough,
and the fact that he cut the engraved headings from several sheets of
paper suggested that the privacy of the room was welcome.
At the end of an hour he was still writing, and beside him were several
sealed and stamped envelopes addressed to a number of well-known names.
The campaign was going forward.
“I shall have to find some means of getting rid of this man Chick
Carter, though,” Green Eye told himself, as he finished one of the
letters and leaned back in a chair. “These fellows I have written to
will come flocking here before long, and I must be Nick Carter again,
in order to receive them properly.”