NICK’S SUSPICIONS CONFIRMED.
If the criminal could have read Nick Carter’s mind about that time, he
would have been still more uneasy—and with good reason.
Ernest Gordon had not been the only one who had played a part during
the interview which had ended in the detective’s act of copying his
caller’s features, and borrowing his clothes.
For the first few minutes, it must be confessed that the detective was
completely deceived. He knew Green Eye to be a master of surprises,
but it had not occurred to him to suspect that the clever rascal would
resort to anything so spectacular.
Besides, Gordon had placed himself so that the light did not fall
strongly.
It was not until the caller suggested a change of identities that the
detective began to question. It was very seldom that a client presumed
to offer such assistance, and Nick’s knowledge of Chester Gillespie had
not prepared him for such a proposition. He gave no evidence, however,
that the seed of suspicion had been planted, but fell in with the
suggestion, knowing that in carrying it out, he would have the best
possible opportunity of studying his visitor.
He noted a slight hesitation on the latter’s part when he had asked
him to take his place in the brightest light obtainable, and the
subsequent scrutiny had soon confirmed his suspicions. “Gillespie” was
plainly Ernest Gordon.
No make-up could have stood that test—at least, with Nick Carter at the
observer’s end.
“What fools the cleverest of us are sometimes!” the detective thought,
with an inward chuckle. “Gordon has such a good opinion of himself, and
is so certain that a man needs only to be daring enough in order to
carry everything before him, that he’s actually willing to undergo this
sort of thing—and he thinks he’s getting away with it!”
It was no part of the detective’s plan, however, to reveal his
knowledge of the deception. He wished to give the masquerader as much
rope as he could, in order to find out just what Gordon was trying to
do. Moreover, he was curious to visit Gillespie’s house and find out
how Green Eye had succeeded in making himself at home there.
Gillespie might have been overpowered and stowed away somewhere, or
even murdered—though that was unlikely, unless the crime had been
committed owing to an accident or miscalculation on Gordon’s part.
When the detective reached Gillespie’s house on Fifth Avenue, he found
the situation just as Gordon had described it. An aged butler answered
the bell, and, save for him, the big house seemed deserted.
Nick was about to question the old man in a roundabout way in order to
discover, if possible, whether there had been anything which might
seem suspicious or not. Before he could do so, however, the butler
offered a couple of letters on a salver.
Nick took them after a second’s hesitation, studying the butler’s face
as he did so. From the man’s squint and the lines about the eyes, he
saw that the butler was nearsighted. Probably he had been in the family
for a long time, but this defect in his eyesight explained his failure
to detect the deception.
But where was the real Chester J. Gillespie, whose second double was
now entering his house, and calmly inspecting his letters?
Gordon had given Nick certain necessary particulars concerning the
arrangement of the house, and, thanks to these, the detective mounted
the stairs with the utmost assurance, leaving the nearsighted old
butler bowing in the lower hall.
He found his way to Gillespie’s private room easily enough, the letters
still in his hand. After looking about him curiously, and noting
the certain evidences of recent occupancy, he sat down and glanced
mechanically at the letters.
One of them obviously was a business communication, but the other was
not.
The envelope was unusually large, and of the finest texture. As for the
writing, it was big, heavy, and sprawling.
In the lower left-hand corner were the words, “Important—please
forward,” and they were heavily underscored.
All is fair in love and war, they say, and if that is so, all is fair
in detection as well, especially when the detective is trying to
safeguard the man whose identity he has temporarily appropriated.
Under the circumstances, therefore, Nick felt justified in opening any
of Gillespie’s correspondence that seemed to promise a solution of the
mystery, just as he would have ransacked the house for a similar clew.
There might be nothing in it, of course, but this letter appeared to be
somewhat out of the ordinary, and might be valuable.
Consequently, after a little hesitation, Nick ripped the envelope open
without the slightest attempt at concealment, and drew the inclosure
out. Soon he was very glad that he had done so, for the letter read as
follows:
“DEAR OLD LUNATIC: You do not seem to have improved in the matter of
memory or level-headedness. You write me from some unpronounceable
place in South America—I judge solely from the postmark—and do not
tell me where to find you. How the dickens can I join you down there
for a month’s shooting, if you do not give me more particulars? I know
you too well, you see, to imagine for a moment that you stayed more
than a day or two at the place from which you wrote. That was nearly
two weeks ago, and by this time you may be thousands of miles away
from there.
“Your letter was forwarded to me up here in Maine, and the best thing
I can think of doing is to send this to your New York address, in
the hope that it will be forwarded to you with as little delay as
possible.”
There was a little more of it, but the rest does not matter. It was
signed by a well-known young man about town.
So that was it, was it? The only original Chester Gillespie was still
down in South America, and only about two weeks before had written to a
New York friend, inviting him down for a month’s shooting. That argued
that he did not expect to return for many weeks. In some manner, Gordon
must have learned that interesting fact, and, seemingly, had disguised
himself as Gillespie, with the aid of a photograph or photographs of
that young man.
So much for the way the trick had been sprung. For the rest, there
was no doubt in Nick’s mind as to Green Eye’s further intention. The
criminal had learned of the detective’s return, and had guessed what
Nick’s plan of campaign would be.
In other words, he had concluded that Nick had the index of the records
in the safe, and could easily find out which ones were missing. Knowing
by that means where danger threatened, Nick could set a trap for the
blackmailer, with the help of one or more of the latter’s prospective
victims.
“He knew just about what to expect,” the detective mused, “and when
he found that Gillespie was out of the country, having left only a
couple of old people in charge of the house, he hit upon this scheme of
circumventing me. If he’s left alone, he’ll find some means of sending
Chick off on a wild-goose chase, or otherwise dispose of him, and then
he’ll impersonate me once more, and in that disguise he’ll probably
advise his victims to pay the sums demanded.
“Oh, it’s a pretty smooth scheme—one of the smoothest anybody ever
thought out! I’m afraid, however, that he’s inclined to underrate my
intelligence, and to overrate his own ability.”