A DEEPENING MYSTERY.
Nick Carter was much less surprised, of course, upon learning of the
mysterious disappearance of Archie Waldmere, than he would have been if
he had not seen the episodes that had occurred about half past ten, and
the remarkable duplication of the costume described.
Naturally, too, several pertinent questions at once arose in Nick’s
mind.
Who was the other woman--the duplicate Night?
Was Waldmere the masked man who had accompanied her from the house and
departed in a limousine?
Did he, in that case, know with whom he was going, or did he suppose he
was departing with his wife?
If not, and he went willingly with another, what motive had he in so
doing?
Was he guilty of a secret love affair, as Chick had suggested, and had
he gone to indulge in a clandestine flirtation, intending to return
within a reasonable time, only to be inadvertently detained until this
late hour?
Nick was not inclined to believe anything of that kind, as a matter of
fact. He had a very high opinion of the titled young Englishman, who had
been loyal enough to his love for a beautiful chorus girl to make her
his wife, in spite of the opposition of his choleric old father, the
Earl of Eggleston, and the consequent estrangement from home and family
and native land, he having for the two years since his marriage been
engaged in Western mining projects, occupying a fine residence in
Riverside Drive.
In view of all of these facts, of which Nick was thoroughly informed, he
did not believe that Waldmere was guilty of a clandestine love affair.
He decided that he would not immediately disclose what he had seen,
however, and that he first would look into the matter superficially and
make sure he was right on certain points.
For Nick did not know positively, of course, that it was Mollie Waldmere
whom he had seen ascending the front stairs at precisely half past ten.
There was a possibility of its having been the other--the unknown
personification of Night.
“It really is extraordinary, most extraordinary,” Mr. Carrington
remarked, when the detective did not reply for a moment to the anxious
woman. “I cannot account for it.”
“I don’t think there is any cause for alarm,” said Nick. “Have you made
sure, Mrs. Waldmere, that your husband is not in the house?”
“Dear me, yes!” exclaimed Mollie, gazing at him. “I have searched
everywhere in the crowd. It is nearly two hours since we unmasked.
Archie was to have gone in with me for refreshments, but I have waited
and searched in vain. I know, Mr. Carter, that something has happened to
him. He would never desert me in this way. Besides, he did a most
extraordinary thing earlier in the evening.”
“What was that?” Nick inquired. “Sit down, Mrs. Waldmere, and tell me. I
will look into the matter.”
Mr. Carrington had closed the door of his private library, and all three
then sat down to continue the discussion.
“He sent me a note about half past ten, Mr. Carter, asking me to join
him in the west-front chamber, and saying that he wanted me. Here it is,
merely these penciled lines on a scrap of paper. I thrust it into my
waist, not wanting to drop it on the floor.”
Nick read the fragment of paper she hurriedly produced. It contained
only these lines:
“Come up to the west-front chamber, Mollie. I want you.
ARCHIE.”
Nick returned the paper to her, remarking:
“I infer that you did not find Archie in the west-front chamber.”
“No, I did not,” said Mollie nervously. “I could not imagine why he
wanted me. I hunted vainly for him on the second floor. I have not seen
him since, Mr. Carter.”
“Examine the writing, Mrs. Waldmere,” said Nick. “Does it look like
Archie’s hand?”
“Why, no, not exactly,” she replied, after a brief scrutiny. “I really
don’t believe that it is his. But I did not notice it, Mr. Carter, at
the time. I felt a bit nervous and hastened upstairs to find him.”
Nick remembered having observed it, and he now had positively fixed the
identity of the woman seen on the stairs. He took the note from her
again and asked:
“Was this brought to you by one of the servants?”
“No, it was not.”
“By whom?”
“It was slipped into my hand by a man clad in a Mexican costume. I was
surprised, of course, but I opened and read it. The man then had
disappeared. I wondered how he had identified me, of course, but I
supposed that Archie had told him what costume I was wearing. That made
me nervous, you see, for I feared he might be ill. I could think of no
other reason for his wanting me.”
“When had you previously seen him?”
“Not for half an hour, Mr. Carter, or longer.”
Nick took the note from her again, saying, while he slipped it into his
pocket:
“I will keep this for a time, Mrs. Waldmere, if you have no objection.”
“None whatever.”
“Tell me, now, what costume your husband wore.”
“That of a Spanish cavalier.”
“Did he have it made, or rent from a costumer?”
“He hired it from Perrot, in Fifth Avenue.”
“And yours?”
“Came from the same place. Some of the jewels have been added, and will
be removed before I return it,” said Mollie, pointing to some of the
ornaments.
Nick gazed thoughtfully at the floor for a moment, then turned to Mr.
Carrington.
“Your guests were admitted by card, I believe?” he said inquiringly.
“Yes. Each presented an invitation card to Perkins, the butler, with the
bearer’s name and that of the costume worn.”
“Who now has the cards?”
“Perkins has charge of them.”
“Have him bring them here,” Nick directed. “I wish to examine them.”
Mr. Carrington withdrew to find the butler.
“When did you decide to wear this costume, Mrs. Waldmere?” Nick then
asked, turning to her again.
“Oh, nearly a week ago,” said Mollie. “I engaged it of Perrot about that
time.”
“Who except him knew you were to wear it? Did you inform any person?”
“Only one, aside from my husband and the servants, who may have heard me
discussing it with him,” said Mollie. “I told one intimate friend of
mine, Clara Ringold, of Brooklyn. She and her husband were invited and
intended coming, but I have not seen either of them. Something must have
prevented them.”
“What costume was she to wear?”
“That of a cabaret singer. She has a beautiful voice. We confided in one
another, Mr. Carter, that we might recognize each other during the
evening.”
“Where were you at that time?”
“When we confided in one another?”
“Yes.”
“I was calling on Mrs. Ringold in her Brooklyn residence. That was
several days ago.”
“Were you alone with her?”
“Yes. We were seated in the library.”
“She is the wife of the Honorable Charles Ringold, I take it, who was a
member of the last Congress.”
“Yes, the same,” bowed Mrs. Waldmere. “She----”
“One moment, please,” Nick interposed.
Mr. Carrington had returned, bringing a pasteboard box containing the
invitation cards received by the butler at the front door, and
presumably bearing the name of every guest who had entered the house.
Nick at once began a rapid inspection of them, his companions watching
him with mute interest, and he was not long in finding what he sought.
He discovered first the two cards presented by the missing man and his
wife:
“Mr. Archie Waldmere, Spanish Cavalier. Mrs. Archie Waldmere, Night.”
The names of the costumes had been written on the cards by Waldmere
himself, and his wife readily identified them.
A few moments later Nick produced two others, and he then placed the box
on the table.
“Here are two of more importance,” he remarked, showing them to
Carrington and Mollie.
They bore the following names:
“Mr. Charles Ringold, Mexican Toreador. Mrs. Clara Ringold, Cabaret
Singer.”
“The names of the costumes evidently were written by the same person,
for the hands are identical,” Nick observed, while his companions
examined them.
“But this is very strange,” said Mr. Carrington, with a look of
perplexity. “I have not seen Ringold nor his wife since the unmasking. I
supposed they were not here.”
“I am very sure they have not been here, Mr. Carrington,” said Mollie
confidently.
“But these admission cards--how came they here, in that case?”
Carrington demanded. “Perkins certainly received them at the door.”
“The arriving guests were not required to unmask for Perkins, were
they?” Nick inquired.
“No, certainly not. He had a list of the invited guests, and checked off
each arrival.”
“The explanation is a simple one,” said Nick. “Two strangers got by
Perkins by using these two cards.”
“But Ringold would not have given his cards to others. He is above such
discourtesy as that,” Carrington warmly protested.
“Undoubtedly,” Nick agreed. “It is safe to assume, then, that the cards
were obtained from him by covert means, also that a subterfuge of some
kind was employed to prevent him and his wife from coming here to-night,
or even communicating with you.”
“But that smacks of knavery, Mr. Carter, if not crime itself,” said Mr.
Carrington apprehensively.
“I now am sure of knavery of some kind,” Nick replied. “Whether it is so
serious as to come under the head of crime remains to be learned.”
“Dear me, this is shocking.”
“I now will tell you what I saw about half past ten this evening,” Nick
added. “I want you to say nothing about it, pending my further
investigations.”
Both of his companions pledged themselves to secrecy, and Nick then
briefly told them of his earlier observations, much to the amazement of
Mr. Carrington and the increasing anxiety of Mollie Waldmere.
“Don’t let my disclosures add to your alarm,” said Nick, observing her
paleness. “The circumstances admit of only one interpretation.”
“What is your opinion?” Mollie questioned.
“Though he departed voluntarily, your husband did not go intentionally
with another woman,” Nick explained. “He was lured away by her, thinking
her to be you, Mrs. Waldmere, and detecting no difference in the two
costumes. You were likewise lured to the second floor of the house by
the forged note given to you, in order to preclude your seeing and
preventing the subterfuge that deceived your husband.”
“That undoubtedly explains it, Nick,” said Mr. Carrington.
“And all this was evidently accomplished by two persons who, in some
way, obtained the invitation cards of Mr. and Mrs. Ringold, and also
prevented their coming here to-night.”
“Oh, my! this is terrible,” said Mollie, with lips quivering. “I cannot
help feeling alarmed, Mr. Carter.”
“I will take the case and sift it to the bottom,” Nick assured her. “You
suspect no person, of course, of having designs upon Mr. Waldmere?”
“No, indeed!”
“Nor know of any reason for such?”
“I have not the slightest suspicion.”
“I see you have a telephone here,” said Nick, with a glance at Mr.
Carrington. “Let me try to get the Ringolds and see what I can learn.”
“Do so, Carter, by all means.”
“I am sure they have a telephone,” said Mollie. “I frequently talk with
Clara.”
Nick looked up the number, but he tried in vain for several minutes to
get a response. All he could obtain was that of the exchange operator:
“They do not answer.”
“There must be a reason for this,” said Nick, replacing the receiver.
“They ought to hear the repeated ringing of a telephone bell, even if
they are abed.”
“What’s to be done?” asked Mollie anxiously. “I am trying to be calm,
Mr. Carter, but I am frightfully disturbed.”
Nick came to an abrupt determination.
“I will go to Brooklyn and see what can be learned,” he replied. “In the
meantime, Mrs. Waldmere, you must go home and wait until you hear from
me.”
“When will that be?”
“I will telephone to you as soon as I return from Brooklyn. I then shall
go to my residence, from which I will ring you up. Chick will remain
here, Mr. Carrington, until your guests have departed. I think there
will be nothing more wrong.”
“This is bad enough, Carter, Heaven knows,” was the grave reply.
“Oh, it may not prove as serious as you apprehend, not serious at all,
perhaps,” Nick said lightly, though chiefly to encourage the woman.
“Well, well, I hope not.”
“Do nothing more about it, nor say anything to others,” Nick repeated.
“Leave the matter entirely to me. I will do all that can be done with
the case, and will lose no time in doing it.”
Mollie Waldmere thanked him feelingly, then went to make her
preparations for returning home.
Mr. Carrington detained the detective for a moment, asking gravely:
“Tell me frankly, Carter, what do you think of this? Do not deceive me.”
“Frankly, then, Mr. Carrington, it looks bad, quite bad,” said Nick.
“Knaves do not take such risks, nor go to so much trouble, unless with
some strong incentive. I cannot conjecture what lies back of it, of
course, but I am going to find out.”
“Will you communicate with me later?”
“Surely by to-morrow morning. Keep quiet in the meantime and leave me to
do the rest.”
Nick remained only to talk briefly with Chick, telling him what he had
learned, and he then departed hurriedly, heading for home in a taxicab.