A STARTLING DISCOVERY.
The clerk passed out of the room with an offended air. He was loath to
leave the presence of the great detective without gaining some notion
as to his course of action in the murder case. The elevator boy soon
made his appearance, and Nick asked:
“You have been on duty all night?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You carried a slender, dark-faced person up to this room an hour or so
ago?”
“Yes, sir.”
Nick looked at his watch. The hands pointed to the hour of two.
“Can you tell me the exact time?” he asked.
“It was ten minutes past one when I left the office for the elevator,”
was the reply.
“Did the person speak to you on the way up?”
“Yes, sir,” was the reply. “He asked me about the fire escape and the
stairs winding about the elevator well. Seemed afraid of fire.”
“About the voice? Harsh or soft?”
“Soft and low, sir.”
“Yes, yes. And when did that person go down again?”
“I don’t know, sir. He did not go down in the cage.”
“Did you see the person going down?”
“No, sir.”
“Did you see him pass through the office?”
“No, sir. It was late, and I guess I was asleep in the elevator.”
“You saw the young man who came to this room?”
“The brown-haired one? Yes, sir.”
Nick pointed to the silent figure in the chair at the table.
The boy stepped forward and peered into the dead man’s face.
“Gee!” he cried, springing toward the door. “Why didn’t you tell me he
was dead? Did that other feller kill him?”
“That is what we are trying to find out,” said Nick. “Now, when this
young man came up in the elevator, did he say anything to you?”
“Yes, he asked me if I knew the party in forty-three.”
“And you?”
“I told him that I did not. I had seen him only once.”
“Is that all he said?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How did he act?”
“Queer, I thought. When he stepped out of the cage he turned back
again, as if he thought of going back down with me. Once or twice he
clutched his left side, up there by the inside pocket.”
“I wish he had gone down again!” cried Maynard, starting from his
chair. “He lost his life by going on! Can nothing be done, Mr. Carter?
Is he past all hope of recovery?”
Nick dismissed the elevator boy and turned to the agitated young man.
“Don’t give way to your emotions now,” he said. “We have much to do if
the murderer is ever brought to justice and the diamonds recovered.”
“Never mind the diamonds,” said Maynard. “I wish I had never set eyes
on them! First my poor uncle, and now my best friend! The devil is in
the diamonds! I hope I shall never see them again.”
“Are you strong enough to remain here while I take a look at the body
and the room? If not, you would better sit in the office.”
“Oh, yes, I’ll remain here. Poor Henry! You don’t know what it is to
lose a chum like that.”
Nick approached the body and lifted the head from the table.
There was no blood in sight.
But just over the heart was a faint stain. The detective opened the
shirt and saw a tiny puncture in the breast. The dead man had been
stabbed with some slender weapon. The wound was exactly over the heart.
Nick gazed long and thoughtfully at the still figure. He did not
understand how the wound could have been made so exactly over the vital
spot. If Townsend had resisted, such a mode of murder would have been
impossible. Then a light came to the wondering detective.
He bent forward and laid his face close to that of the dead man.
“I thought so!” he then muttered.
“What is it?” asked Maynard.
“A spray of chloroform was thrown into Townsend’s face, and the wound
was made while he was dazed, if not quite unconscious.”
“But if the murderer had him under the influence of the drug, why did
he not permit the drug to do the work? This stabbing seems brutal and
unnecessary.”
“I can’t understand that part of it myself,” said Nick. “However, we
shall know more of the details before long.”
“What sort of a weapon was it?” asked Maynard. “The cut is a tiny one.”
“It might have been made with a hatpin,” said Nick.
“Men don’t carry hatpins about with them,” said Maynard.
“This murder,” replied Nick, “was committed by a woman.”
“A woman!” echoed Maynard.
“Exactly, by a woman disguised as a man. That may be why the young
man was dazed with a spray of chloroform before the fatal blow was
struck. The woman was not strong or daring enough to take the risk of
determined resistance.”
“But how do you know that it was a woman who was here? The clerk said
nothing about that.”
“The clerk was deceived. See here! This blue ribbon comes from the
front of a woman’s undervest. In the haste of dressing in Townsend’s
clothes, the ribbon broke and she tossed it aside. There are other
things that tell me it was a woman, sure enough.”
“Think of a woman doing a thing like this!” cried Maynard.
“Horrible crimes have been committed by women,” said Nick, laying the
cast-off clothing of the murderer on the table and drawing up a chair.
“There is nothing in the pockets,” he finally said. “Not a blessed
thing. Now for the tailor. Ah!”
“What is it?” asked Maynard, as Nick gave a start of surprise.
“The clothes,” he said, “were made in Paris by Mons. Dumond. Here is
the mark of the firm on the inner side of the collar. Careless thing to
leave that mark here. It tells a great deal.”
“I see no name there,” said Maynard.
“Of course not,” said the detective, “but the trade-mark of the firm is
here. I have seen it before under similar circumstances. Dumond makes
clothes for actors; and has also been nicknamed the thieves’ tailor. In
other words, he makes duplicates, imitations, disguises, and all sorts
of trick garments. He is known by the better class of rascals the world
over.”
“Then we can easily learn the name of the person who ordered this
suit.”