MANTELLE AT BAY.
“It strikes me,” said Chick, as the detectives left the Townsend home,
“that the Great Diamond Syndicate is giving us the fight of our lives.”
“It appears to be all that the chief declared it to be,” said Nick, “a
powerful organization, officered by cunning scoundrels.”
“I think this man Mantelle knows something about the syndicate.”
“We have no proof, yet I have been thinking that same thing,” replied
Nick, “and that is why I went to the Townsend home, to see if it were
possible to get a line on the fellow. I did not succeed very well, but
I have another plan in my mind.”
“Hunt him up and work the third degree?” asked Chick.
“Exactly,” replied the chief. “If I can get up an argument with him, or
place him under accusation, I can form an estimate that will guide me.”
“There might be a little physical exertion connected with an interview
in which he was accused of complicity in the murder,” said Chick, “and
that would help some. I am feeling in the need of a thumping.”
“That may come soon enough,” replied Nick.
“It might be a good idea to watch the room in the tenement,” said
Chick. “There may be a reason why the woman should go back there.”
“If she does, it will be in the nighttime,” was the reply. “We will
talk that over later. At this time we’ll see if we can locate this man
Mantelle. No one appears to know much about the fellow.”
“He may be at the Cumberland,” said Chick.
Mantelle was not at his hotel when the detectives called there, and so
they went to the Bowery café, whence Townsend had gone to his death.
“Now,” said Nick, as they approached the place, “if we find him and
there are others present, you observe them while I am sizing up
Mantelle. And I may accuse him of all sort of things, so be on your
guard.”
The clerk informed Nick that Mantelle was at breakfast with a friend in
a rear room.
“Are you certain he has company?” asked Nick. “You see, he had an
appointment with me at this hour—an important appointment. It is
possible that the other fellow is the man we both expected to meet
here. What sort of a looking chap is he?”
“It is a woman,” said the man at the desk, “and he asked particularly
that they should not be disturbed.”
“Oh, he’ll see me,” said Nick, with a swagger affected by precinct
detectives.
“You’ll have to get in there the best way you can, then,” said the
clerk. “I am not going to have you shown in.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” said Nick.
The clerk gave the detectives the number of the room, and they opened
the door and entered without even the formality of knocking. Mantelle
sprang to his feet, rage showing in his eyes. His companion, who
hastily dropped a veil over her face as the door was opened, shrank
back into her chair and turned her head away.
She was slender of figure, and seemed to be rather good-looking. Owing
to the thick veil, Nick could not distinguish the full outlines of
her face, but what he could see of it gave him the impression that the
woman was young, and fair of complexion. There was something about the
droop of the shoulders, the graceful lines of the waist, which seemed
familiar to the detective, yet he could not at that time place the
woman.
“What do you want in here?” demanded Mantelle, springing from his
chair. “Have you no eyes? Can’t you see that the room is taken?”
“Just a moment,” said Nick, with the precinct-detective swagger. “I’m a
police detective, you know.”
“No, I don’t know,” replied the other hotly, “but if you are, what is
that to me? Have the kindness to leave the room.”
Chick was looking on in amused wonder. He had never seen his chief play
that rôle before.
“I have business with you,” said Nick, taking a chair.
It seemed to Nick that a shade of anxiety, passed over the man’s face.
“Well, proceed. What is it?”
“You were here with Townsend and Maynard last night when the latter
was murdered?” asked the detective.
“You are wrong,” was the reply. “You don’t know what you are talking
about.”
“You were not here that night?” asked Nick.
“Yes, I was here, but not with Mr. Townsend. He had left the place
before I arrived, and I found Maynard waiting for him.”
“You did not see Townsend that night?” asked Nick, regarding the fellow
keenly.
Mantelle hesitated. He looked like a man who was playing for time.
“I was told that you saw him out on the pavement in front of this
place,” said Nick, at a venture.
“Well, what if I did? I do not at this time recall the incident, if I
did see him; but what of it if I did?”
“I am also informed,” said Nick, still making a bluff, “that you saw
him pass down the street without making your presence known. Is that
true?”
“It is not true,” was the reply.
“We have information at headquarters,” continued Nick, “that you
walked on to the Wisconsin in his wake, and returned to the café only
after the cry that a murder had been committed had been raised in the
hotel.”
“That is not true,” said Mantelle.
“You did not go to the Wisconsin that night?” asked the detective.
“I did not,” was the reply.
“When you left here, leaving Maynard to look up his friend, where did
you go?”
“That is no affair of yours,” was the angry reply.
Nick was doing a lot of guessing in his talk with the fellow, but he
seemed to be making points.
“Didn’t you go to the house of an African fortune teller on Houston
Street?” asked the detective.
“It is a lie!” almost shouted Mantelle. “What does all this questioning
mean? Am I accused of the murder of Townsend? If so, take me to some
competent person for examination. I am sick of your amateur efforts.”
“All in good time,” said Nick. “After the destruction by fire of the
house occupied by the African fortune teller, didn’t you visit a woman
on the third floor of a tenement house near the Bowery?”
Mantelle started. The woman sitting by his side seemed about to leave
her chair, so excited and nervous were her movements. Chick began to
see that his chief was no longer feeling around for a clue, but knew
what he was about.
“I did not visit such a place as you describe,” was the reply. “From
this café I went directly to my rooms at the Cumberland.”
“How did you get to your rooms?” asked Nick, at a venture. “The
elevator man says you did not ride up in the cage with him.”
Again the fellow started, as if in sudden terror, again the woman made
a motion which suggested leaving the room. Nick was now playing a bold
game.
“He is mistaken,” said Mantelle. “I went to my room in the usual
manner.”
“And the lady sitting there by your side,” said Nick, “she——”
“Leave her out of it,” said Mantelle angrily.
“She met you later that night—or early the next morning, rather, at——”
The woman sprang to her feet, her eyes flashing through her veil.
“I won’t stay here to be insulted!” she said.
She started for the door, but Nick stopped her with a gesture.
“Wait,” he said. “Are you the woman who occupied a room on the third
story of a tenement on East Houston Street?”
“Let me pass,” cried the woman, as Nick stepped in front of her. “I can
account for myself to the proper authorities, but not to you.”
In her rage the woman drew herself up to her full height and gazed at
the detective, with a fierce hate burning in her eyes.
“It may be as well for you to remain here and answer a few questions,
but you may go if you think best,” said Nick.
“What do you want?” demanded the woman.
“This: When did you first meet Julius Mantelle?”
Mantelle now sprang to his feet.
“This is intolerable!” he cried.
“I am not detaining you,” said Nick.
Mantelle and the woman turned to the door.
“A nice mess you have made of my morning,” Julius said.