NICK HAS A HUNCH.
“You, Carter!”
Winthrop Crawford had raised himself in bed, and, leaning on one arm,
was staring wonderingly at the figure of the detective seated in a
chair close to the head of the bed.
Nick had removed his false mustache, and although he was still dressed
in one of the suits he had worn as “Thomas Mortimer,” Crawford
recognized the clean-cut features.
“It is rather an early hour to make a call, Crawford,” the detective
said, with an apologetic smile.
“Oh, I’m always glad to see you,” was the answer. “Hanged if I
understand how you got in, though. Wasn’t my door locked?”
“I believe it was,” was the calm response.
“Then——”
“Oh, you ought to know that locked doors don’t trouble me, Crawford,”
Nick broke in, his smile broadening. “I sometimes tickle their keyholes
a little, and sometimes pass around them.”
He was delighted and greatly relieved to have Crawford awake and
evidently in such good trim.
“And which method did you employ in this instance?” inquired the man on
the bed, with a twinkle in his eyes.
“I’ll tell you all about that when I come to it. It’s too long to be
dismissed in a sentence. As a matter of fact, this is by no means my
first visit to your room since you went to bed last night, and I’ve
spent considerable time here.”
Crawford looked bewildered. “What on earth for?” he demanded; then, as
he saw Nick eying him queerly, he added: “Why are you looking at me
like that? What has happened?”
Instead of answering, the detective put another question. “How do you
feel this morning?” he queried.
Crawford searched Nick’s face as though he were half afraid that his
visitor had lost his senses.
“I feel like a fighting cock,” he said promptly. “Why should I feel any
other way?”
Nick’s face had grown stern. “Because some five or six hours ago,” he
answered gravely, “you were forcibly drugged, and a murderous attack
was made upon you.”
The blank look of amazement that came into Crawford’s eyes increased as
memory returned to him. He sat up in bed and stared at the detective.
“Good heavens, I remember now!” he broke out. “I—I thought at first,
though, that it was only a nightmare.” He raised his brown, muscular
hand and passed it across his brow. “Yes,” he muttered slowly, “I
remember—I saw Jim Stone—I saw the wet sponge—his terrible face!”
His voice died away into a frail whisper, whereupon Nick came up closer
to the bed and laid a kindly hand on the man’s shoulder.
“Stone drugged you,” he explained; “but that was not the worst he tried
to do. The drug was only administered so that you might be kept quiet
during what was to follow. Look!”
With a quick movement he pulled back Crawford’s right sleeve, and then,
extending his finger, indicated a small speck of hardened blood on the
tanned forearm.
“That mark covers a puncture made by the hypodermic syringe,” the calm
voice went on, “and it was charged with the bacilli of some deadly
disease when it was first handed to Stone to operate with.”
The mine owner listened rigidly.
“Again?” he whispered hoarsely. “Jim has tried again?”
“Yes, and he came very near accomplishing it this time,” the detective
answered. “Fortunately, however, I was in a position to take a hand.
Had I not done so, I’m afraid it would have been all up with you.
Neither you nor any one else would have known of what had happened,
and by the time you had begun to feel the effects of the injection you
would probably have been beyond hope or help.”
He seated himself at the foot of the bed and quietly told the whole
story. Before it was concluded, the lined, russet face of the miner
had become sallow and beaded with perspiration. He leaned back on the
pillow, his hands clasped behind his head.
“This is frightful; far more so than anything I dreamed of,” he said,
in an uncertain voice. “How can I reward you for what you’ve done?”
The detective leaned forward and laid his hands on the covers over one
of the raised knees.
“The only reward I ask for,” he said, “is to see you rouse yourself to
the true situation. If there was any doubt before, certainly none can
be present now. Your old partner is insane, and has fallen into the
hands of one of the most cunning, unscrupulous rascals at large to-day.
He was dangerous enough before when he only had the shrewdness of his
own misguided instincts to aid him, but now you’re up against something
much worse. You have to deal not only with a homicidal lunatic, but
through him with a scientific criminal of the most dangerous sort. The
combination is an extraordinary one, and has possibilities for evil
that stagger the imagination.”
“Do you really believe that—about this doctor, I mean?”
“I’m sure of it. Long before I ever saw you I knew he was a scamp.
That’s why I took a room here at the Windermere when I found that
Stone was consorting with him.”
“Is it possible? I don’t understand it. Isn’t he the one I told you
about—the one whom young Floyd recommended to Jimmy?”
“I take it for granted that he is. He has a reputation second to none
in his line, and there’s no reason to suppose that your own friend was
not sincere when he made the condition that Stone should visit Doctor
Follansbee. If so, though, he has a great deal to learn about the
scoundrelly head of St. Swithin’s Hospital.”
“But in what way is Follansbee a scoundrel? I should think he would
have altogether too much to lose by crime, no matter what his secret
tendencies were. What can he hope to gain by using poor Jim’s
irresponsible enmity to me? He is jeopardizing a great position.”
“True, but he thinks he can get away with it,” remarked Nick. “They all
do, you know—until they wake up. As for his anticipated reward, you
may be sure it’s a very large one. Follansbee’s are always that, and
in such a case as this, he must have named a huge price. Stone is in a
position, of course, to pay a big sum, and his mental condition makes
him an easy victim. That may be the whole explanation, but I have a
feeling that it isn’t. Something tells me that Follansbee is after more
than the fee he has named.”
“What are you driving at? How could he profit in any other way by my
death?”
“That’s what I’d like to find out,” Nick told him; “and you ought to be
able to help me, if any one can.”
“In what way?”
“Well, have you made a will?”
“Yes, I attended to that soon after we sold the Condor.”
“And who is the chief beneficiary named in it, may I ask?”
“Jim, of course. He’s practically the sole beneficiary, for no other
living person has ever been half so close to me as he.”
“I shouldn’t wonder if that explained it,” the detective said
thoughtfully.
The bearded mining man looked startled. “I’m afraid I don’t follow
you,” he said. “Tell me plainly what you have in your mind.”
“Oh, I may be mistaken,” was the answer, “but it seems rather
significant. As I’ve said, your partner’s condition makes him an easy
mark. Does he by any chance know of the terms of your will?”
“Certainly. I told him what I had done after it was drawn up.”
“That’s a pity. I do not believe he has his eyes on the money. If
I read his mental state aright, he’s only actuated by groundless,
diseased hate and suspicion, and that so fills his distorted brain that
it doesn’t leave any room for money considerations. It’s very possible,
however, that Follansbee has pumped him, and learned the facts in
regard to your will. If so, it wouldn’t surprise me a bit to find that
the rascal was plotting in some way, either with or without Stone’s
knowledge, to appropriate most, if not all, of your fortune.”
“By Jove! I wonder if you’re right!”
“I feel that I am. It strikes me that Follansbee wouldn’t have taken
the risks involved in this thing, especially after having had one
brush with me, unless there had been a huge reward in prospect. Half
a million or so would tempt almost any man who had any criminal
tendencies, you know.”
He paused, gazed into vacancy, and then added slowly: “To tell the
truth, I’m not convinced that he would be content with your share of
the proceeds from the sale of the mine. When the covetousness of a man
like that once gets to working, there’s no telling to what length it
may go. I shouldn’t wonder if he aspired to the possession of Stone’s
share as well as yours.”