NICK IS BALKED.
One of the little physician’s hands shot out and caught at the ink
bottle which the detective was about to pocket, and as they reeled
across the room together, the rascal lowered his head unexpectedly and
set his sharp teeth into Nick Carter’s hand.
It was the trick of an animal rather than of a human being, and it took
the detective completely by surprise.
Involuntarily Nick released his hold on the bottle, and it fell to the
floor. The fall did not break it, however, and Follansbee was obliged
to kick it into the fireplace, where it struck against one of the
massive andirons and was shattered, its contents mixing with the ashes.
With a swift movement Nick released himself from his clinging
antagonist, and sent him spinning after the broken bottle. The doctor
recovered his balance, gasping for breath, and the two faced each other
silently for a few moments.
“Well,” Follansbee said presently, panting, “you didn’t connect with
that bit of evidence after all, did you?”
The detective shrugged his shoulders.
“True,” he admitted. “I knew I was dealing with a cur, but I forgot
that you weren’t muzzled. You needn’t pride yourself on your victory,
however; the ink would have been a little further evidence against you,
but I can very easily get along without it. But I didn’t come here to
bandy words with you, or to fight with mad dogs. I came to find out
where your latest victim is—Stone, I mean; and I’d advise you not to
put any more obstacles in my way.”
“What do I know about Stone?”
“That’s what I want you to tell me. I heard you arrange to wait for him
outside the bank, and I saw you leave the hotel for that performance.
He hasn’t been back since, and the hotel people are beginning to worry
about it. It is up to you to do a little explaining, if you don’t want
to be accused of another crime.”
“I know nothing about it,” the rascal insisted. “Stone came back here,
it’s true. I brought him in my car, and he was here for some little
time. It must have been something after three o’clock when he left,
intending to walk back to the hotel. That’s the last I saw of him.”
He spoke with the utmost assurance, and unfortunately Nick was not able
to contradict him. The detective realized with a sinking of the heart
that, in spite of Follansbee’s telltale flareups and partial or implied
confessions, the man intended to fight doggedly every step of the way.
For a moment he was at a loss to know how to proceed, and the Buzzard,
seeing his hesitation, took advantage of that fact.
“That’s all I have to tell you,” Follansbee went on triumphantly. “Make
as much—or as little—of it as you can. Let me remind you of something
else, too. Any charge you may try to bring against me will involve
Stone and give a lot of undesirable publicity to his mental condition.
It will involve you, too, for if he’s as dangerous as you claim he is,
the newspapers and the public will ask why you allowed him to go about
of his own free will, to live unmolested at a hotel, and all the rest
of it. More than that, the revelations that will inevitably follow
will make your friend Crawford very sore. He has stuck to Stone, I
understand, through thick and thin. I don’t pretend to say what his
motives have been, but I know enough to be sure that he won’t welcome
the limelight when it’s thrown upon them.”
Nick was amazed at the man’s cleverness in making use of such an
argument. He had felt himself hampered at every turn by the peculiar
circumstances which surrounded the case, and especially by Crawford’s
insistance that no punishment be visited upon his old partner. It had
seemed to the detective, however, when he discovered the way in which
Follansbee had juggled with the check, that he had the scoundrel where
he wanted him, but now he was beginning to doubt even that. At any
rate, he did not feel justified in having Follansbee arrested at once.
He needed to know what had become of Stone before doing that, and it
was desirable to have another conference with Crawford in order to see
how far the latter was willing for him to go.
All of which meant that he was unprepared in many ways for the
situation which had developed. It went decidedly against the grain,
after having carried things so far, to be obliged to indulge only
in empty words, and finally to walk out of Follansbee’s house
empty-handed. Yet that seemed to be what he was destined to do. Had
he known what Patsy Garvan knew, he could have turned the tables very
neatly, and might have brought Follansbee to time, but he did not
have an inkling that his assistant’s eagerness to see him had had any
bearing on the case in hand.
“You refuse, then, to tell me where James Stone is?” he asked, harking
back to his errand.
“I have told you all I know,” the head of St. Swithin’s declared
sullenly. “I’m not running an insane asylum.”
“And you’re going to keep his fortune? You don’t think it wise to make
restitution, and thereby lighten your punishment?”
“I shall certainly not part with the money,” was the answer. “I have
earned it, or will earn it before I get through. If I’m let alone,
James Stone will not be crazy when I have finished with him. As for
any little irregularities there may have been about the transaction,
that’s a matter for Stone and Crawford to decide. It isn’t any of your
business or the public’s, and if you’re wise you won’t try to take any
steps against me.”
He was still standing before the fireplace, and perceptibly trembling
with rage. He clenched his hands now and bared his teeth.
“Have a care, Nicholas Carter,” he went on shrilly. “I’m not the sort
of man to allow another to cross my path with impunity. It would be far
better for you to retire from this case right now, and leave matters as
they stand. If you become a menace to me, I swear I’ll sweep you out of
my way.” Here he passed his long, lean hand around, as though brushing
away some object. “Let me tell you,” he added, “that I’m a dangerous
man to have for an enemy.”
“Your threats haven’t any weight with me, Follansbee,” the detective
answered quietly. “I’ve devoted my life to handling such blackguards as
you. You’re clever, but you’re not clever enough; no scamp is. The evil
he does trips him up sooner or later. I tell you here and now that you
will not enjoy one penny of that money, no matter what happens. You may
spend some of it, but you’ll be looking for a thunderbolt all the time.”
As he spoke, he half turned and approached the door. He took good care,
however, to keep one eye on the physician, for he knew that at that
moment Follansbee was ready for anything.
“I’ve given you your chance,” the detective said, as he laid his hand
on the knob, “and you haven’t seen fit to take it. I can find Stone
without aid, and when I do, you’ll discover that you’ve made a bad
bargain. Good afternoon.”
The door closed behind the lithe figure, and Follansbee just for a
moment allowed his stiff attitude to relax. It seemed as though the
lean body shrank, that his clothes suddenly became too large for him.
There was a curious mummylike expression about his sharp features as he
leaned against the mantel.
“How much does he know?” he muttered to himself. “By heavens, it was
well that I got rid of Stone when I did. I defy him to find out where
he is now.”
A sudden gust of anger swept over him, and he reeled toward the door,
shaking his fists. “I defy you! I defy you!” he shrieked, in his thin
voice. “Look out for yourself, Nick Carter! Men have died for less
than you have done.”
There was an unholy meaning in his voice, and the face looked fiendish
in its menace. At that moment Stephen Follansbee looked what he was—an
insatiable bird of prey. “Only let me get you into my power,” he
continued, “and nothing in the world will save you!”
Nick Carter had made another enemy; one whose scientific resources and
unusual shrewdness might have daunted almost any one, when coupled, as
they were, with the maddening thirst for revenge which shook him at
that moment.