“HEAVEN HELP ME.”
Nick Carter looked up at his assistant’s words, then nodded toward the
door. “Lock that!” he commanded. “Quick!”
Chick made his way dizzily across the room and turned the key in the
lock. He knew the meaning of the move. The noise of the struggle might
have been heard, and if so, the room might be invaded at any moment. It
was evident that the chief did not wish such an interruption. As soon
as Chick had locked the door, he returned to his chief’s side.
“Now, watch this fellow,” the detective directed. “Don’t let him make
even a move to get up.”
As he spoke, Nick got to his feet, and, striding to the wall, switched
on a couple more lights, flooding the room.
Follansbee lay where he had been left, but his evil eyes searched the
features of the pajama-clad detective. Seemingly he had guessed his
identity, but had failed to verify his suspicions from the bearded face.
“Who are you?” he demanded. “And what does this mean?”
Simultaneously he started to rise on one elbow, but Chick prodded him
in the ribs with his foot.
“Stay where you are!” he advised. “I have my eye on you, you know.”
“It’s too much trouble to take off this beard, Follansbee,” Nick
replied evenly. “I hardly think that’s necessary, anyhow. I have a
notion you could guess at my name without much trouble, and that the
guess would be right. I am Nick Carter, not at yours—but at James
Stone’s—service.”
There was a tense, dramatic silence; then suddenly, with a curious,
gurgling sound, another figure came to the stage.
Stone, swinging himself out of bed, rose to his feet unsteadily. The
blind, vacant look had vanished. A perplexed, troubled frown had
taken its place, and Stone turned his head slowly, eying each of the
occupants of the room in turn.
“What is this?” he asked, in a hesitating voice. “What does it mean?”
Follansbee screwed himself round on the floor and faced the man. Chick
caught the look on the doctor’s face, and guessed what he was up to.
“No, you don’t,” he remarked, stooping down and jerking Follansbee
about by the collar. “Keep your eyes off him and cut out your Svengali
tricks.”
There was no doubt that Stone was coming out from the influence of
the spell which had been laid upon him, but he would doubtless have
succumbed again had it not been for Chick’s quick move. As it was, he
had already looked at Follansbee and recognized him.
The ex-miner passed his hands across his eyes. “I thought I’d seen the
last of you,” he jerked out. “I remember leaving your house, but after
that—after that——”
His voice faltered and broke, and his look was pathetic as he turned
toward Nick Carter.
“I seem to recognize you,” he went on. “I wonder if you are my friend.
Can you explain?”
A look of hope sprang into the detective’s eyes, and he nodded his head
eagerly.
“I think I can,” he answered. “You have been made a victim of a
cold-blooded rascal. I need not tell you what happened at the Hotel
Windermere, I suppose?”
James Stone’s awakening memory brought the scene back to him, and he
shuddered.
“I know—I know,” he said, dropping back quickly on the side of his bed.
“I—I tried to murder poor old Win. But you saved me from that, didn’t
you?”
He looked appealingly at Follansbee. The latter could no longer bear
his ignominious position on the floor. With a look of defiance he
scrambled to his feet, and Carter and his assistant allowed him to do
so, although they ranged themselves on either side of him.
Follansbee knew that he was in desperate straits, but he believed that
his star was not yet ready to set. He made one mistake, however; for
he imagined that Winthrop Crawford had been inoculated with the deadly
disease.
“You are mistaken,” he said daringly. “By this time Crawford must be
suffering from the disease that you placed in his veins.”
“No, no, no! You don’t mean that—you can’t mean it!” Stone broke out,
in a horrified voice. “You told me that the syringe was filled with a
harmless liquid.”
“That was a lie,” was the brutal answer.
A groan burst from the lips of the tall man, and his lean figure seemed
to shrivel. “Then Heaven help me!” he moaned. “I’ve killed the man I
love best in the world.”
“No, you have not!”