THE DROP SHOT.
Chick Carter led the way across one side of the wooded estate, closely
followed by Patsy and the two headquarters’ detectives.
They moved noiselessly over the damp greensward, like shadows only a
little darker than the darkness, and picked their way toward two lighted
windows back of the porte-cochère. Though the curtains had been lowered,
a thread of bright light under one of them told that a view of the room
could easily be obtained.
Chick and Patsy crept near enough to peer in, and the scene that met
their gaze was about what they expected.
The room was the library.
Seated in it was the entire gang of crooks--Mack, Duffy, Gleason, and
Kennedy, with Duffy’s wife and son, and Kate Crandall. All were divested
of their outdoor garments. All wore expressions of grim exultation--the
occasion for which was plainly manifest. They were gazing darkly at the
only other occupant of the room.
Nick Carter sat bound securely to a large armchair in one corner. His
face was pale and a bit drawn, but the light in his stern eyes told the
nature of his thoughts.
Chick did not wait to hear what was being said. He saw a revolver on the
table near Mack’s hand. He drew Patsy back a little, then whispered:
“There is a conservatory back of the house, with an inner door leading
into the library.”
“I noticed it,” murmured Patsy.
“I can get into the conservatory with Jenks and Gilman. The three of us
can then force the inner door in a jiffy.”
“Sure! Like breaking sticks.”
“You remain here.”
“Why here?”
“You saw the gun on the table?”
“You bet!”
“Mack is the only one who will venture anything desperate,” Chick
whispered. “He thinks Nick is the only one who is wise to this business.
Vengeance, when he finds himself cornered, may impel him to snatch up
the weapon and kill the chief.”
“Gee! I get you.”
“Have your revolver ready,” Chick added. “If Mack makes any such move as
that, give him a drop shot on the instant.”
“Drop shot is right,” muttered Patsy, scowling. “I’ll drop him so he’ll
never rise again.”
“That’s all. We shall down that door within five minutes.”
“Go ahead. I’ll do my part.”
Chick glided away in the darkness, followed by the two detectives.
Patsy crept to the window again, revolver in hand, where he crouched to
gaze and listen.
David Mack was speaking.
“There now is nothing to it, Carter,” he was snarling bitterly, no
longer in disguise. “You have put me in a position that leaves me no
alternative. I must wipe you out of existence.”
Nick Carter sat gazing sternly from one to another.
“You put yourself in the position you are in, Mack,” he coldly answered.
“If you think you can remedy it by killing me--well, that’s up to you.”
“It’s what he deserves,” snapped Kate Crandall. “He’s an infernal
meddler. It will be the joy of my life to know that he is off the earth.
You know what he has done for me, Dave.”
“Yes, I know, Kate, all right.”
“Give him all that’s coming to him, then.”
“It’s the only chance for any of us,” growled Duffy, scowling. “We must
play the game to a finish, or throw up our hands.”
“You’ll throw up your hands, all right,” thought Patsy, with eyes and
ears alert.
“As for Kate Crandall----” Mack began.
“Oh, you are not the first man, Mack, who has been brought to the bad by
this unscrupulous woman,” Nick interrupted. “She will give you the worst
of it, sooner or later, as she has done for others.”
“Not worse than you’ll get,” cut in Kate, with vicious asperity. “Thank
Heaven, I’ve got you where I want you, at last.”
“Don’t bank too heavily on that,” Nick coolly advised.
“What do you mean by that, Carter?” Mack quickly demanded.
“Just what I say.”
“Do you imply----”
“Only that my death, on which you seem inclined to bank, is not going to
save you,” Nick sternly interrupted. “I know all about the game you have
been playing. You overleaped your mount, Mack, when you had yourself
appointed to negotiate with a fictitious Redlaw. I know well enough that
you are short in your accounts, and that you have taken this criminal
course to raise money with which to square yourself.”
“You know too much,” scowled the recreant banker.
“It is known also to my assistants,” Nick pointedly added. “Your putting
me away will not save you. You are booked for Sing Sing, one and all of
you, as surely as----”
“You lie!” screamed Kate Crandall. “That’s only a bluff, Dave, to avert
the fate that threatens him. He’s lying when he says----”
But her own vicious words were given the lie at that moment.
Like a bolt from an azure sky, came the sudden, violent crash of three
men against the door leading into the conservatory, and with it the
smash of woodwork and the rending of lock and hinges.
The door fell in upon the floor with a violence that seemed to shake the
house, and over it Chick, Jenks, and Gilman came plunging, revolvers in
hand.
Mingled with all this were the shrieks of Kate Crandall, screams from
Maggie Duffy, the hoarse shouts of dismay from the cornered men--and a
single ringing report from a revolver outside of the splintering window.
For David Mack, as Chick had anticipated, obeyed the first impulse of
his recreant heart, that of vengeance. He leaped to his feet the instant
the crash came, and snatched his revolver from the table, turning like a
flash to fire at the helpless detective.
Patsy’s revolver barked on the instant, however, and the bullet went
true.
It was a drop shot, indeed.
For David Mack threw up his hands and without so much as a groan pitched
headlong to the floor, shot through the brain. He died where he lay
thirty seconds later.
In the meantime Chick and the two detectives from headquarters had
covered the others, and, in spite of curses and imprecations, they were
speedily put in irons.
The case, already so apparent to the reader, practically ended then and
there, in so far as any difficult work for the detectives was concerned.
Amy Madden was found confined in a room on the second floor, and long
before midnight, as Chick had predicted, she was restored to the arms of
her overjoyed father. Her story confirmed Nick’s theory of the
abduction, which already has been stated.
The crooks were easily convicted in court a week later, and all were
sentenced to the State’s prison for several years. Kate Crandall pined
in her confinement and died before her sentence expired.
Nick Carter and his assistants were handsomely rewarded by the grateful
banker, even more handsomely than Nick was really willing to accept. He
allowed, nevertheless, discussing it with Mr. John Madden, that it was
better than having had to pay--Half a Million Ransom.
THE END.
“The Girl Kidnapper; or, Nick Carter’s Up-to-date Clew,” is the
title of the story that you will find in the next issue of this
weekly, No. 124, out January 23d. It deals with the doings of some
unusual criminals, and the remarkably clever manner in which Nick
Carter got the upper hand of them.
RUBY LIGHT.
By BURKE JENKINS.
(This interesting story was commenced in No. 120 of NICK CARTER STORIES.
Back numbers can always be obtained from your news dealer or the
publishers.)