MYSTERY WITHIN MYSTERY.
Nick Carter, while a visitor at the house of Gabriel Leonard, had a
fair opportunity for studying the man. The result did not leave a
favorable impression. Leonard's cynicism, his occasional exhibition
of a plastic conscience, his at times brutal way of putting things,
repelled friendship. Still he might be like many business men engaged
in large enterprises, case-hardened in respect of the nicer notions
of morality, and yet possessed of no really vicious instincts. But
Nick, in looking at Leonard now, was not certain whether his former
deductions had not been too favorable. The manufacturer was uneasy in
mind, had shifted his gaze as if he were afraid to look an honest man
squarely in the face. What did this strange absence of John Dashwood
mean? And had Leonard any connection with it?
Nick closed the door, and deliberately took a seat. Leonard, still at
ease, paced the floor.
"I suppose you made an unfortunate discovery last night," said Nick
tentatively.
"I"--giving the detective one sharp glance and then letting his eyes
fall again--"I made a discovery, certainly. But how did you learn of
it?"
"From Luke Filbon, whose death, by suicide, is the feature of the local
news in this morning's papers."
"You saw him before he died?" asked Leonard eagerly.
"Yes."
"Then perhaps he told you where he had secreted the stolen money?"
The detective stared at the manufacturer.
"Am I to infer," he said, rather sharply, "that you did not find the
money in the safe, where it had been placed by John Dashwood?"
"The money was not in the safe," said Leonard.
Tone and manner indicated that he was speaking the truth. This was an
astonishing statement. A terrible suspicion entered the mind of the
detective.
"No money in the safe," he said, looking fixedly at the manufacturer,
who had pulled himself together and had his head raised almost
defiantly, "and how do you account for its absence?"
"Ask me something easy."
"Was the safe locked when you came in this morning?"
"Yes."
"And was the safe locked when you visited the office last night?"
Leonard started violently.
"How do you know I was here last night?" he asked, in a voice which
shook slightly, in spite of his efforts at control.
"I know, and that's enough. As you were here, in your own office, as
you had a right to be, why should you try to conceal that fact?"
"I haven't been trying to conceal it." His manner was now offensive.
"I would ask you to moderate your tone a little. What right have you
to pry into my personal affairs? I admit your friendship for John
Dashwood, but it must not carry you to the length of insulting me."
Nick smiled inwardly. He was succeeding in drawing Leonard out. When
the manufacturer's period of agitation should have passed, when affairs
in some measure should have settled into a normal condition and he
should again become the cool, self-contained man of business, the
effort to obtain information might prove difficult.
"I spoke as a detective," replied Nick smoothly, "and with no intention
of insulting you. This is a grave matter. Luke Filbon is dead. John
Dashwood has disappeared. I shall not leave St. Louis until the mystery
of last night's work has been cleared up. I expect to have your
assistance. Of course, you will give it?"
"Of course, of course," returned Leonard, in a mollified tone, though
his uneasiness had not disappeared.
"Then please answer such questions as I shall put to you. To begin, did
you open the safe when you were here last night?"
"No, I did not," said Leonard, quickly and positively.
"But, of course, you discovered that the money--twenty thousand
dollars--had been stolen?"
"Not the amount--I did not know the amount--the books were open on the
desk--some entries were marked--and a few minutes' inspection showed me
that I had been robbed."
"What did you do when you made the discovery, Mr. Leonard?" asked Nick
quietly.
"I started for Filbon's house."
"Did you go there?"
"No. I passed the house, saw no light, and, having in mind the nervous
condition of Mrs. Filbon--she is old and frail--I determined to let the
matter go over until to-day."
"Did you return home by car?"
"No. I was excited over the discovery, and I wanted to quiet my nerves.
I walked home."
"It was a long walk for you."
"It was."
"Your place is near Forest Park, southwest of the Filbon place. Why
did you go east, toward the river, instead of west, toward the King's
Highway, which would have taken you near your home?"
"What do you mean?" Leonard's surprise was genuine.
But was not fear mingled with the surprise? Nick's penetrating gaze
tried to answer the question.
"I have been informed that a man of your build passed Filbon's house
last night going not toward Broadway, but away from it."
Such had been the account given by the patrolman.
Leonard appeared relieved by the statement. "The man may have resembled
me in build," he said. "Probably there are thousands in this city who
do, but, all the same, I was not the man."
"How do you account for Dashwood's absence?" said Nick, after a pause.
Leonard did not answer for a moment. He stroked his chin and frowned.
When he spoke it was with a curious hesitancy.
"I hate to say it," he said, with a furtive glance at the detective's
face, "but I can account for it only in one way. Dashwood has taken the
money and made off with it."
"It's not so," said Nick, with a warmth that caused Leonard's cheeks to
flush. "He is no thief. You--you cannot mean this, Mr. Leonard."
"Better men than he have fallen from grace," was the dogged response.
"He might have been speculating and----"
"Not another word," interrupted Nick. "I won't hear it."
Leonard shrugged his heavy shoulders.
"Friendship is a fine thing," he said, with a half-sneer. "It knows no
medium. It's all or nothing. Well," with a patronizing smile that made
Nick grit his teeth, "I can't blame you for sticking up for John. He is
a fine fellow, a very fine fellow, and if he has taken a wrong step I
shall be deeply grieved."
A police officer entered before another word could be said. He had a
summons for Leonard to appear at the coroner's inquest in the matter of
Luke Filbon's death. "One o'clock," said the manufacturer, glancing at
the paper. "I will have time to go home and get an early lunch. I will
see you again, Mr. Carter."
Nick took the suggestion that he should leave, but once on the sidewalk
he hastened to the nearest telegraph-station and wired Chick, his
brave and shrewd assistant, to come at once. This done, the detective
went to the apartments of Madame Ree, on Chestnut Street. The sign had
been taken down and the rooms were closed. From the janitress Nick
learned that Madame Ree had left St. Louis, giving no hint as to her
destination.
"When did she leave?"
"Last night. She gave up her rooms about eight o'clock."
"Who hauled her luggage? Do you know?"
"She didn't have any luggage."
"What? Didn't she sleep in this building?"
"No."
"Where did she lodge?"
"I don't know."
"While she was here did she have many visitors?"
"No. Business was poor. That's why she gave it up, I guess."
"Do you know Gabriel Leonard, the manufacturer?"
"Can't say as I do. I have been in the city but a few months."
Nick described Leonard, and asked if such a man had ever visited Madame
Ree. The janitress' face brightened.
"Yes. A man of that look and build was here several times."
"Did Madame Ree ever speak to you about him?"
"Yes. I was going by her reception-room the other day, when he came
out. His face was as long as the moral law. As he went down the stairs,
Madame Ree turned to me and winked. 'That's an old fool,' she said
contemptuously, 'and I've got him on a string. He's going to make me
rich.' I tried to pump her, but she wouldn't say anything more."
"What did she say when she left yesterday?"
"Not very much. She said she was tired of St. Louis and that she was
about to leave it for good. The next morning would see her on the way
to another city."
"Was she in good spirits?"
"Indeed she was. She was as happy as a lark."
The janitress permitted Nick to see the rooms which Madame Ree had
vacated, but there was nothing to denote that she had ever occupied
them.
In a brown study, Nick left the place and walked from Chestnut Street
to Market. Presently his eye brightened and his lips tightened. Ideas,
at first confused, were taking definite shape. There was a riddle to
solve, and his acute brain had evolved what might prove to be a start
toward the solution. With a determined mien, he ascended the elevator
of the factory building and was soon before the door of the office.
The corridor was clear, there was no one about. With his picklock
he opened the door, passed in, shut the door, and then proceeded to
take a close survey of the office. Between the two front windows was
a large roller-top desk. Against one of the narrow sides of the room
was the safe. Opposite, against the other narrow side, was a small
desk, used by Dashwood. By the side of the safe was a door opening into
the president's private apartment. It was partly open, and Nick went
in. Nothing there except a desk, a closet, and a few chairs. After a
thorough inspection, the detective returned to the main office. Here
the clean floor and the absence of dust denoted that the janitor had
performed his usual work that morning. There was a waste-basket for
each desk. The one by the small desk was empty; the other, by the large
desk, contained a few torn scraps of paper. Nick took them up one by
one, saw that they were all from envelopes and printed circulars and
catchpenny advertisements, and threw them back into the basket.
The great detective now took a position near the door and fronting the
large desk, and tried to put himself in the place of Gabriel Leonard,
at the time of his visit to the office the night before, a visit which
had resulted in the discovery of Filbon's dishonesty.
"He came up for an important purpose," ran the detective's thought,
"for he sticks so close at home evenings that nothing short of
important business could have called him out. Was it a suspicion of
Filbon's crookedness? Or was it a purely personal matter having no
relation to the books of the company? Impossible, at this moment, to
say, unless--unless the remarks of Madame Ree, overheard by the saloon
man down-stairs, had reference to Gabriel Leonard. She said: 'It's
risky, but it has got to be done, for that old fool may after all fail
to come.'
"She then started for the elevator to do that which she had declared
had got to be done.
"What was that?
"Evidently to assault, perhaps kill John Dashwood and secure the
twenty thousand dollars, which he had forced Luke Filbon to give up.
The sudden appearance of Dashwood, coming down the elevator, prevented
the carrying out of this murderous scheme. Dashwood took a car; she
did not do so. Where she went, what she did, are matters which may be
considered later on. What is requisite now to know is: Are she and
Leonard the possessors of some secret; is Leonard in her power, and did
she mean Leonard when she said 'the old fool may after all fail to come
to time'?
"The story told by the janitress shows that she and Leonard are
acquainted, and it shows also that she has some hold on the
manufacturer. Her words spoken to the janitress imply as much, the
demeanor of Leonard, when he left her room a few days ago, supports
the implication. Therefore, in attempting to probe the mystery of last
night's doings, I must consider Madame Ree. She is mixed up in this
strange affair, as well as Gabriel Leonard and John Dashwood, but as
she has probably left the city in accordance with her announcement,
there is not much chance of obtaining any information through her
agency.
"If Gabriel Leonard came up here last night," Nick's reflections ran
on, "having no suspicion that he had been robbed by Filbon, and for the
purpose of acting in accordance with some arrangement made with Madame
Ree, it probably had relation to a matter of money. He may have wanted
to obtain the money in the safe, money received after banking-hours.
Perhaps the sum may have been a respectable one. He says the books were
open upon the desk--and that means that the desk was open, showing that
Dashwood had left in a hurry--and that from certain marked entries
he discovered that Filbon had been robbing him. In that respect he
may have spoken the truth. I am inclined to think he did. But he says
further that he did not open the safe. He may not have done so, he may
have found something which put the idea of opening the safe out of his
head. Leonard was terribly upset this morning. There was something
weighty on his mind, the nature of which he did not see fit to reveal
to me. I obtained only a part of his story. The suppressed part holds a
secret that may prove to be of terrible significance. If John Dashwood
does not turn up to-day, the work upon which I have entered must
include a rigid investigation of the case of Mr. Leonard.
"Now for his movements last night. He came here to get something,
money, let me say. He saw the open desk and the books upon it. Did he
see anything else? He says he did not learn from the marked entries
how much money Filbon had stolen, yet he did not exhibit either
surprise or concern when I told him that the amount was twenty thousand
dollars. Now, twenty thousand dollars is not a small amount of money.
Leonard is not so well off, in a pecuniary sense, as to be able to
consider twenty thousand a bagatelle. His unconcern, not assumed, for
I was watching him closely, is evidence to me that he knew the amount
Filbon had filched. And if he knew it the knowledge must have come
to him when he visited the office last night. How did he learn it?
Not from going over the books, for he did not remain, according to
the barkeeper's story, more than five minutes in the office. When he
came down he was greatly agitated, and the barkeeper heard him mutter
something about there being the devil to pay. What must I infer from
this remark, from his state of mind?
"One thing, and one thing only: He had learned, without opening the
safe, that Filbon had returned the money, and that John Dashwood had
gone off with it. And why did Dashwood take the money with him? I can
imagine a good reason, but first I must endeavor to discover what it
was that gave Leonard his information. A note from Dashwood, of course,
and that note was on the desk, probably lying upon one of the books.
What became of it? Did Leonard tear it up, or did he put it in his
pocket? The fact that he has lied to me shows that he wishes to conceal
his knowledge of the note's contents. What would be the action of a
man, agitated, confused, beset by troubles, some of which I think I
can divine, others of which I can only guess at, upon reading the note
which John Dashwood, under last night's conditions, would write?
"Common sense would not prevail, for common sense would suggest the
pocketing of the note and its destruction, if destruction should
be deemed necessary, afterward, and in a spot where the fragments
would not be found. My judgment is that he tore it into bits here in
this room. But the bits did not go into the waste-basket, for I have
examined it. They were not likely thrown on the floor. Where could they
have been thrown?"
Nick's eyes were glued on the large roller-top desk. The open floor
space in the middle had not a speck upon it. The back showed the
wall-paper and baseboard. The drawer sides of the desk concealed the
wall back of them. Nick stepped to the desk and rolled it away from the
wall. If the janitor had done his full duty that morning he would find
nothing. But the janitor had been amiss, for, partly on the rim of the
baseboard and partly on the floor, on one side back of one of the sets
of drawers, were torn bits of paper.
The detective quickly gathered the bits, placed them in his pocketbook,
and then left the office. Before attempting to make a sequential
arrangement of the bits, upon which writing had been observed, Nick
went to the office of the chief of police in the Four Courts, on Clark
Avenue. He had not given his name to the patrolman on the night
before, when announcing his discovery of the suicide of Luke Filbon,
but had simply said that he was a friend of the chief and would report
to that official in the morning. The patrolman was a new hand, and the
quiet, authoritative manner of the great detective had its effect.
Besides, he was excited over the announcement Nick had made, and
was off for the nearest signal-box as soon as Nick had finished his
statement.
When the detective entered the office he found the chief in earnest
conversation with the chief of detectives, and he was heartily greeted
by each of them. In a few words Nick stated that, while looking for
John Dashwood, he had come upon Luke Filbon, just before the taking of
the dose of poison.
"Now," he said, "I do not wish to appear as a witness at the inquest,
for reasons which any detective officer will appreciate. My presence
in St. Louis is known to but few people. I do not wish to announce the
fact to the whole city. Leonard will give the reason for the suicide,
the bottle of poison and the autopsy report will show the cause of the
death. My evidence would be simply cumulative."
"Leonard has been here," said the chief, "and has told us about the
robbery. We can get along without you, Nick."
"Thank you, chief. And--did Leonard say anything about Dashwood?"
"He said he was missing, but he hoped he would show up before night.
We were discussing the Dashwood matter when you came in. I don't like
the looks of things. Dashwood is a sober, honest, clear-headed man of
business. He would never leave town without notifying somebody, Leonard
or Mrs. Dashwood."
"Mrs. Dashwood is out of town."
"Leonard, then. And, as he did not notify Leonard, I believe there has
been foul play."
Nick was of the same opinion, but for hours he had hoped that
something--preferably the appearance of Dashwood himself--might cause
him to change it.
"Dashwood is my friend--I shall speak of him as alive, for I will not
believe him dead until I see his dead body--and I shall remain here
until the mystery of his disappearance has been solved."
"I am glad to hear you say that," said the chief, with pronounced
satisfaction. "Take the case, and we will assist you."
A long consultation followed. When it was over Nick went to his room
and proceeded without loss of time to put together the pieces of paper
he had picked up in Leonard's office. The work was laborious, but it
was at last completed. The paper was, as Nick had surmised, a note from
Dashwood, written the evening before, and it told a story which stamped
Gabriel Leonard as a liar. This is what the note said:
"DEAR MR. LEONARD: This evening I discovered that Luke
Filbon, by falsifying the books, was enabled to steal twenty thousand
dollars from the company. Filbon came in just as I had finished my
examination of the books, and not only confessed, but restored
the money, which he had secreted in his desk. Before he left, I
allowed him to go on his promise to return in the morning for an
understanding--I placed the money, all in notes, in the safe, but
immediately afterward withdrew them, fearing that Filbon might return
and repossess them. I might have changed the combination of the
safe, but that would have taken time, and my nerves are not in good
condition. Besides, I want to see Filbon again as soon as possible. I
don't think I did right in letting him go. Of course, you will see me
in the morning, but in the possible event that I may be kept up all
night, and, therefore, not reach home, and to make sure that you may
understand matters when you come to the office, I have written this
note.
"JOHN DASHWOOD."
There was a cloud on Nick's brow when he had finished reading what
Dashwood had written. He now feared the worst.
"Why did Gabriel Leonard keep silent regarding this note?" he said to
himself. "And why did he give a false account of his movements after
he left the office? Because, in his breast, he holds a guilty secret.
I am satisfied that it was Leonard whom the patrolman saw going from
Filbon's house toward the river fifteen minutes after another man had
gone in that same direction. Supposing that other man to have been John
Dashwood, they might have met on the wharf, or near it. What happened
when they did meet? If the river knows, the river may hold the secret
forever. I must make another trip to that wharf. Last night was not a
good time for an exhaustive investigation."
After lunch Nick took a car, rode out Broadway, alighted at the street
on which Mrs. Filbon lived, and walked down to the wharf. There were a
few people near the approaches. They were discussing the suicide, and
one of them dropped a remark which caused Nick to stop in his walk.
"Strange that his boat should have been stolen on the night of his
death, isn't it?"
"Looks queer, for a fact," said another man. "The verdict will be
suicide, of course, but I'm leery on that theory. Maybe the man that
stole the boat poisoned Filbon first, gave him the stuff in a drink of
whisky, and then planted the bottle by Filbon's side."
"Who would do that?" asked the first speaker. "The man that notified
the policeman?"
"Sure. And then he went back and swiped the boat."
"But why would he notify the policeman?"
"Why? To make sure that the bottle of poison would be found before
anything might cause it to be removed."
The people soon dispersed. Nick followed the man who had spoken about
the boat.
"I have heard of the suicide," he said, as he reached the man's side,
"and I am curious to know what this boat business means."
"It means murder, according to my way of thinking," said the man, who
had an intelligent, honest countenance, and was in workman's clothes.
"I did not know that Filbon owned a boat."
"He has had it for more than a year. It's a yawl, and he used to keep
it in the open part of the wharf. I saw it yesterday before dark. This
morning it was gone."
Further conversation failed to elicit anything of importance. Nick
left the man and went out upon the wharf. There was nothing there but
a few empty barrels, pieces of rotting lumber, and staves. But every
part of it was given a searching inspection. Before an overturned
barrel, the top hoop of which was broken, so that a section half a
foot in length stood straight out with its jagged edge, the detective
remained for some moments. The circular impression directly behind it
was of a nature to show Nick's experienced eyes that the barrel had
been overturned but a short time before. Perhaps the overturning had
occurred during the night.
Nick rolled it aside, keeping his eyes upon the planks. At the first
movement something was disclosed which made the detective draw a sharp
breath. The something was a lady's brooch of gold, green-enameled, made
in the form of a lizard. The barrel had not rested upon it, but it had
been concealed by the barrel's curve. It was a valuable discovery, but
it was not in the line of anything Nick had hoped to find. He knew to
whom it belonged, for he had seen it upon the breast of the owner in
San Francisco a year before. That person was Cora Reesey, otherwise
Madame Ree, who had been Luke Filbon's evil genius, and who was the
avowed enemy of the great detective.