THE FLIGHT OF LEONARD.
The finding of Madame Ree's brooch in a locality in which John Dashwood
had last been seen introduced an element into the case that deepened
the mystery surrounding Dashwood's fate. She, as well as Gabriel
Leonard, had been on the wharf the preceding night. And there was the
disappearance of the boat. Had she stolen it, or had it been stolen by
Gabriel Leonard? And if murder had been done, who was the murderer?
Before attempting to answer these questions, Nick purposed making
certain investigations, and having still others made for him. When he
returned to town the inquest was over. It had been short, as there were
but few witnesses, and these had given testimony directly in point.
Gabriel Leonard had testified that Filbon had robbed him, and that John
Dashwood must have discovered the robbery and confronted Filbon with
the proofs, for on his visit to the office the night before witness had
found Filbon's desk open, the books spread out, and the false entries
marked. The autopsy revealed the fact that death had resulted from the
taking of prussic acid. The phial was introduced in evidence, and the
druggist who sold the poison testified that Filbon was the purchaser.
Meeting the chief of police, Nick told the story of the missing boat,
and asked that men be detailed to make inquiries along the river, north
and south. Boats were already patrolling the river looking for floating
bodies. Having disposed of this matter, Nick found a car, and in half
an hour was at Gabriel Leonard's house, near Forest Park. He had
counted on finding no persons at the place but the servants, and was
well pleased when the housekeeper informed him that Mr. Leonard would
not likely be at home before eight o'clock, more than four hours away.
"He will probably return with Mrs. Dashwood," she said, "for early this
morning he sent a telegram so that she take the ten-thirty-five train
from Chicago, which will arrive here at seven-twenty-four. Is there
any news of Mr. Dashwood?" she added, her motherly face betraying keen
anxiety.
"No. But we must hope for the best. How does Mr. Leonard take his
son-in-law's disappearance?"
Nick had seated himself in an easy chair on the veranda, and the
housekeeper had followed suit.
"He left so early this morning that I didn't have much chance to talk
with him. He was very pale, and greatly disturbed in mind. He scarcely
touched his breakfast."
"Loss of sleep probably accounted somewhat for his appearance,"
suggested Nick Carter.
"I don't believe he slept at all," said the housekeeper.
"Did he come in late?" This question was asked without eagerness, in
order that the good woman might not suspect that she was being pumped.
"I don't know what time it was, but it was after three o'clock, and not
long before daylight."
"What kept him up, I wonder?" said Nick, as if to himself, and not
for the benefit of the housekeeper. "Must have been worrying over the
Filbon matter. Yes, yes, of course, unless," looking up at the woman as
if the thought was of but little importance, yet had been suggested by
ordinary curiosity, "unless he told you it was something else."
"I asked him where he had been all night," replied the housekeeper,
wholly unsuspicious of the detective's design, "and he said that he had
been trying to find Luke Filbon, who had robbed him of a large sum of
money."
"Did he seem surprised to learn that John Dashwood had not come home?"
"No. He said that John would probably turn up all right."
"And yet he went off to wire Mrs. Dashwood. That shows, does it not,
that he must have feared that harm had come to his son-in-law, and that
he concealed his feelings in order not to alarm you? That was the act
of a considerate man."
There was no hint of sarcasm in tone of voice or expression of face.
The housekeeper took the remarks as Nick had meant them to be taken.
"Yes, that must be it," she said, with a sorrowful shake of the head,
"for he knows that I think the world of John Dashwood. A finer man
never lived."
Nick nodded his head in approval. Then he said: "I want to write a
letter, so that when I go back to town it may go out with the next
mail. I have used Mr. Leonard's desk before. Will you permit me to use
it again?"
"Certainly, Mr. Carter. You know the way to his rooms. Go right up and
help yourself to whatever you may find there."
The detective mounted the stairs to the second story, and entered
Gabriel Leonard's den, as he called it, which was one of a suite of
three rooms. But he did not go to the writing-desk, but passed on to
the bedroom.
Everything was in order from bed to closet. The housemaid had been
there, and had done her work well. Nick found nothing in the room
itself to arouse his interest. But in the large closet he paused
several minutes. At Leonard's office in town that day the detective,
who never allowed the slightest thing to escape his notice, had
observed that, though it was of the same color, cut, and texture, the
suit of clothes the manufacturer was wearing was not the same one worn
the day before. In the closet the suit of yesterday was found. Nick saw
nothing out of the way in the appearance of the coat and vest, but the
trousers were stained with clayey mud. In the hip pocket a discolored
handkerchief was sticking out. Nick examined it, to find a number of
large, dark-red stains.
They were not blood-stains, but the stains of some mineral substance.
A curious light came into the detective's eyes as he examined them.
Replacing the handkerchief in the trousers pocket, he left the closet
and went into the den. The writing-desk now engaged his attention.
The pigeonholes contained letters and bills. These were examined,
to be replaced with a shake of the head. All the drawers except one
were unlocked. Nothing in the way of evidence was discovered. With
his picklock appliance, he speedily unlocked the last drawer. Large
envelopes filled with documents met his eye. As he inspected them one
by one, his astonishment became so pronounced that he found it hard to
repress an exclamation. In one envelope were two letters. The first
read as follows:
"SAN FRANCISCO, May 15, 1904.
"GABRIEL LEONARD: My last letter, written over six months ago,
remains unanswered. Does that mean that you defy me? I should be
sorry to believe that you decline to recognize my claim. Perhaps
you are not fully aware of the nature of the proofs which are in my
hands. Let me inform you that in the case I have against you there
is nothing lacking. I have not only photographs, original documents,
and court transcripts, but a number of letters which you wrote
before you had in contemplation the offense which you afterward
committed. I write thus guardedly of my proofs in order that the
truth may not be guessed at by any third party into whose hands this
letter might chance to fall. This is my last appeal to you. If, on
receipt of this, you do not at once notify me by telegraph or letter
that you are willing to treat with me on a cash basis, I shall come
to St. Louis and either invoke the aid of the law there or--but I
will not threaten. You know how you stand, and what you deserve. If
I were in your position, I would give every dollar I possessed in
the world rather than let the public know what manner of man I am.
You have deceived the good people of St. Louis for many years. If
you hope to deceive them to the end, come to my terms. Otherwise, a
grand smash, the State's prison, infamy, and a dishonored grave.
"CORA REESEY."
"That must have stirred Leonard up a little," said Nick to himself.
"Yes, it did, for here is a copy of the answer he wrote:
"ST. LOUIS, May, 20, 1904.
"CORA REESEY.
"MADAME: You seem determined to crush me. You are not willing to
wait for my death--which cannot be far away, for I have had
serious heart trouble lately, and the doctors give me no
encouragement--but wish to strike the blow at once. But for my
daughter, I should say, strike and be hanged to you. But her
interest must be considered, and, therefore, I say, come to St.
Louis and I'll try to make a satisfactory settlement with you. I
am certain that a personal conference will be better than a
discussion of the matter by letters. I dare not say with a pen
what I would say to you orally. If you conclude to come, advise
me in advance, so I may meet you on the arrival of the train.
Yours,
"G. LEONARD."
In another envelope was a statement showing that Leonard had some weeks
before pledged all his stock in the manufacturing company.
The last envelope contained fifty one-hundred-dollar notes on St.
Louis, Chicago, and Kansis City banks.
In Nick's pocket was the list of the notes which Luke Filbon had
stolen. The detective drew it out, and, when comparison had been made,
he saw that all the numbers of the notes found in Leonard's desk
were to be found on the list prepared by Filbon. The conclusion was
irresistible. Gabriel Leonard had received the stolen money from John
Dashwood. He had retained five thousand, and had given fifteen thousand
to Cora Reesey, alias Madame Ree.
Cool reflection told the detective that there might be a flaw in this
theory, for it would involve murder, the murder of John Dashwood.
And why should Gabriel Leonard murder John Dashwood to obtain twenty
thousand dollars, when the twenty thousand dollars was his own money,
which he could obtain by the mere asking for it? There was something
yet to be unearthed. The mystery was deepening. A crime had been
committed, and Gabriel Leonard was implicated; how seriously, the
future might disclose.
The stains on the trousers indicated that Leonard had been in the mud
of the river's shore, but he might have been there, he might have gone
off in the boat, and still be innocent of the death of John Dashwood.
But the stains on the handkerchief? Here was a problem of a different
nature. It suggested something that increased the detective's gravity;
something that seemed to connect itself with the statement that Leonard
had pledged all his stock in the manufacturing company, and, therefore,
might be practically bankrupt.
After he had replaced the envelopes, with their contents, in the drawer
and locked it, Nick went down-stairs. There was no one in the hall.
Under the stairs was the telephone. Nick went to it and called up the
office of the chief of police. At the conclusion of a talk that lasted
over a minute, he hung up the receiver and walked out to the veranda.
He hoped the housekeeper would not come out, for he wanted to postpone
a certain explanation until circumstances should force him to make it.
As luck would have it, he was not disturbed until more than half an
hour had elapsed. Then arrived the chief of police and the chief of
detectives.
Nick spoke a few words when they came up, and then led the way to
Leonard's rooms. There the evidence which Nick had discovered was
shown to the local officers. The trousers, with the clayey mud and the
handkerchief, together with the envelopes found in the drawer of the
desk, were taken possession of by the chief of police. As the officers
were going down-stairs, the housekeeper came into the hall.
"A matter of business," said Nick, in an offhand manner. "Mr. Leonard
will understand."
"But I don't understand," spoke the good woman.
"I can't explain now," said the detective gently. "All I can say is
that we are acting in the interests of Mrs. John Dashwood."
Sorely perplexed, the housekeeper saw the three agents of the law walk
away.
One hour later, at the suggestion of the great detective, the river
in front of the wharf was dragged. Nick, expecting yet fearing that
something would be found that would substantiate a theory that pointed
to foul play, watched the diggers with painful, and yet with eager
interest. The space upon which the work was being performed was not
large, and before darkness set in the something was brought up from the
muck of the river. It was a section of two-inch water-pipe about two
feet in length, and heavy rust showed when the mud had been removed.
Rust and something else, something that spoke of a bloody deed.
Adhering to the pipe, under partly detached wafers of rust, were human
hairs, sticky with a substance that was not rust, but which Nick knew
without analysis was coagulated blood. The chief of police was present
when the iron pipe was brought up, and his superficial examination
caused him to come to the same conclusion that had forced itself into
the mind of Nick Carter.
"There has been murder done," was the chief's comment, "and this is the
instrument of death. We must drag further for the body, though we may
not be able to find it, on account of the swift current which has been
running for several days."
"Yes, that should be done."
Nick would have been better satisfied could an expert's analysis of
the stains and the evidence on the iron pipe have been obtained before
the arrest of Gabriel Leonard, but there was danger in delay. Leonard
must be arrested before he reached home and discovered the loss of the
incriminating articles. Two detectives, with Nick, were at the Union
depot for an hour before the arrival of the Illinois Central train
from Chicago. But Gabriel Leonard did not appear. Among the passengers
who alighted from the train was a tall, handsome woman, with large,
trustful, gray eyes. One of the detectives knew her, and pointed her
out to Nick as the wife of John Dashwood. She was pale, but composed.
There was nothing in her manner to indicate that she had been expecting
to meet any one. And yet she must have come on from Chicago in response
to the telegram sent in the morning by Gabriel Leonard. At Nick's
request, the detective who knew her walked forward and accosted her
just as she was entering the spacious waiting-room, on her way to the
broad stairway leading to the street.
"Good evening, Mrs. Dashwood," he said. "Can I be of any assistance?
Perhaps you are looking for Mr. Leonard?"
"No. I met him at Madison, a little over an hour ago. He won't be home
until morning."
Nick Carter heard this statement with deep disappointment.
"Has Mr. Dashwood returned?" Mrs. Dashwood was now the questioner.
"I--I don't know. Perhaps you will find him at home," the detective
hurriedly replied.
"I hope so," she said, with an attempt at cheerfulness. "My father said
Mr. Dashwood was away on business, and that all sorts of silly stories
were afloat, and that I must not believe any of them. I am sure he
knows, don't you think so?" she asked, with an appealing air.
"Yes. Of course, he is the best authority."
The detective saw her to a carriage, and then rejoined Nick.
Before fifteen minutes had elapsed the wires were hot with instructions
to officers along the line of the railroad from East St. Louis
northward, and in towns off the road, to arrest Gabriel Leonard, whose
full description was given.
"That's all we can do to-night," said the chief to Nick. "Of course,
Leonard won't turn up in the morning of his own accord."
"I don't think he will, and yet----" The detective did not finish the
sentence, but sat apparently studying the pattern of the wall-paper
back of the chief's desk.
"You don't put him as a fool, do you?" queried the chief.
"Anything but that. This is a most peculiar case, however, and
surprises are likely to occur. About that analysis," he said, to give a
new turn to the conversation, "will it be ready to-night?"
"Yes. I gave a hurry order."
In a short time the report, made by an analytical chemist and
physician, was before them. The stains on the handkerchief taken from
the pocket of Gabriel Leonard's trousers were found to be rust-stains,
and the rust was reported as identical with the rust on the section
of water-pipe. Also, the hairs, brown and silky, upon the pipe
were affirmed to be hairs from the head of a human being, while the
substance which assisted in making the hairs adhere to the rust of the
pipe was, beyond question, human blood.
"All this looks bad for Leonard," remarked the chief.
"Yes, it does."
"I think I can figure the thing out, Nick. Leonard is in a bad way. He
is shy of money. Maybe he has been speculating, and has eaten up all
his ready cash and all the money he could raise on his factory stock.
On top of his pecuniary troubles comes this blackmailing demand of
Madame Ree. I can't guess what the secret is, but it is a sure gamble
that she has got a strangle-hold on Leonard. She demands money, and
fixes last evening as the time for payment.
"Leonard, not having been able to scare up the wherewithal, comes to
the office, in the hope that he may find enough money in the safe to
stop the woman's mouth, for awhile, at least. He discovers that Filbon
has robbed him, but has not run off with the money. John Dashwood has
it. The amount is more than enough to square the madame's claim. He
starts out to find Dashwood, being informed by the note left on the
desk that Dashwood has gone to Luke Filbon's house. When near the house
he sees Dashwood, who has been down to the river looking for Filbon,
who, not being at home, may have made his way to the river for the
purpose of ending his life.
"Now, what follows? Here is my idea of what followed: Leonard killed
Dashwood to get the twenty thousand dollars, and threw the body into
the river, which may not reveal its secret for a week. Why should
he murder Dashwood? Because, Nick, Dashwood, upon the request being
made, refused to give up the money. It is very probable that Dashwood
knew that Madame Ree had been dogging Leonard. Let us assume that he
had seen them together, had overheard some suspicious words. If he
had known that they were acquainted, had suspected that a criminal
secret existed between them, he must have formed some decided opinion
respecting the woman's presence in front of the factory building that
night. Therefore, he would refuse to hand over the money to Leonard.
Angry words may have passed. Dashwood may have mentioned Madame Ree's
name, and--men have become devils upon less provocation than Leonard
may have received. It is certain that murder was not contemplated when
Leonard went out to seek Dashwood. The crime was committed on the
impulse of the moment, the weapon picked up on the wharf on which they
were standing when the conversation took place. And it was Dashwood who
was killed that night, for he has brown, silky hair. Now, what do you
say to all this?"
"I say," said Nick solemnly, "that Gabriel Leonard never murdered John
Dashwood."