NICK HAS AN ADVENTURE.
The chief of police looked at Nick Carter, as if he could not believe
the evidence of his ears. "Leonard did not kill Dashwood?" he
exclaimed, in surprise and incredulity. "Then, in the name of wonder,
who did?"
"I don't know," said Nick simply.
"Madame Ree?"
"Perhaps."
The chief shook his head. "That was no woman's work, Nick. The murderer
was a man, and a strong man. But I'd like to hear what has induced you
to come to the conclusion that Gabriel Leonard is innocent."
"I believe him to be innocent of the murder of Dashwood, but guilty
of other crimes. Your assumption, chief, that circumstances may have
arisen sufficiently strong to make Leonard murder the husband of his
daughter does not appeal to me. I believe that Leonard would have
defied Madame Ree, no matter what her hold on him may be, rather than
commit a murder, particularly the murder of a man whom he respected,
and who was dearly loved by Leonard's daughter, for whom Leonard would
sacrifice much. But, however much he might sacrifice, whatever he might
do within the law or without the law, he would never commit an act
that would plunge her into the depths of sorrow. It is--I hope you
will pardon me, chief--preposterous to suppose it.
"We have evidence that he held in his hands the instrument with which
murder was probably done. But that is not proof that he did the deed.
He may have wrested it from the real murderer. Madame Ree was there, on
the evidence of the brooch. She is a strong woman, a regular Amazon.
I believe she would commit murder to obtain even a much less sum than
twenty thousand dollars. She may have murderously assaulted Dashwood.
She may have dealt the fatal blow, have prepared to deal another, to
find her hand arrested by Leonard, just come upon the scene. Then what
would likely follow? I am not maintaining that I am giving you a theory
which I look upon as convincing; I am only putting a case that seems to
me more reasonable than the one you have outlined.
"Let me assume for the moment that Madame Ree did kill John Dashwood,
and that Gabriel Leonard witnessed the deed. Would he feel like giving
her into custody? I don't think so. There was not only the chance
that he would be deeply involved--perhaps the woman might prefer a
countercharge, accuse him, in fact, of the murder--but there was also
the fact that Dashwood was dead, and that no proceedings could bring
him to life. Let us suppose, further, that Leonard, accepting the
situation thus forced upon him, allowed the woman to keep fifteen out
of the twenty thousand dollars taken from the dead man's person, on
the promise of immediately leaving town never to return.
"Now let us suppose that, although the locality was out of the way
and is not patrolled by the police, they feared, in their excitement,
to return to town in the usual way. The boat was in plain sight. They
took it, rowed down the river some distance, went ashore, and turned
the boat adrift. The murder must have been committed not far from ten
o'clock, probably an hour before I arrived on the wharf and half an
hour before Filbon got there. Leonard reached home after three o'clock,
so he must have had a three or four hours' walk. He could have covered
ten or twelve miles in that time.
"As to Leonard's absence, or flight, that may be explained in this way:
This morning he arose, after a few hours' sleep, if he slept at all,
with his daughter occupying all his thoughts. She must come home, and
to have her arrive by the first train leaving Chicago he must wire her
at once. Filled with this idea, he hurried down-town, not thinking of
the evidence he had left behind. If he thought of it while in town,
he may have considered it wholly unlikely that he would be suspected,
for who could possibly know of his dealings with Madame Ree? But the
conversation I had with him in his office this forenoon may have
excited his fears. Just before I left him he said he was going home
for lunch. He did not do so. I think he was afraid to go home. But he
stayed for the inquest.
"He may have feared that he was running desperate chances in remaining,
but, at the same time, he must have felt that his absence would arouse
suspicion, if no suspicion existed before, and that the start in
daylight which he would have to make would not be sufficient to insure
his escape. But as soon as he had given his testimony he left town.
I know that this action of his, this fear of the result of possible
discoveries at his house, leaves a presumption that he is deeper in
the mire than I would have you believe him to be, yet I still stick to
my belief that he did not kill John Dashwood. He has disappeared under
very suspicious circumstances, but the cause is something unconnected
with the death of his son-in-law."
"Have you formed an opinion as to what the cause is?" asked the chief.
"Not a decided opinion, but I have some ideas, which are not yet in
shape for explanation. Probably by to-morrow I may speak of them. But
we must find Leonard, if possible. There is a double secret in this
case, and he holds the key."
Nick Carter had given a theory for the chief to ponder over, but, as
he intimated, it was not one in which, as a whole, he fully believed.
Strange ideas had come into his head during the afternoon and evening,
and he longed for the presence of Chick, in order that he might have
assistance in working them out.
The morning came, and Gabriel Leonard did not appear. A police officer
had been stationed near the manufacturer's house, with instructions to
make the arrest should Leonard come home during the day.
The noon train of the B. & O. brought Chick. He was met at the depot
by Nick, and together they proceeded to the great detective's rooms on
Jefferson Avenue.
Once there and seated, Nick went over the case which involved the
disappearance of John Dashwood, and the connection with it of Gabriel
Leonard and Madame Ree.
Chick listened with eager attention.
"It seems a clear case against Leonard," he said.
"Yes, at first blush it does. It is too plain to suit me."
After giving the reasons, as stated to the chief of police, for
disbelieving that Leonard had murdered John Dashwood, Nick said:
"Outside of the improbability, on account of relationship by marriage,
and so forth, of Leonard's killing Dashwood, there is the further
circumstance that he did not, upon his arrival home in the early
morning, attempt to conceal the evidences of his crime. A man guilty of
the murder of John Dashwood, no matter how satisfied he may have been
in respect of his security from suspicion, would not have allowed the
clay-stains to remain on the trousers, nor the telltale handkerchief
to remain in his closet. And he would never have permitted these
incriminating letters and notes to stay in his desk. No, my boy,
Leonard is not the man. He had not upon his head the guilt of his
son-in-law's death when he went up-town early yesterday morning."
"But, Nick, ought he not to have feared, from what he knew of the
night's happenings, that, though innocent, he might be suspected? And
would not that suspicion have caused him to take the precaution to put
out of the way evidence that would associate him with the crime?"
"Not at the time. He arose early to send off that telegram to his
daughter. His conscience was clear of the guilt of Dashwood's murder,
and when he left the house he had not arrived at a sober idea of the
situation. And I can imagine another reason which could explain why he
acted as he did, and we will immediately proceed to test the theory
which it raises. Have you had your breakfast?"
"Yes."
"Then you must begin work at once. You must go down the river."
"In a boat?"
"No. Get a rig. I'll explain on our way to the livery-stable."
Nick saw Chick off, and then went to the chief's office. No trace of
the missing boat had been found, and the chief was now of opinion that
it had been scuttled and sunk. Nick coincided with this view.
"Oh," said the chief, "here is something for you, a letter. It came
this morning, in my care. Looks like a woman's handwriting."
Nick tore open the envelope, which bore the East St. Louis postmark,
and found a note which contained these words:
"NICK CARTER: You are on a wrong scent. Give up the pursuit of
Gabriel Leonard, wait two days, and the truth will come out. You
well know I have no love for you, but in this case I am willing
to act fairly. You are making a mountain out of a mole-hill.
This is all. I have made arrangements to leave, and will be
hundreds of miles away when you receive this. Be guided by my
advice, and you will live to thank me. C. R."
Having read the note, Nick handed it to the chief.
"H'm. She is very mysterious, whoever she is, Nick. 'C. R.' Do you know
what the initials mean?"
"Yes. They stand for Cora Reesey, alias Madame Ree."
"Then she is mixed up in this affair, sure enough. But do you believe
what she says in the note?"
"I'll answer you in a moment. First, I would like to look at that
blackmailing letter which she wrote to Leonard."
The chief opened a drawer, found the letter and gave it to Nick, who
compared the writing with the writing on the note.
"A very good imitation," he said, after a few minutes, "and likely to
deceive any one except an expert."
"Then Madame Ree did not write it?"
"No. It was written by Gabriel Leonard. Just what I might have
expected."
"What is his little game? I confess I am puzzled."
"It is a waiting game, chief. There is more in this case than has
appeared on the surface. By the way, have you heard from Mrs. Dashwood
to-day?"
"No."
"Call up the house and ask her if she has heard either from her father
or her husband. It is not likely that she has heard from her husband,
but her father may have written."
Mrs. Dashwood responded to the call, and, in answer to questions, said
that her father had written from Madison, and had stated that Mr.
Dashwood would return home in a few days. Leonard himself might not be
able, on account of pressing business, to return before his son-in-law
arrived.
The chief passed his hand slowly over his forehead. "What are we
up against?" he said, with a puzzled look at Nick. "I have it," he
continued, as a thought struck him. "Leonard is keeping his daughter in
the dark out of regard for her feelings. She will stay fooled until her
father has either been arrested or has left the country."
Nick was toying with the note purporting to have come from Madame Ree,
and did not reply.
When he did speak, it was not in relation to anything the chief had
said. "Who among the business men of St. Louis would be likely to know
the names and addresses of Leonard's closest friends?"
"Jasper Swayne, the insurance-broker. He was once associated with
Leonard in business, and has been intimate with him ever since Leonard
came to town. His office is in Pine Street."
Nick got the number from the directory, and in a short time was seated
in Swayne's office, talking with that gentleman. What he learned made
him anxious to see Chick, who, however, would not probably report
before evening.
At Olive and Broadway, Nick took a car. As there was a crowd inside,
he rode on the platform. While the car was passing Twentieth Street he
saw a man standing at the edge of the sidewalk, who, at sight of the
detective, wheeled quickly and walked rapidly down Twentieth Street.
The man was Carroll Slack, who had been a deputy in the San Francisco
county jail at the time of the escape of James Dorrant. He had been
in love with Madame Reesey before the events which had culminated in
the death of Dorrant, and his presence in St. Louis at this time was,
to Nick's mind, a suspicious circumstance. Although he had not been
criminally implicated in the crimes which the great detective had
unearthed while he was in the Pacific-coast metropolis, Nick had looked
upon him as of weak moral fiber, one who could be easily led astray by
a beautiful, designing woman.
The detective motioned to the conductor, the car stopped, and pursuit
at once began. Slack kept up his rapid walk to Chestnut Street, then
turned into it and went north. Nick reached the corner just in time to
see Slack disappear through a small opening at the farther end of a
high board fence enclosing a large vacant lot, back of some business
buildings fronting on Market Street, opposite the Union Depot.
There might be a trap in store, but Nick, in view of the importance
of the pursuit, determined to risk the danger. He came to the opening
just as Slack was entering the door of a wooden lean-to of one of the
brick buildings. From his observation of the locality taken while
passing the block many times, either on his way to the depot or the
court buildings, Nick was satisfied that his quarry had gone into an
unoccupied section of the block. The rooms, sandwiched between a cheap
hotel and a ticket-scalper's office, had been the headquarters of a
band of fakers, whose operations, not coming within the limits of the
law, had been summarily discountenanced by the police.
There was the possibility, which, on account of the former deputy
jailer's good record, had in it strong elements of reason, that Slack
was really trying to evade Nick Carter, and that he hoped by darting
through the vacant rooms to slip through to Market Street, and on into
one of the near-by hotels or saloons, where backway exit to safety
might be found.
Nick opened the door of the lean-to, and entered what had been intended
for a kitchen. Probably the rooms had last been put to legitimate use
by a restaurateur. There was no one in the room, and Nick, without a
moment's pause, hurried toward another, the middle room beyond, the
door of which was partly open. At the threshold he stopped and struck
the door a resounding blow, which caused it to fly backward against
the wall. Nothing of a suspicious nature met his gaze. The room, as
far as he could see, was bare. While walking slowly in, so as to guard
against possible surprise from some unexpected quarter, a heavy body
struck him on the shoulders and back, and he was borne violently to the
floor. Over the door was a wide shelf, and from that shelf a man had
leaped. The suddenness, as well as the force of the assault, caught
Nick without that tension of mind and muscle which is of such efficacy
at critical times.
For a moment he lay flat upon his stomach, the while his adversary was
reaching to grasp his windpipe. Then, with a mighty effort, Nick Carter
called all his wonderful strength into play. With one hand planted on
the floor, he turned sidewise, made a sudden twist, and flung Slack
off. But the former deputy jailer was as quick in movements as a
cat, and he rolled over and clutched Nick about the waist before the
detective could make an offensive move. The two instantly became locked
in a deadly embrace. Nick was the more powerful and scientific, but
Slack was a strong man, and he fought as if for his life.
He soon gained an advantage, but it was not lasting. Nick, upon Slack's
initial onslaught, had sprained his ankle, and the San Franciscan, in
exerting all his energies to bring the detective's back to the floor,
unintentionally pressed his legs against the injured member, twisting
it so that Nick, in the intensity of his pain, slightly relaxed his
hold, and was rolled over in consequence.
The detective fell face upward, and upon the instant that he reached
that position his hands went up and grasped Slack by the throat. As
the grip tightened, Slack struck out blindly, but his hands soon grew
nerveless, while his eyes began to start from their sockets. At the
right moment Nick, with a supreme effort, raised himself and threw his
enemy backward, and the next instant was sitting on the man's chest.
"Give up?" he asked.
"Yes," came in a labored, husky voice. "I'm a quitter, all right."