THE MISSING MONEY.
Gabriel Leonard, his guilt proclaimed, uttered a cry of despair, and,
burying his face in his hands, sobbed like a child. There was pity in
the expression with which Nick Carter regarded the detected murderer.
That the crime had extenuating features he was positive.
Leonard finally attained a fair degree of composure. He raised his head
and looked at the great detective with what was intended for a smile,
but which was a ghastly failure.
"You are a smart one," he said, with a little catch in his throat,
"and I suppose, from a moral standpoint, you are to be congratulated
upon what you have accomplished. But you would have better kept out of
this case, for, though I killed that miserable wretch of a woman, she
deserved death, and I was sorely tempted."
"How did it happen?" asked Nick.
"I might refuse to answer, now that I am under arrest," replied
Leonard, "but I shall have but one story to tell if ever I am brought
before the court for trial, and I am willing to tell it first to you.
The woman struck John Dashwood, as I have previously stated. In fact,
everything I told you up to the moment I arrived on the wharf to find
her bending over Dashwood's prostrate form is true. The story I told
of the after-happenings on that wharf is not true.
"This is the truth: The woman gave me five thousand dollars, and the
incriminating documents, and then taunted me with being a fool. She
boldly declared that she was not my daughter--my supposed relationship
had much to do with my acquiescence in her suggestions--and that she
had played a fine trick on me. She said I was the easiest mark she had
ever played with. She advised me to jump in the river and give the
fishes a chance. We stood face to face. I had in my hand at the time
the section of iron pipe with which she had cracked the skull of John
Dashwood. I had picked it up for the purpose of throwing it into the
river.
"Angered beyond endurance at her words and her expression, I struck her
down. The blow killed her. When I realized what I had done, I threw the
dead body into the river. I should have secured the fifteen thousand
dollars in notes which she had thrust into her bosom, but I did not
do so. I never thought of the money. My only thought was to remove
the evidence of my crime. Then, when the waters of the Mississippi
had closed over the body, I returned to John Dashwood. My movements
from that time are known to you. Yes, I am a murderer, my daughter is
disgraced, and I shall be hanged."
His forced composure vanished now. Giving way to his feelings, he shook
like a reed. Suddenly his form stiffened, he gave a gasping cry, and
fell backward on the bed.
"Run for the doctor," said Nick quickly to Chick. "I will do what I can
while you are gone."
Nick loosened Leonard's collar, and then procured a basin of water and
bathed the stricken man's face. He was thus engaged when Doctor Holcomb
arrived.
One look at Leonard, and he shook his head.
"Too late," was his comment. "He has been a sufferer from heart-disease
for years. I have repeatedly warned him to avoid excitement. To-day's
occurrences have brought on a fatal attack."
The doctor's words proved true. Leonard never recovered consciousness,
and in half an hour he was dead.
For the purpose of carrying out a plan having for its object the
happiness of Leonard's daughter, the wife of John Dashwood, Nick Carter
took Doctor Holcomb into his confidence. To the proprietor of the
sanatorium he told the whole story of the dead manufacturer's crime,
and the circumstances connected therewith.
"Now, doctor," said the detective, "you have been Leonard's friend,
and you will agree with me, I know, that no good can result from a
publication in the newspapers of the fact that he committed murder.
The woman is dead. Leonard is dead. Society has received its meed
of protection. The living must be considered. It would break Letty
Dashwood's heart if she were to learn what you and I know. Dashwood
himself must be kept in ignorance of his father-in-law's crime. Let
John and his good wife live on in the belief that Leonard was what
the moneyed world will believe him to have been, a man unfortunate in
business, but not dishonest, not a criminal."
"You are right, Mr. Carter," said Doctor Holcomb. "The truth must be
suppressed as a matter of charity. You may depend on me. But--can you
stop the gossip that may come from an investigation of the woman's
death?"
"I hope to be able to do so. The body was found a few miles below the
city in a state that will likely prevent discovery of identity. The
face was denuded of its flesh, and nearly all the clothing had been
torn from the body. I was at the morgue when the body was brought in--I
had been expecting that the find would be made--and, but for certain
distinguishing marks which I was careful to notice when I met the woman
in San Francisco, I should not have known whose body it was. She was
almost a stranger in St. Louis, and I do not think there will be any
identification."
As he spoke, Nick thought of Carroll Slack, but not with uneasiness,
for on his way to the morgue that morning he had met Slack, who, with
suit-case in hand, was hurrying to the railway-depot to take the train
for San Francisco.
As for the chief of police, there was no fear that he would attempt to
spoil the program. He might suspect the truth, but without evidence,
without witnesses, he could do nothing.
Events turned out as Nick wished. The body of the woman found in the
river was not identified, and the coroner's jury returned a verdict of
death at the hands of some person or persons unknown.
There was a happy meeting at Doctor Holcomb's sanatorium the day
following the death of Gabriel Leonard. But the delight on the part
of Mrs. Dashwood was soon mingled with sorrow, for, though she had
found her husband, just saved from the jaws of death, she had lost her
father, whose tender solicitude for her welfare had been one of the
joys of her life.
To Nick Carter John Dashwood explained his presence on the wharf that
fatal night.
"Filbon's absence from home," he said, "alarmed me. Of course,
there was the possibility that he had fled the city, fearing that
Mr. Leonard, upon discovering the robbery, would have him arrested
and punished. But there was, also, the possibility that Filbon,
weak-natured as he was, had committed suicide. After a talk with his
mother, in which I made light of my call, saying it was on a matter
of business requiring attention early next morning, and of which
I had forgotten to speak when I parted with Filbon, I went to the
wharf, fearing that he had thrown himself into the river, yet hoping
I should find him somewhere in the vicinity, his rash design not yet
accomplished. I did not find him, but I met Madame Ree."
A few days after this conversation Nick and Chick left St. Louis for
New York.
In his comfortable den the great detective went over the case for the
benefit of Patsy and Ten-Ichi. They were intensely interested in the
recital of events, dating from the night of the disappearance of John
Dashwood.
"When did you spot the truth?" asked Patsy.
"When I found Cora Reesey's brooch on the wharf, I began to have a
dim idea of what had happened. But I did not unbosom myself to the
chief of police, for the reason that I hadn't a particle of evidence
to support the theory that the woman had been murdered and not the
man. Thereafter, however, I worked with that theory in mind. It seemed
plausible. In fact, it was the only theory which could explain many
circumstances. The disappearance of Filbon's boat was evidence to
my mind that a living body had been taken away, and not a dead one.
There would be no need to row away with a dead body; the deep, slowly
moving Mississippi could take care of that. Then, as I thought of the
possibility of somebody--Leonard, probably--taking away a wounded man
in a boat, my mind reverted to the assurance Leonard had given his
daughter that Dashwood would soon turn up all right. If he had killed
Dashwood, or knew that Dashwood had been killed by somebody else, he
would not have acted as he did.
"The finding of the rusty iron pipe settled the matter for me. Upon
that pipe, adhering to the partly detached flakes or wafers of rust,
were human hairs of the color and fineness of the hairs on the head
of John Dashwood. But they were also of the color and fineness of the
hairs on the head of Cora Reesey. I might have been confused over the
hairs had I not noticed one very long one, much longer than any that
was ever upon the head of Dashwood. It was a woman's hair, and it was
stuck to the rust with coagulated blood.
"Now, convinced that Leonard had killed the woman, and had carried away
Dashwood, who had been wounded by the woman--and I readily conjectured
in what manner and under what circumstances the wound had been
received--I instituted the search for Leonard, which resulted in the
discovery at the sanatorium. I might not have succeeded but for Chick's
assistance. Chick is a good one. He never missed a trick."
Chick, who had been in a brown study, looked up, a question in his eyes.
"Nick," said he, "we cleaned pretty well in St. Louis, but we left a
mystery behind, all the same."
"It is a matter of money, isn't it?" queried Nick, with a look of
understanding.
"Sure. Gabe Leonard saw Cora Reesey put fifteen thousand dollars in
bank-notes in her bosom that night on the wharf. Now, when her dead
body reached the morgue the money was gone. The coroner, having no idea
of the identity of the corpse, and knowing nothing of any relations of
a business nature or otherwise between a certain Madame Ree, a palmist,
and Gabriel Leonard, manufacturer, did not look for missing money when
he searched what was left of the woman's clothing. He found nothing of
value. Even the rings on her fingers were gone."
"Yes, I know that."
"Well, what do you think? Did the fishes and the crabs eat the rings
and the notes, or----"
"Or was the body robbed before it reached the morgue? It was robbed,
beyond the shadow of a doubt."
"Then the Leonard-Dashwood-Reesey case cannot be considered closed
until the mystery of that robbery shall have been solved. I have an
idea that some day you will bump up against the robber."
Nick laughed. "All sorts of things happen in this curious world," he
said.