NICK HAS A FRIGID IDEA.
Nick told Feversham what he had discovered bearing upon the case of
Arthur Mannion, from which it became clear to Feversham that Mannion
was the murderer. "But though I am convinced," said he, "that the
stepson is the guilty man, I am puzzled over the motive. If Mannion
robbed the house and secured two thousand dollars, why should he, a few
days afterward, kill Playfair to obtain less than a hundred, or, say,
two hundred, taking into consideration the watch and rings?"
"It is something of a puzzle," replied the detective, "but it is
possible that I may arrive at a solution."
"If any one can do so, you are the man," said Feversham, with
conviction. "And can I be of any help to you?"
"You will help me by telling me all that you know about this stepson."
"I know that he is a scamp," was the emphatic response, "and I can't
conceive of a reason why Playfair should desire to shield him. Hold on
a bit, there is a reason. The mother, Playfair's wife. My dead friend
fairly idolized her, and, perhaps, his lenity in the matter of the
house-robbery may be accounted for by his regard for the memory of his
deceased wife."
"I think your explanation is a good one," said Nick. "In fact, I had
thought of it myself."
"If I could only explain the motive of the murder I would be better
satisfied, Mr. Carter, but I can't."
"Let me see if I can," rejoined Nick. "Mannion robbed the house, but
his plunder did not consist wholly of money. He stole something else,
something, I should say, of no value to any one but the original
possessor. Do you know whether the robbed drawer was used as a
receptacle of anything except money?"
"He kept letters there."
"All his letters?"
"Oh, no, for the drawer would not have held them. There was a package
of old letters which he kept there. I saw it often during his lifetime."
"Was the package there when you examined the drawer last night?"
"No. There was nothing whatever in the drawer."
"Then there is a partial explanation of the motive of the murder. Those
letters gave Mannion some sort of a hold, not a criminal one," Nick
added quickly, as he saw Feversham's brow darken, "but a hold, in the
nature of privacy, that was worth money to the robber."
"But why should murder have been done, Mr. Carter? If the hold, as you
characterize it, was strong, would not Playfair have recognized and
responded to it?"
"If I am not mistaken in my estimate of the man," replied Nick quietly,
"I think he would not have responded. He knew Mannion for a double-dyed
villain. He had suffered himself to be preyed upon for years. One
indignity had been followed by another, until at last, in the theft of
the letters, patience had ceased to be a virtue.
"He was willing that Mannion should keep the money he had stolen; he
might have schooled himself to stand the loss of the letters without
attempting legal reprisal, but the innate integrity of the man
precluded any idea of payment for the return of the letters. Mannion,
let us suppose, counting upon making a fat thing out of the letters,
asked the appointment by the river, upon the representation that he
would return them. He knew that he could not induce Playfair to meet
him in any other way. Playfair kept the appointment, but, instead of
receiving the letters as a free act of restitution, was confronted with
the demand for money as a condition of the surrender. Now, knowing
James Playfair, as you did, Mr. Feversham, what in your opinion would
he have said and done, when the real object of the night appointment
was made known to him?"
"He would have given Arthur Mannion a piece of his mind and he would
have followed it up by a positive, indignant refusal to pay one cent
for the letters."
"Precisely," said Nick, with a smile of approval, "and that, according
to my theory, is what Playfair did. What followed? The usual thing,
when an honest, virtuously resentful citizen is brought face to face
with a discomfited, murderous-minded villain. With bitter, ungovernable
rage in his heart, Mannion sprang at Playfair's throat. And he had
assistance. Alone he would have had difficulty in overcoming such a man
of science and muscle as James Playfair was. The Russian friend of his
was close at hand. Attacked suddenly by two powerful men, Playfair was
overcome. It may prove to be the fact that no other motive than revenge
for Playfair's refusal to be held up influenced the murderer when he
made his attack, and it may turn out that the motive was a mixed one,
in which revenge cut the smallest figure. The case is just opening, and
it is not the time to adopt any hold-fast theory?"
"Never mind the motive, Mr. Carter," said Feversham, almost fiercely.
"We feel sure that Arthur Mannion is the assassin. Let us catch him and
we can figure on motives afterward."
"Do you think it would be advisable to arrest Mannion now?" There was
an odd ring in the detective's voice. Feversham gave him a sharp look,
and then impatiently replied:
"Of course, I think it would be good policy. Don't you?"
"No. I would like to locate him, to keep him under surveillance until
the time is ripe to strike; but to arrest him now might prove to be a
serious mistake. We haven't evidence enough to hold him, and his first
act would be to sue out a writ of habeas corpus. If he regained his
liberty through the writ, as he probably would, he might do one of two
things--defy us, or skip the country."
Feversham's hopes instantly fell to zero. He looked as if he had
received a blow in the face.
"Then we have nothing really to go upon," he said, in an acutely
disappointed tone.
"Oh, yes, we have," said Nick cheerily. "We have made a fine start, and
I hope before many days to have ready a pit for Mr. Mannion to fall
into. As the matter now stands, we believe him to be the murderer. It's
a sure shot that he is. But what evidence have we for the consideration
of a jury? The murder was not witnessed. Mannion would deny it; we
can't prove it. The robbery is an important side issue, but what
evidence is there to show that Mannion was the robber? There is none at
hand. All we have are a few facts which, standing alone, would be of
small value, and some circumstances of strong weight in the pursuit of
an investigation, of doubtful relevancy in trying a case in court. But
patience, Mr. Feversham. We are gaining ground every day."
The dead man's friend exhibited relief, and when he departed there was
hope in his heart.
That forenoon Chief Wittman, from San Francisco answered Nick's wire in
reference to Mannion in these words: "Mannion discharged San Quentin
prison, forgery, four months ago. Was thick with Cora Reesey before
woman left for St. Louis."
One statement in the telegram Nick at the time passed over lightly,
for its significance then was not apparent. Illumination was to come
later, but the association of Mannion with Cora Reesey, the woman
murdered in St. Louis, furnished food for thought. The discovery of the
bank-note, taken in connection with Mannion's intimacy with the woman
who had possession of it, and others, at the time she was killed, was
presumptive evidence that he robbed the body. Goloff, the Russian,
had been connected with the San Francisco case in which Cora Reesey
had figured, and it was probable that Mannion had made the man's
acquaintance in San Francisco, as it was also probable that the two men
had come East together.
Patsy, who had started out early on a lone stunt, showed a bright,
eager face to the great detective shortly before noon.
"It's lucky you fixed me this morning, Mr. Carter," he said, with an
expression of profound satisfaction.
Nick smiled inwardly. He knew his skilful young assistant had found
something.
"Why, Patsy?"
"Because, with the stuff in my pocket, I was able to make good at a
critical time. With the bones you gave me I made change for a big,
green fellow. You see, it was this way"--hurrying on before Nick could
interrupt--"I was playing bootblack this morning on the sidewalk in
front of Lafayette Square, when a nobby sport with a dark face and a
black mustache walks out of the White House grounds and crosses over to
me. 'Shine?' says I. 'Sure.' he chirps, and I goes ahead and does my
work on his patent leathers. When I gets through the top-lofty guinea
flips a century rag in my face. Thought he'd faze me, maybe. But he
didn't. I fazed him. I changed the bill, though it reduced me to cases."
"Well?" looking, at Patsy quizzically.
"I have the numbers of those Reesey-Leonard notes in my block, Mr.
Carter," said Patsy, with an air of triumph, "and this note of mine
belonged to that batch."
A variety of emotions were exhibited in Nick Carter's face during the
moment that followed the young detective's statement. Joy was succeeded
by disappointment, hope took disappointment's place, anxiety at last
shadowed all.
"When did you make the discovery?" he asked, concealing his nervousness.
"The minute he plunked down the bill."
"Good, good. And when you had made the change, what did you do?"
Patsy regarded his superior in pained surprise. "Do? Why, what any
detective with a spoonful of sense would have done. I shadowed the
piker, Mr. Carter."
Nick's strong face became a sunbeam in a moment. "Of course, you did,
Patsy. I might have known that without asking. Well, and did you hole
him?"
"That's what I did. I know where he bunks, and I know that he has
engaged a room for a month--engaged it two days ago."
"Where is the place?"
"L Street, a block beyond Craven's house."
"Nearer the river than Craven's?"
"Yes."
"What is it? A lodging-house?"
"Sure, and you can't miss it, for carpenters are repairing the front,
which is all covered with scaffolding."
Chick appeared while this conversation was going on. He had been out
on a scout, and he, too, had something of importance to report. "The
Russian has not left town," he said. "I've seen him, and it's Goloff,
sure. I passed him on the street, and he did not know me from a side of
sole leather." As Nick's capable assistant had that morning chosen for
his day's disguise the part of a young German, newly arrived, it was
not likely that his identity had been suspected.
"There is some deep game on the hooks," was Chick's comment after he
had been informed of Patsy's news. "There is something in Washington
which is of powerful interest to this pair of knaves. And they are
still playing in together, for I didn't let Goloff out of sight until I
had seen him enter the house with the scaffolding on L Street. What is
the game, I wonder? It must be a golden one, or they wouldn't be taking
the risk of an arrest for murder."
"Let us look at matters from what I will assume to be their
standpoint," said Nick. "They probably think they are running no risk.
They must believe that the murder was not witnessed and that no clue
was left behind which would point suspicion in their direction. The
bank-note found near the river is a clue, it is true, but Mannion, who
lost the note, cannot regard it as such, for he does not know that I
have the list of the notes which Cora Reesey possessed. No one knows
the fact except you, Chick, Patsy, and the chief of the St. Louis
police. And it is safe to assume that he is ignorant of the fact that
the negro wharf porter memorized the number, when he was given the note
to change, for I cautioned him against repeating his story to any one
not an officer. The negro is an old resident, and his reputation is of
the best. Therefore, the loss of the bank-note would mean to Mannion
nothing more than the loss of an ordinary note."
"How about the railway roundhouse affair?" asked Chick.
"There is no reason to believe that either Mannion or Goloff suspect
that their talk was overheard, although they may have feared that
their presence there was known. Men are to be judged by their conduct.
The after movements of the two criminals show to any reasoning person
that they left the roundhouse in as calm a state of mind as when they
entered it. So, believing themselves to be, if not absolutely safe
from suspicion, yet safe enough to laugh at the idea of arrest, they
have elected to remain here to complete the work which brought them
from California. I was not surprised to learn from Patsy that Mannion
has appeared in public. I would have been surprised had he stayed in
hiding, for that act would have raised the presumption that he knew he
had not covered all his tracks, and that there was a clue which would
prove fatal to his peace, if the detectives should come upon it."
"If he finds out, as he may, that you are on his track, Nick, he will
get cold feet in a second."
"Maybe so, Chick," returned the great detective. "And, if so, the
frigidity may strike his extremities this afternoon, for I am going to
call upon him."
"What! As Nick Carter?"
"Oh, no; as Juba Johnsing, the negro who failed to change the note
for him. I can make up so that he will never spot the difference. He
saw the wharf porter but for a few moments, as you will remember, and
probably paid little or no attention to him. I'll make the ripple
Chick, and there's going to be fun."