NICK DECLARES HIMSELF.
Nick Carter’s anticipation proved to be correct. He received no
telephone communication from Lord Waldmere, informing him that his
pretty American wife had returned. In accord with his promise to the
Englishman, therefore, while Chick and Patsy prepared to carry out the
instructions given them, Nick appeared at the boarding house in
Fifty-third Street at precisely half past eight that morning and rang
the bell.
As the saying goes, however, Nick’s own mother would not have recognized
him. He was clad in a rather obtrusive plaid suit of pronounced English
cut. He looked portly and imposing. He carried a heavy ebony cane. His
strong, clean-cut face was artfully disguised. He could have walked
through the Strand or Piccadilly, and readily have been taken for a Bond
Street banker on his way to business.
Nick directed the servant to inform Mr. Waldron that the friend he was
expecting had arrived, and the detective was presently conducted to the
first-floor front, which he entered and closed the door.
Lord Waldmere, looking white and haggard after a sleepless night, stared
at him in blank amazement.
“Oh, I say!” he exclaimed. “There is some beastly mistake. I’m not
expecting----”
“Yes, you are, Waldmere,” Nick interrupted, smiling and speaking in his
customary tones. “There is no mistake. I told you, you know, that I was
going at this case like a bull at a gate.”
Waldmere’s face lighted wondrously.
“Oh, by Jove!” he cried, hand extended. “You are----”
“The man you expect,” Nick interposed, more seriously. “Don’t be
surprised at seeing me thus disguised. My face is very well known to the
denizens of the underworld, and I frequently must get in my work under
cover.”
“You are jolly well covered, sir, as to that,” Waldmere replied, smiling
significantly. “I’d never know you. I’d take you for some blooming
banker, or----”
“That is precisely what I aimed at,” Nick replied. “But we have no time
to waste. You have heard nothing from your wife, of course?”
“Not a word, or----”
“Or you would have advised me, certainly,” Nick cut in again. “We will
get right at this matter, then. Sit down while I give you a few
instructions.”
Lord Waldmere complied, all attention.
Half an hour later, or about quarter past nine, a taxicab stopped in
front of the quarters of the Imperial Loan Company, which Nick and his
companion entered, or that part of the establishment open to its
patrons.
There was an atmosphere of dignity and business solidarity in the place.
A long counter with a high brass lattice divided the public room. Back
of it were two clerks and the assistant manager, Moses Hart, the former
talking in whispers to customers through narrow windows. Three large
steel safes and a vault in one of the walls had an imposing appearance.
Off to the right were two private rooms, accessible only through the
latticed inclosure. The doors of both were partly open.
There were half a dozen customers engaged at the windows, or waiting
their turn, when Nick and Waldmere entered.
One among them was a seedily clad man with a sallow countenance and a
scraggly brown beard, who appeared decidedly down in the world. A rusty
derby hat was pulled nearly down to his ears. He was waiting to pawn a
bit of jewelry, and a certain shifty light in his restless eyes denoted
that he awaited the transaction with some misgivings, indicating that
where he had obtained the bauble might consistently be questioned. He
glanced suspiciously at Nick and the Englishman, then turned his head,
as if to avoid observation.
Nick paid no attention to the fellow, however, but at once approached a
window at one end of the long counter and nearer the private office,
Lord Waldmere following at his elbow.
Moses Hart came to meet them at the window, a short dark man of forty,
with gold-bowed spectacles astride his somewhat prominent nose.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” said he, rubbing his hands and leaning over
the counter. “What can I do for you this morning?”
Nick already had directed Waldmere to let him do all of the talking.
“Are you the manager here?” he inquired.
“The assistant manager,” Hart corrected, smiling and bowing
obsequiously. “What is your business?”
“We wish to redeem some valuable jewels which you are holding as
collateral,” said Nick. “You loaned my friend, here, ten thousand
dollars on them, which he now is ready to pay, with the accrued
interest. He called yesterday afternoon with his wife, who----”
“Dear me!” Hart quietly exclaimed, interrupting. “Yes, yes, I remember
that one of the clerks mentioned it. Unfortunately, the vault containing
the jewels had been closed for the day and could not be opened. Let me
have our ticket, or voucher, given you for the pledge and I will get
them.”
Nick had had a constant eye on Hart’s face. He saw that the man lost
color, that an apprehensive expression in his squinted eyes evinced a
perturbation that he could not entirely conceal. This convinced Nick
that he was on the right track, though he realized that he still was
laboring under some difficulties.
“Unfortunately, too, we are not in possession of the ticket for the
loan,” he replied. “It is in the keeping of his wife, who has gone away
for a time with a friend.”
“You must communicate with her, then, and have her send you the ticket,”
Hart rejoined.
“We cannot do that.”
“Not do it?”
“No. We are not informed of her address.”
“But you cannot expect us to redeem the pledge to any person except the
holder of the ticket,” Hart quickly protested. “That is the only
safeguard for both parties. You must bring the ticket, of course, in
order to obtain the jewels. Otherwise, we cannot possibly let you have
them.”
“But----”
“Oh, there is nothing to it,” Hart insisted. “We do business in no other
way.”
“See here!” Nick exclaimed, and his voice took on a somewhat threatening
ring. “Unless you----”
“One moment, sir,” Hart again interrupted. “I will speak to our manager,
Mr. Garland. He will talk with you. Wait just one moment.”
Hart vanished from the window, and through the brass lattice Nick saw
him hasten into one of the private offices.
Five minutes passed and he did not reappear.
“This looks deucedly like not getting them, by Jove,” whispered
Waldmere, gazing dubiously at the detective.
“I don’t expect to get them,” Nick muttered.
“No?”
“I came here only to size up these fellows and hear what they would
say,” Nick quietly added. “Say nothing while I am talking with the
manager, if he ever decides to show up.”
“You think----”
“There’s nothing to it. The two men are discussing the situation. They
don’t like it for some reason. I must find later of what that reason
consists. It may be the key to the whole business.”
“I’m jolly well convinced that----”
“Quiet. Here comes the manager.”
A tall, somewhat cadaverous man of forty was approaching from the
private office. His bushy brows were knit, and he had an aggressive
aspect that gave promise of nothing favorable. He came straight to the
window at which Nick and Waldmere were standing.
“Are you the gentlemen who wish to redeem some jewels?” he asked
abruptly.
“Yes,” said Nick shortly.
“I am Mr. Garland, the manager. My assistant has told me what you have
said. There really is nothing we can do for you. You will have to bring
the ticket for the pledge in order to redeem it.”
“But we cannot get the ticket until this gentleman’s wife returns,” Nick
replied.
“Where has she gone?”
“We don’t know. She is away with a friend.”
“Is the ticket in her name?”
“Yes.”
“What name?”
“We don’t know that, either,” said Nick. “She used a fictitious name
when she negotiated the loan.”
“Why did she do that?” Garland demanded. “There should have been no
occasion for it. We do all of our business aboveboard and expect no less
of our patrons. Really, gentlemen, this matter don’t look quite right to
me. You will have to wait until the woman returns, or sends you the
ticket.”
Nick Carter’s disguised face took on a more threatening frown. He
pressed nearer the window, replying, in peppery tones:
“This don’t look right to you, eh? What is it, sir, that don’t look
right to you.”
“We will not discuss that point,” said Garland curtly. “I have told you
the only way by which you can redeem the pledge and obtain the jewels.”
“No, you haven’t,” snapped Nick hotly. “I can appeal to the authorities.
I can call in the police. I’ll do it, too, unless you come down from
your high horse.”
“Don’t be foolish, my man,” said Garland, frowning.
“I’m not at all sure that the jewels are here. I’ll find out--I’ll make
it a point to find out.”
“Nonsense! You talk like an ass,” Garland protested.
“Produce them, then,” frothed Nick. “Let’s have a look at them, at
least. If they----”
“They are in the time-lock vault, with a thousand other pledges,”
Garland hurriedly explained. “I cannot produce them without searching
the entire vault. You cannot tell me the name under which they are
pledged. I have no other means of finding them immediately. It would
take me half a day to go through the vault and identify them. You talk
like a fool, sir. Bring the ticket and the amount of the loan, and you
shall have the jewels within half a minute.”
Nick continued to storm and argue.
While this was in progress, attracting the attention of all in the
place, Moses Hart came from the private office. He did not pause to join
in the dissension, however, but at once went on to a narrow window at
the lower end of the long counter--that at which the seedy,
sinister-looking man then was waiting.
Bending close to the window, Hart winked significantly and said, with
his voice lowered:
“Do you want to make a bit of money?”
The fellow’s shifty eyes lighted eagerly.
“Does a hungry cat want meat?” he returned, in an expressive whisper.
“What’s your name?” Hart asked.
“Jerry Nolan.”
“I want to find out who that man is who----”
“The gink doing the talking?”
“Yes.”
“I get you, boss.”
“I want you to follow him when he leaves here, and find out,” Hart went
on. “Pick both of them up when they leave.”
“I’ll do it, boss! I’ll find out for you, or break a leg,” Nolan
earnestly assured him.
“Don’t return here to tell me, however,” Hart added. “I want you to
inform my partner.”
“The geeser having the spiel with the hothead?”
“Yes. I will tell you where you must meet him.”
“Come over with it,” nodded Nolan.
Hart hastily informed him.
“I get you, boss,” Nolan repeated. “I’m on to the job, and will be
there, all right.”
“Make sure you’re not detected,” Hart cautioned.
“Leave me alone for that.”
“And say nothing about this.”
“And for that, too,” whispered Nolan, with an expressive leer.
“That’s all, then. Go ahead.”
Nolan turned away from the window. He bestowed another swift, furtive
glance upon the detective, then hitched up his baggy trousers and
sneaked out of the place.
Nick Carter, after an apparently vain mission, departed with Lord
Waldmere five minutes later.