HOW NICK MADE GOOD.
Nick Carter did not remain long in the barroom, only long enough to
deftly put on a simple disguise, unobserved by any person in the room.
He then passed out to the street and approached the hotel office--just
as Stuart Floyd came out, departing quite hurriedly.
He walked by Nick, nearly touching him, but he did not recognize him. He
glanced furtively into the barroom when passing it, nevertheless, which
convinced Nick that he still was supposed to be there, and that his
quarry was bent upon making a quick get-away.
Nick followed him cautiously, as before, noting that Floyd now appeared
more hurried and apprehensive, but evidently not suspecting that he was
being shadowed.
Floyd hastened over to Broadway, where he entered the quarters of the
Crosstown Collateral Trust Company, one of the largest concerns of this
kind in the country, if not in the world.
Nick watched him from outside.
Floyd appeared remarkably familiar with the place. He nodded to several
of the clerks, waving his hand to the bookkeeper, and at the same time
he proceeded directly to the private office of the president of the
company, which he entered without the formality of knocking.
Nick Carter’s eyes took on a gleam of increasing satisfaction. He
continued to wait and watch.
Presently a clerk hurried into the private office, evidently having been
summoned. He emerged in a few moments and vanished into the business
inclosure, where the doors of several huge vaults in the rear wall gave
the place the appearance of a safety deposit, or a wealthy banking
institution.
Five minutes later the same clerk again visited the private office,
remaining only a moment, and half a minute later Floyd came out and
started for the street.
Nick stole into a near doorway.
Floyd emerged in a moment and walked rapidly to a drug store on an
opposite corner, proceeding directly to a telephone booth in the rear of
the store, quickly entering and tightly closing the door.
Nick already was at the open door of the store. He saw that the booth
stood in an angle formed by two of the counters. He saw, too, that there
then were no customers and only one clerk in the store, just then
engaged in wiping one of the show cases.
Nick stepped in and instantly caught the clerk’s eye, though one of his
own was constantly fixed upon the back of Floyd’s head, visible through
the window in the door of the booth. Floyd then was hurriedly looking up
a number in the telephone-exchange book.
Nick cautioned the clerk with a significant glance and by holding up his
forefinger. He then turned the lapel of his vest and displayed his
detective’s badge.
The clerk appeared to grasp the situation. He nodded and continued his
work.
Nick stepped back of the opposite counter, quickly crouching out of
sight behind it. He then crept to the rear of the store and within half
a minute he was directly opposite one side of the telephone booth.
On hands and knees under the counter, he placed one ear against the side
of the booth--and he then could faintly hear the voice of the man
within.
The following broken remarks reached his ears, broken by the occasional
responses from the person with whom Floyd was talking, whom the
detective of course could not hear:
“There is no question about it,” Floyd was forcibly saying. “I know
positively that he is on the case.... Yes, yes, of course! But we can
prevent that and bluff him to a standstill. He cannot prove that you
know anything about her.... That’s true, but I’ve got the goods and will
show up shortly. The best way, then, will be to phone directly to his
office and state where she can be found. That probably would end the
matter, and there will be no way of telling from whom the information
came. He could only guess at that.... The sooner the better, of course.
I have hastened to notify you only to put you on your guard in case he
shows up there again before I arrive. Stave him off in some way until I
come. It then will be soft walking. I’ll come at once. So long!”
Nick heard the sharp click of the hook when the receiver was replaced.
Floyd came from the booth almost immediately and left the store without
so much as a glance at the clerk.
Nick crept from under the counter and entered the booth. He paused
briefly to size up what he had heard. He felt sure Floyd had telephoned
either to Hart, or Garland, at their place of business. He turned to the
telephone and rang up his own business office.
“Line’s busy!” called the exchange operator.
Nick waited.
“Who is on it?” he asked himself. “Patsy must be there. I directed him
not to leave. Chick may have called him up, as I suggested, but for what
reason? Hang this delay! It may prove expensive.”
Nick tried again and succeeded. He heard the familiar voice of Patsy
Garvan over the wire.
“This is the chief talking,” said Nick.
“Oh, gee!” Patsy exclaimed. “I was just wondering how I could get next
to you.”
“What’s up?” Nick questioned, deferring his own communication.
“Some one just phoned here that the woman we’re seeking can be found at
No. 1680B Amsterdam Avenue. The speaker evidently was a man, but I did
not know his voice, nor could I get anything more from him.”
“I can guess who,” said Nick. “I was about to tell you that you would
soon receive that information.”
“What shall I do?”
“Take Danny and a couple of plain-clothes men to aid you,” Nick quickly
directed. “Raid the house quietly. I hardly think you will find any one
else there. If you do, however, make sure that none escapes.”
“Trust me for that.”
“I’ll nail the culprits elsewhere.”
“Good enough! I’ve got you.”
“That’s all, then.”
Nick came from the booth, said a few words of explanation to the
astonished clerk, and he then hurriedly left the store and hailed a
passing taxicab.
Ten minutes later, still in disguise, he entered the quarters of the
Imperial Loan Company--not more than an hour after his visit with Lord
Waldmere.
The first person he caught sight of was Moses Hart, and he saw at once
that Stuart Floyd had not yet arrived.
The assistant manager, nevertheless, appeared much more at ease than an
hour ago. He was engaged in the latticed inclosure. He was smiling and
humming a popular air. He saw Nick approach one of the windows and he
turned to meet him.
“Is Mr. Garland busy?” Nick blandly inquired, bowing and smiling.
“Mr. Garland is absent just now,” Hart suavely rejoined.
“H’m, is that so?”
“I think he will return before noon,” Hart added. “Is there anything I
can do for you?”
“Are you the assistant manager?”
“I am.”
“Perhaps, then, you will do as well, though Mr. Garland was mentioned to
me,” said Nick. “It’s about a loan I wish to negotiate on some valuable
jewelry. The amount is considerable, and----”
“Ah!”
Hart breathed an expressive sigh, one of avaricious anticipation, and he
then hastened to open a door leading into the inclosure.
“Walk in, sir,” he said cordially. “Step into our private office. We
then can discuss the matter without interruptions.”
Nick was waiting only for an interruption.
“Oh, I don’t think that will be necessary,” he demurred. “I can tell you
briefly what I require.”
“Very well.”
Hart stepped out and joined him.
“My name is Peterson,” Nick continued. “I have in my charge a quantity
of valuable jewelry. It is part of the estate of a very wealthy widow.
The estate has not been settled, owing to long litigation, and it has
become necessary to raise quite a sum of cash with which to meet legal
expenses.”
“I follow you,” Hart nodded, anticipating an unusually profitable deal.
“I may require ten thousand dollars, possibly more.”
“What is the value of the jewelry?”
“Fifty thousand, at least.”
“Ah! In that case, Mr. Peterson, we will be delighted to accommodate
you,” Hart warmly assured him. “No loan is too large for us to make on
satisfactory collateral. Our capital is unlimited. We can refer you
to----”
He broke off abruptly.
Stuart Floyd had entered and was hurriedly approaching.
“One moment, Hart!” he exclaimed, diving into his coat pocket and
failing to recognize Nick. “Excuse yourself for one moment. Here is that
package which----”
“Let me have it, instead,” Nick interrupted, thrusting Hart aside.
Floyd recoiled as if struck on the head.
“You!” he gasped involuntarily.
Nick whipped off his disguise.
“Yes,” he said sternly. “I may need it to prove my case--and your
relations with the Imperial Loan Company. Let me have it.”
Floyd staggered and then uttered a cry and pulled himself together.
“Not by a long shot!” he shouted. “Get rid of this, Hart, before he can
learn what it----”
But he got no further, for Nick Carter did not stand on ceremony. He
leaped at Floyd and wrenched the package from him, as the latter was
about to toss it to Hart, and then he forced him fiercely against the
wall.
Then came the jingle and snapping of steel--and Floyd was in handcuffs.
“Let those keep you quiet,” said Nick sharply. “I think, now, we are in
a fair way to settle this business--and settle it right!”