NICK CARTER
STORIES
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=No 157.= NEW YORK, September 11, 1915. =Price Five Cents.=
A HUMAN COUNTERFEIT;
Or, NICK CARTER AND THE CROOK’S DOUBLE.
Edited by CHICKERING CARTER.
CHAPTER I.
WHY WAS IT DONE?
“Extraordinary--that doesn’t half express it. I know of no word that
would. To some extent, Nick, at least, men’s motives are usually
discernible in their conduct. But in this case--why, there was nothing
to it. It is utterly inexplicable. It was like a horrid dream, a hideous
nightmare, or the mental abnormalities of a dope fiend.”
Nick Carter laughed and spread his napkin, with a significant glance at
his chief assistant, Chick Carter, who sat at one side of the table,
that of a private dining room in a new and fashionable New York hotel.
“Well, Mr. Clayton, if the story you have to tell warrants so remarkable
a preface, it will be interesting, at least,” said the famous detective.
“Yes, Nick, and then some,” Chick agreed, smiling. “He so has aroused my
curiosity that I really am all ears.”
“I don’t think I shall disappoint you,” said their companion, more
gravely.
He was a fashionably clad man of thirty-five, of medium build and with
clean-cut, attractive cast of features, smoothly shaved. There was in
other respects nothing specially distinctive about him. He was the type
of well-bred, well-informed, and thorough business man with which New
York City abounds.
“Aside from the pleasure of having you dine with me, I am very glad of
the privilege of telling you about my extraordinary experience,” he
added, gazing across the table at Nick. “I want your opinion about it. I
was tempted to call on you for advice immediately after it occurred, but
there were many reasons why I did not do so. I have been terribly busy,
you know, since the opening of the new Westgate six months ago, when the
directors gave me entire management of the house. Busy, Mr. Carter, is
no name for it.”
“I can imagine so,” said Nick. “You certainly have a magnificent hotel
here.”
“There is none better in the city, nor one more generously patronized by
wealthy and fashionable people,” said Clayton, with a quiet display of
pride. “We are getting the cream not only of local society, but also
that of the traveling public. We are almost constantly crowded. It’s an
honor, indeed, to be the sole manager of such a house.”
“I agree with you, Clayton, but you are the man for the position, I
judge,” said Nick. “I guess the board of directors made no mistake.”
“It was partly due, perhaps, to my owning quite a block of the stock,”
Clayton replied, with a smile. “Now, to return to the main matter, I
will tell you of my extraordinary experience.”
“When did it occur, Clayton?” Nick inquired.
“Three months ago, Mr. Carter, during the first three days in
September.”
“Three days, eh? It covered a considerable period.”
“A period of apprehension and anxiety beyond description.”
“Began at the beginning, Clayton, and tell me the whole business.”
“I can tell you only what occurred. It will be up to you to determine
why it was done and what it signified.”
“I will endeavor to do so.”
“As is my custom once a week,” Clayton began, “I had been out to
Washington Heights to dine with my mother, who dislikes hotel life and
for whom I bought an attractive place out there three years ago. Miss
Langham was with me, the young lady to whom I am engaged. She is the
only daughter of Gustavus Langham, president of the Century Trust
Company.’
“I am acquainted with him,” Nick observed.
“They have a suite here in the house,” Clayton added. “My only other
companion was my chauffeur, Paul Hazen, who was driving my touring car.
We started to return about ten o’clock. We had covered less than half a
mile, and had arrived at a point in the road where there are no near
dwellings, when we were held up by a touring car that stopped as we were
approaching, and at such an angle across the road that we could not pass
it.”
“The occupants evidently had been waiting for you,” Chick remarked.
“So I presently learned, though I did not think so at the time,” Clayton
replied. “One of the men in the car, the top of which was up and the
side curtains on, had alighted and was looking at one of the front
wheels. Two other men were getting out, and I inferred that they had met
with a mishap. The moment we stopped, however, some twenty feet from
them, all three approached my car, and one of them called me by name. I
then supposed him a friend, whom I did not immediately recognize.”
“Was it a dark evening?” Nick inquired.
“Not at all. It was bright starlight.”
“What followed?”
“The spokesman of the party did not wait for an answer,” Clayton
continued. “He drew a revolver and ordered me to get out of my car,
saying that I must go with him. At the same time another drew a gun and
held up my chauffeur.”
“What type of men were they?” Nick asked. “Did they appear to be
ruffians?”
“Quite the contrary. They were well dressed and appeared like gentlemen,
aside from their conduct. Each wore a full beard, however, and I at once
suspected that they were in disguise.”
“A very natural inference, Clayton, under the circumstances.”
“They meant business, all right, for my protest was immediately checked
with a more threatening command to get out of the car. I was told,
nevertheless, that I would not be harmed, robbed, nor subjected to any
serious inconvenience, providing I made no resistance. I was also told
that their only purpose was to detain me from this hotel for a short
time.”
“I follow you,” Nick nodded.
“Their spokesman, who did all of the talking, so informed Miss Langham
and Hazen,” Clayton proceeded. “He commanded them to return to the
hotel, and to state that I had left town for a few days. He warned them
against disclosing the truth and making a stir over my abduction. He
threatened, in case they did, that my life would be the forfeit. On the
other hand, he promised that I should be liberated and allowed to return
safely, if his instructions were rigidly obeyed.”
“Did you say anything to him except to protest against the outrage?”
“No. He wouldn’t permit it, and the interview lasted only a few moments.
I saw plainly that I had no alternative but to obey, however, and I
resolved to take the rascal on his word. I directed Hazen and Clara to
obey the scoundrel, therefore, and to take no steps for a few days, at
least.”
“I infer that they did so, since the outrage was not published.”
“Exactly. That was the reason.”
“You then went with the gang?”
“Yes. I had no alternative. Hazen was ordered to drive on with Miss
Langham, and the gang waited until my car had disappeared. I then was
commanded to get into the other, which I did, taking a seat between two
of the knaves in the tonneau.”
“Were there only three in the gang?”
“There was one other, the man who was driving the car.”
“Did he also wear a beard?”
“Yes.”
“All undoubtedly were in disguise,” said Nick.
“Sure thing,” Chick added. “Four bearded men in a bunch is very
suggestive.”
“Continue. What followed, Mr. Clayton?”
“I then was blindfolded, but not bound nor gagged, though I was
threatened with death if I made any disturbance. I decided to take my
medicine quietly, and I so informed the rascals.”
“Otherwise you might have been roughly handled.”
“I inferred so. Ten minutes later, after a rapid ride in directions I
could not possibly determine, I arrived at a house and I was guided to a
room on the second floor. I have not the slightest idea where the house
is located, for I was completely lost by the several turns the car had
taken.”
“That was done in order to blind you.”
“No doubt.”
“What then occurred?”
“Then began the extraordinary part of the outrage,” said Clayton, with
an expressive shrug of his shoulders. “The bandage was removed from my
eyes. I found myself in quite a large room, the four walls of which were
entirely hung with thick black cloth. Not a window or door, not a
picture, not so much as a square inch of the wall paper, were visible.”
“By Jove, that was strange, indeed,” Chick remarked.
“Even the chandelier, pendant from a perfectly plain, plastered ceiling,
also was covered with the same somber cloth. It was like opening one’s
eyes in a chamber of horrors, or one draped in deepest mourning.”
Nick Carter smiled.
“The design of your abductors is obvious, Clayton,” said he.
“Do you think so?”
“I certainly do,” Nick nodded. “All that was done to prevent your seeing
anything by which you subsequently could positively identify the room.”
“Well, well, that may be true, Nick, though I then was so affected by
the mystery that that explanation did not occur to me,” said Clayton.
“Nor, in fact, have I since thought of it.”
“What else did the room contain?” Nick inquired.
“Only two common wooden chairs and a narrow bed, the linen and blankets
of which were perfectly plain.”
“Was the floor bare?”
“Yes. The appearance of it, however, indicated that a carpet had
recently been removed.”
“Additional evidence that I am right,” said Nick, smiling again. “The
rascals took care that you should see absolutely nothing by which you
could identify the place. Was the room lighted with electricity, or
gas?”
“Gas. One jet of the chandelier was burning.”
“What followed?”
“Only three of the scoundrels accompanied me to the room. I did not
again see the fourth man until the evening of the third day of my
captivity.”
“Well, what occurred?” Nick inquired.
“The three men then wore black masks,” Clayton continued. “I was ordered
to remove all of my clothing except my undergarments. I did so under
protest, of course, and all of my discarded garments were taken from the
room by one of the rascals, who passed out between two overlapping
draperies and through a concealed door. He presently returned with a
woolen bath robe, which I was told to put on.”
“And then?”
“A strong cord then was tied around my ankles, with about a foot of
slack between them, which allowed me to hobble slowly, but effectually
prevented me from flight, or attempting to do anything desperate. I then
was invited to make myself at home, and told to be patient until I was
liberated.”
“By Jove, that was a strange experience,” said Chick. “What do you make
of it, Nick?”
“Wait till I have heard the entire story,” Nick replied. “Were you left
alone in the room, Mr. Clayton?”
“Not for a moment, Nick, during all the time I was there,” said Clayton.
“Two of the masked men withdrew. The third took one of the chairs and
remained to guard and watch me. He was relieved by another about six
o’clock the following morning, and the third relieved him about noon.
This was repeated for three days and nights. Not once did I see either
of them unmasked.”
“Did they talk with you?”
“Part of the time, but only on ordinary topics. They would not discuss
the outrage in any respect, nor permit me to question them. On the
morning following my abduction, however, I was given a pen and paper and
ordered to write to Clara Langham, stating that I was well and
comfortable, and that she and Hazen must not deviate from the
instructions given them. I was told to add that my absence would not
exceed three days. I afterward learned that the letter was mailed one
hour later in New York.”
“It was dropped in town, Clayton, so that your whereabouts should not be
indicated by the postmark,” said Nick.
“I inferred so, of course.”
“Were you well fed and properly treated, aside from your confinement?”
“Yes. I could not reasonably find fault. I was presented with the
morning and evening newspapers, also with several magazines, and was
permitted to read at will.”
“I see.”
“Not once, however, did I pass beyond those dismal black curtains, or
get so much as a glimpse at anything outside of that somber room,”
Clayton added, with some feeling. “Not once was I without the gloomy
companionship of a masked man in one of the chairs. I saw only three of
them, as I have said, but I was under frequent scrutiny of another, I am
sure, whose evil eyes were watching me through some part of the somber
draperies.”
“Did you hear him, that you feel so sure of it?” Nick questioned.
“No.” Clayton quickly shook his head. “I did not hear him, Nick, or see
him, not once, but I frequently felt that some one was stealthily
watching me.”
“And that continued for three days?”
“Yes. In the evening of the third day, Nick, my clothing was returned to
me and I was told to dress. I then was blindfolded and guided from the
house. Then followed another ride in the touring car, under the same
conditions as before, and I was taken to a lonely road in an outskirt of
Fordham.”
“And then?”
“I then was directed to follow the road for a quarter mile, when I would
reach a trolley line into town,” Clayton said, in conclusion. “The four
men then rode rapidly away, and one hour later I arrived at the
Westgate, much to the relief of Miss Langham and my chauffeur, who were
on the verge of reporting my abduction to the police. That’s the whole
story, Nick. Now, as Chick asked, what do you make of it?”
Nick laid aside his napkin. The dinner had been progressing during
Clayton’s recital, and coffee and cigars were in order.
“Well, I hardly know what to say,” Nick replied. “Have you notified the
police, or taken any steps to identify your abductors?”
“I have not,” said Clayton. “They told me that any efforts along that
line would be futile. I noticed the number on their touring car, but
upon looking it up I found no such number. They had a doctored number
plate.”
“Obviously, Clayton, they took every precaution, not only to hide their
identity, but also to prevent you from identifying the house in which
you were confined, in event of subsequent suspicions,” said Nick. “That
they apprehended subsequent suspicion, moreover, shows plainly that they
were paving the way for the execution of some later design.”
“That does seem reasonable. I have not thought of that.”
“Has anything since occurred that might have a bearing on the matter?”
“I know of nothing, Nick.”
“Everything in the hotel is all right, so far as you know?”
“Yes, indeed. Things could not be better.”
“I asked only because your abductors wanted to detain you from the hotel
for a short time, or so one of them said.”
“Very true. But there is nothing wrong here. I am sure of that.”
“You have told me, then, all that you know about the affair, and you are
without any suspicion concerning it?”
“Exactly. I have told you all, Nick, and am completely in the dark,”
Clayton earnestly declared.
Nick knocked the ashes from his cigar and prepared to rise from the
table.
“I have only this to say,” he replied, more impressively: “Be on your
guard. Men never go to so much trouble, nor take such chances, Clayton,
unless they have some definite and probably felonious design in view.”
“That’s true, Nick,” Chick put in.
“There certainly is something in the wind,” Nick added. “It is
impossible to predict what it is, or when it will occur, but it is safe
to say it relates to something with which you are identified. Otherwise,
Clayton, you would never have met with such an experience. I can only
warn you to be vigilant and constantly on your guard. A bomb may burst
when it is least expected.”
“That’s right, too,” Chick declared, as they arose from the table. “No
man, Nick, could say more.”
Mr. Chester Clayton thanked the detective for his advice and promised to
be governed by it.
Precisely one week later, at eleven o’clock in the morning, Nick
Carter’s prediction was fulfilled.
A message from Clayton, addressed to Nick, and received in his library,
called the detective to the Hotel Westgate.
It contained only half a dozen words:
“Come quickly. The bomb has burst.”