PROVING THE LETTER.
Satisfied that the urging of Barnes would result in Miss Doane’s
remaining in the house, the detective went upstairs and into the
library.
The two left behind were too much engrossed to remember that the
detective had possession of the letter.
Arrived in the library he at once went to the desk and opening it,
began to look around.
He first took out the ink bottle and carried it to the better light
near the window. It was a jet-black ink of heavy consistency, showing
that a considerable quantity of gum arabic had been used in its
manufacture.
Finding a piece of paper on which Mr. Field had begun a letter, only to
afterward cast it aside, the detective wet the writing with a drop or
two of water.
At the same time he put a couple of drops on the writing of the letter
received by the girl downstairs.
The ink known to have been used by Mr. Field soon began to spread, as
the water softened up the portion of the gum that had dried. But, on
the ink of this other letter, it had no effect whatever, showing the
absence of gum.
To himself he said:
“This little test shows absolutely that these two inks are not the
same. Now, then, this letter to Barnes was written only two days ago
and this one to the girl is supposed to have been penned yesterday.
It is hardly likely that in this interim of a day Mr. Field changed
his ink. Still, as it is possible, I must inquire into the matter. It
is about what I expected, and if I fail to find steel pens around his
desk, I will have a clear bill.”
The most careful search of the desk failed to bring to light anything
in the shape of a steel pen.
When thoroughly satisfied that there were none, the detective smiled
grimly, and said:
“This proves the letter absolutely to be a forgery. It is in the
writing of Mr. Field, or at least his penmanship has been so cleverly
imitated as to deceive the best experts, so far as the strokes are
concerned, but the villain who is so deft with the pen did not know
that Mr. Field never used anything save a quill. If he had known it he
would not have written this letter with a steel pen!”
This was an absolute fact.
The letter brought by the girl had been written with a steel pen, an
article that, as shown by the evidence, Mr. Field never used and had a
great antipathy for.
Further, the ink in Mr. Field’s bottle was a black ink containing a
great deal of “body,” or gum, while this ink with which the letter was
written was a thin black ink made by an acid process.
Hence, it stood proved that the letter was a forgery.
And, if the letter was a forgery, what about the girl?
Nick Carter’s opinion, an offhand one, without any evidence either
one way or the other, was that she was an impostor, and in some way
connected with the crime.
Yet he hated very much to think of the girl in this way, for she
certainly looked, and spoke, and acted like an honest, upright young
woman.
Still, up to the present moment hard, stern, cruel facts pointed at her
with unwavering finger.
One thing that he decided on before descending the stairs was that he
could not any longer take Barnes into his confidence, and especially
where the girl was concerned, for it was evident with half an eye that
he had some great interest in her.
On going downstairs he found them together in the parlor, and Barnes
had so far prevailed on the girl that she had taken off her hat and
wraps.
Looking up, and giving the detective a bright glance, Barnes said:
“After a great deal of hard persuasion, I have induced Miss Doane, as
I have known her, to remain. She is very much afraid she is not doing
right.”
Smiling, the detective rejoined, aloud:
“She is doing perfectly right. So far as I am concerned, I am pleased
to see her remain here.”
Under his breath, he added:
“It’s the truth I utter when I say I am glad to see her remain here,
for I want to know exactly where to find her should I want to put my
hand on her.”
The girl’s face brightened as she listened to the words uttered by the
detective. She at once left her seat, and coming forward, laid one hand
on his arm, looked up into his face, and said:
“I am glad to hear you commend my doing so, after hearing me say that I
would not do this very thing, as indeed I would not had not I met Mr.
Barnes so unexpectedly.”
“You should not be surprised that anyone commended a resolution to
stand up for your rights. As you are aware, I suggested the same thing
to Mr. Barnes.”
“Yes, I remember.”
She gave him a bright smile as she said this, and then added:
“Mr. Barnes has told me about you!”
“Has he?”
“Yes.”
“Did he paint me very black?”
“On the contrary, he painted you in glowing colors, as a man of great
ability.”
“Did he?”
“Yes. And he said that you were a detective come here to try and solve
the mystery surrounding the death or disappearance of Mr. Field--my
father. It comes very hard,” in an apologetic tone, “to think of him as
being such.”
“Yes, I am here for that purpose.”
“I hope you will find the murderers; from the bottom of my heart I hope
so.”
To this Nick answered:
“Your earnest desire to have them captured is creditable to both your
heart and your head.”
These words appeared to please the girl, who said:
“Thank you for saying so. I had feared you might have considered me
something of a barbarian, from the way I answered you a while ago. And
yet, I spoke the truth, as you must know.”
“So I do. As a matter of fact, it would be a little singular if you
showed much grief over the death of a man you never saw.”
“Besides which, you must remember that I have always in my mind’s eye
the fact that mother was forced to suffer through the insane jealousy
of my father.”
“True again.”
“Had I come in contact with him for a time, that feeling might have
eventually been changed, but at the present I cannot think of him
without coupling my mother’s wrong with it.”
The detective bowed.
Presently remarking something to the effect that he did not have any
time to waste, he asked Barnes to step aside with him for a minute.
They went into another room.
Being here, Barnes at once said:
“From your manner I am convinced that you have found some clew to the
mystery. Am I not right?”
“In part only.”
“But you have found something in the nature of a clew?”
“Yes.”
“What does it point to?”
“I am not prepared to say just now. What I want to see you about is to
ask some questions in regard to the girl in yonder room.”
“Ah!”
A reserve at once became noticeable in Barnes’ tone.
“What about her?”
The detective pretended not to notice anything unusual in the other’s
tone, and quietly said:
“I want to know what you can tell me about her in a general way.”
“Is this because you would in any way try to connect her with this
case?”
“Let future events determine that. At present I do not specifically
suspect anybody. For instance, I would like to know how it is that you
chance to be acquainted with her.”
“I cannot help saying to you that I consider this as a trifle personal.”
“Just as you please,” in a calm tone. “You can answer or not as you
think best. The information I want can easily be obtained from other
sources.”
“Tell me frankly if you have any idea that she is in anywise connected
with this mystery.”
“I am not saying anything about it just now.”
“Your answer is almost equivalent to saying that you do suspect
her, which, being the case, I wish to say that I will stake my very
existence on it that she is all that a good, pure and honest woman
should be.”
“Ah!”
Nick Carter opened his eyes a trifle.
Barnes colored under the scrutiny to which he found himself subjected.
“You are a very warm friend of this girl?”
“I am.”
“You might even be said to be her champion.”
“Yes. I should be proud to bear the title.”
“Will you answer my question?”
“I will do so since you make a point of it, until you reach a certain
limit.”
“Name it.”
“It will be when your questions tend to an attempt to say that she has
any knowledge of this horrible affair.”
“Very well, I accept the conditions. You met her when and where?”
“I met her in a store two years ago.”
“How frequently have you seen her in the meantime?”
“At first very often, but latterly only once in a great while.”
“You ceased, then, to be as good friends as formerly?”
“No.”
“How do you explain not seeing her as much, if that be so?”
Barnes hesitated a minute before replying, and then he slowly said:
“While I do not see how my private affairs can in anywise be mixed
up in the death of Mr. Field, nor see how telling the same to you is
going to help elucidate the mystery, still I have seen so much of your
astuteness to-day that I will throw aside all reserve in the matter
and tell you the whole truth. My acquaintance with Miss Doane was of
so agreeable a nature that I fell in love with her, although she was
ignorant of the character of my visits until I openly declared them.
She then promptly, but kindly, refused me, while at the same time
assuring me that she valued me highly as a friend, and trusted that she
might not lose my friendship through her refusal of my hand.”
“I begin to understand. After that time you did not feel like going to
see her so often?”
“No.”
“Still, you occasionally called on her?”
“Yes.”
“For what reason did she refuse you?”
“That is a hard question to answer, seeing that I do not know all the
lady’s thoughts.”
Taking another tack, the detective said:
“There might have been another lover in the case of whom she thought
more of than yourself.”
Barnes shook his head.
“It may have been the case, although I am inclined to doubt it. I never
saw a man call on her, and never heard her speak of any save one.”
“Who was he?”
“I don’t know, as I never saw him.”
“But did she not mention his name?”
“Yes, I believe she did.”
“Do you remember what it was?”
After a moment’s reflection Barnes said:
“If I recall it correctly it was Demas Lorton.”
The detective’s lips compressed.
“You are pretty positive that this was the name?”
“Quite so.”
“You say you never saw this man?”
“I have not.”
“Perhaps she may have had a picture of him in her abode?”
“She did not.”
“You know this for a certainty?”
“I do.”
“How is it?”
“Why, it so chanced that one day when she was speaking of him I
inquired if she did not have a picture of him. She said that she had
not, and that he would never have one taken.”
“Do you know how it came about that she knew him?”
“Yes.”
“Will you repeat what she told you?”
“There is not much to tell. He met her at a time when she was in
difficulty, and was very kind to her. She always thought a great deal
of him.”
“What was the nature of the feeling she entertained for him--gratitude
or love?”
At that Barnes gave a start.
He was not in the slightest degree of a jealous character, and when
refused by Miss Doane he had not in any wise attributed his rejection
to a love entertained by her for this man. But, now that the idea was
suggested by the detective’s words, he recalled many things that she
had said of him, recalled that when speaking of him her eyes had grown
luminous, recalled and looked upon in a new light a thousand things
that at the time had produced on him little, if any, impression.
In a lowered voice, he said:
“To answer that question with any degree of accuracy would be
impossible. At the time I certainly thought she entertained for him no
stronger feeling than gratitude, although at this minute I cannot be so
sure of it.”
“The chances are, however, that she does entertain for him the
stronger feeling of the two. Does not your common sense tell you this
is true?”
“It does--and Heaven knows how much against my will.”
The detective paused on the point of saying something to Barnes.
“I guess it will be as well not to say anything, for nine chances out
of ten he would give the thing away in his manner, and defeat the
object I have in view. It will be as well to let him go on for a couple
of days longer thinking of her as a good, true, pure woman, instead of
being in all probability the wife of one of the worst scoundrels now
unhung,” Nick soliloquized.
The name of Demas Lorton meant something more to the detective than it
did to Barnes.
He was on the point of departing when Barnes said something to him
about the letters.
“With your permission I should like to retain possession of them
temporarily. But first, I would like you to put on them some private
mark so that you would be able to swear to them in case it becomes
necessary.”
“You will be very careful of the letter to Miss Doane?”
“Certainly.”
“I should hate to have it lost.”
In pursuance of the detective’s desire, he put a private mark on each
of the letters, and then they were carefully placed in the detective’s
pocket.
Thanking him, Nick Carter left the house.
He went by the back way, and having got downstairs he began looking
about him as he went. Finally he appeared to see what he wanted and
took possession of it.
It was a scrap of paper, and on it were some drops of blood.
There was a peculiar smile on his face as he put this in his pocket,
and through his mind this thought was running:
“I would like to be as sure of getting ten thousand dollars as I am
that the verdict of the microscope will be--not human blood!”