AT THE CHEMIST’S.
Nick Carter went downtown.
He turned his steps toward the East Side after leaving the cars, and
finally ran up the steps of a house.
In response to his ring a servant came to the door, of whom he inquired:
“Is the professor in?”
“I don’t know, sir. If you will step into the hall, and give me your
name, I will go and see.”
The detective entered the hall, then said:
“Now, please be kind enough to tell me positively if the professor is
in?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.”
“I say I don’t.”
“And I know better. If he is in I promise you he will see me, while if
he is out I will not waste my time waiting for your red tape.”
The servant was rather taken aback by this plain talk, and for a moment
hardly knew what to say.
Then the half-laughing reply was made:
“While I cannot say positively, I think he is.”
“Are you not quite sure that he is?”
“Yes.”
“Very well. Now, go ahead and don’t waste any time, for I have none to
spare.”
The servant departed, and soon returning, escorted Nick into the
professor’s office.
The person alluded to as the professor was one of New York’s most
celebrated chemists.
He came forward, with a smile, to meet Nick Carter, explaining heartily:
“Glad to see you, Carter. It is all of two months since I have set eyes
on you.”
“So am I glad to see you! Yet I would not be here if it were not that
business made it necessary.”
“Business, eh?”
“Yes.”
“You are the greatest fellow to have your hands full of business I ever
saw. Well, what is it this time?”
“I’ve got something here that I want you to look at.”
“Let’s see it.”
Nick took out the paper that was spotted with blood.
This he quietly handed to the professor, saying:
“Take a look at that through the microscope.”
“Blood? What do you want to know?”
“I want to know if you can say positively what animal’s blood that is?”
“Animal’s blood?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t suspect it of being human blood?”
“I am not saying anything about that.”
“I see. Your idea is to set a trap for me. Well, let’s see if you can
catch me.”
Laughing softly as though he had heard a good joke the chemist took out
a microscope and put the blood-spotted paper under its powerful lens.
As he spent only a comparatively few minutes in scrutinizing the spots
of blood, it was fair to presume that their characteristics were so
distinctly defined as to give him little trouble in determining from
what animal they had come.
Nick Carter had watched him throughout, and a grim smile flickered
about his lips as he saw the look of certainty and satisfaction that
came over the professor’s face.
When the latter finally looked up, the detective inquiringly, said:
“Well?”
The professor laughed softly, then said:
“If your purpose here is to try me and see if you can trip me up, I’ll
tell you what I will do.”
“What?”
“I’ll make you a wager of a box of good cigars that I am able to tell
you the first time what blood this is.”
“I am not here to try you, but to ascertain through you what this blood
came from.”
“Is that true?”
“Yes.”
“And you do not know whence this blood came?”
To acknowledge entire ignorance would not be politic, so Nick said:
“I am not prepared to answer that question further than to say that I
may have well-founded suspicions.”
“Do you think that it is a goat’s blood?”
“You may as well tell me what your own opinion is, or you will not get
anything out of me.”
“Well, that blood came from--a chicken.”
“You are sure of that?”
“I am.”
“Would you swear to it?”
“With great willingness.”
“How can you be so positive?”
“Easily enough. The red corpuscles in the blood are different in
everything that lives and breathes, and as a rule this difference is
so great that there can be no mistake between corpuscles of man and
beast, or between any two beasts. As between human blood and that of
fowls the difference is very distinct, so in this case there can by
no possibility be a doubt. Singularly enough the closest approach to
similarity is between the red corpuscles of a human being and the hog.”
“Will you now kindly seal up that piece of paper and preserve it for
use in case of necessity?”
“I will.”
The blood-spotted paper was inclosed in a stout wrapper and then
fastened with sealing wax, the latter being impressed with a seal
belonging to the professor and another that the detective improvised on
the moment, but which he could swear to.
This last was necessary, as if it should ever get into court the paper
would have to be sworn to as being the one examined this day. Had it
borne only one seal, it is evident that the wrapper might be opened and
a substitution made.
A double seal, of which each possessed one, made it equally evident
that the wrapper could not be tampered with.
On leaving the professor’s, Nick Carter went to his office.
His assistant, Chick, was there. Nick knew his aide had recently been
doing some shadowing on the East Side, and, after greeting him, he said:
“Chick, you have been piping on the East Side of late?”
“I have.”
“Whom have you run across recently in the cracksman line?”
A number of names were mentioned, but not the one Nick wanted to hear.
He then questioned:
“Did you see Dick Maxwell on your rounds?”
“No.”
“Nor Sandy Pete?”
“No.”
“Nor Jim Noonan?”
“I did not.”
“How about Demas Lorton? Did you see him?”
“No. But it so chanced that I heard of him only last night.”
“What about him?”
“Nothing special. I only heard a couple of chaps speaking of him and
wondering what had become of him. It is said that he has not been seen
around the city for a month or more.”
“Did the men who said this know who you were?”
“No. Why?”
“I didn’t know but that they had known you and were saying it for a
blind.”
“I am sure that is not the case.”
“You are under the impression that they spoke what they believed to be
true?”
“Decidedly. Do you want to know anything special about Lorton?”
“Only whether he was in the city. I don’t even suspect the man, but I
wanted to learn who in his class are around. By the way, did you ever
know much about him?”
“Yes, considerable.”
“Was he married?”
“As to his being married I can’t say, but he used to live with a woman
who passed as his wife.”
“Lived with her?”
“Yes.”
“They had rooms together?”
“No, not exactly. That question brings up things more clearly in
my mind. The woman who passed as his wife was seen with him quite
frequently, although she did not live with him regularly, and I am
under the impression she was employed somewhere in a store.”
“You are not positive about that?”
“No. Yet I think it is so, for I made some investigation at the time,
thinking it possible that this woman was in the store for the purpose
of ‘laying the pipes’ for a job, and I wanted to be posted and ready
for a pounce on them in case there was a burglary.”
“I suppose you saw this girl?”
“I did.”
“Do you recall what she looked like?”
“Yes.”
“How old was she?”
“She was very young, not a day over sixteen, and very much of a lady in
appearance.”
“Innocent looking, eh?”
“Yes.”
“Handsome?”
“As a picture.”
“Dressed modestly?”
“She did, almost to shabbiness, although I thought that was due to
Demas being down on his luck.”
“Brown hair?”
“Yes.”
“Eyes to match?”
“Correct! You must have seen the girl yourself.”
Without paying any attention, Nick Carter went on:
“A small, slender figure?”
“Yes.”
“A ripe, full mouth?”
“That suits her!”
“A soft and winning way of looking up at you when she speaks?”
“Even so! She was as well calculated for the ‘siren’ business as any
woman I ever saw.”
“Do you remember what name she answered to?”
“Yes. She was called Helen by Lorton.”
Nick smiled, grimly.
This girl at Mr. Field’s house bore that name; Helen Doane she called
herself.
And the description of this other Helen, who had passed as the wife of
Demas Lorton, suited her in every particular!
From the detective’s standpoint the sequence was plain.
Helen Lorton and Helen Doane were apparently one and the same person.
The girl who played so innocent, and who had taken the stand of not
wishing to remain and claim her place as Mr. Field’s daughter, for fear
that somebody might think her claim a fraudulent one, was merely a very
clever actress, and a decidedly dangerous woman, who ought to be shut
up as speedily as possible for the welfare of the community at large.
Thanking Chick for his information, Nick left his office much pleased
with the result of his investigations thus far.
His reflections ran in this channel:
“It is a fortunate thing that Barnes happened to remember Lorton’s
name, as it gave me possession of a most valuable clew. As to Lorton’s
being out of the city I think it is all bosh! Of course, he would try
to keep shady if he was working a game, so it is rather to be expected
than otherwise that even his boon companions should not know that
he was here. I consider it dead sure that Lorton has a hand in this
mysterious affair, and I must try to-night to locate him in some of his
old haunts.”
On his way uptown to the house where this mystery had been evolved,
he went over what he had discovered, in doing which he was constantly
seeking for some new light in which to view what he had learned thus
far.
He mused thus:
“The part Miss Doane is playing in the game would appear to indicate
that somebody who is familiar with Mr. Field’s family history was
seeking to play upon it to gain possession of his property. Knowing
that he could not be deceived into accepting this girl as his daughter,
it was decided that he should die, leaving behind him the apparently
good evidence of this letter, which, under ordinary circumstances,
would have accomplished the result aimed at. In carrying out this
scheme Mr. Field would, however, have been killed, and his body left
behind to establish the fact of his death, for they must know that as
long as there is any uncertainty about the matter they would be kept
out of possession of the property. This feature of the case puzzles me
sadly, and the fact of the disappearance of the body almost upsets the
theory, since I cannot but know that villains never take any steps to
interfere with their plans.
“Yet no other reasonable conclusion is left me in face of the letter,
and the girl’s turning up so promptly the morning after he is no longer
able to deny her claim to kinship.
“Another puzzling thing is why they should seek to give the impression
that Mr. Field’s body was taken away by water, sufficient blood being
dropped on the way with the evident purpose of creating the belief
that he was dead or bleeding to death rapidly. If it were not so wild
I should be inclined to believe that there are two schemes on foot in
relation to Mr. Field, the crossing and conflicting of which has caused
this mixed-up condition of affairs.
“Yet this may prove to be the true solution of the matter. One thing is
certain--I shall not be in as deep ignorance in regard to the case in
a week from now as I am to-day. And here is the house. Now to see if
there have been any new developments since I left.”