A CLEW BY WATER.
It was not long before the treatment had its effect on the injured
valet. The chafing and massage, aided by the brandy, restored him much
quicker than might have been expected.
He was looking about him wildly when Nick decided that his complete
recovery would be accelerated if he were carried into the house.
“Give me a lift, Chick!”
The two raised the man from the floor, and laid him over one of the
brawny shoulders of Nick Carter.
The valet was heavy and large, but the detective carried him along
without apparent effort into the house, up the stairs, and into one of
the bedrooms.
“If you can find something warm for him to eat, Miss Solado,” remarked
Nick, as they put the man on the bed, “it will help as much as anything.
We will put him to bed in the meantime.”
Claudia was only too glad to do anything she could. She went to the
kitchen and foraged for supplies. She was fortunate enough to find a can
of soup. This she cooked on a gas stove, and soon had it ready for the
invalid.
When she came to the bedroom again she found him sitting up in bed and
talking. As he attacked the hot soup, his strength came back faster, and
he told his story in a fairly connected way.
It all resolved itself into this: On the morning before, he went to call
his employer, as usual, and, as he passed the windows of the house, he
noticed a handsome private steam yacht anchored in the river, not far
from shore, so that it should be out of the regular channel of traffic.
In Prince Marcos’ room he heard a scuffling, while his employer’s voice
was raised in anger and protest.
When the valet got there--which he did as fast as he could--he found
Marcos struggling with two men.
Before the valet could give any help, another man appeared from
somewhere and knocked him senseless with some heavy weapon--perhaps a
revolver, although he could not be sure.
“Would you know that yacht if you saw it again?” asked the detective.
“I am almost sure I should,” was the quick reply.
“Good! What is your name?”
“Phillips, sir.”
“Now, Phillips, what became of Prince Marcos after that, so far as you
know?”
“I came to my senses again, and staggered to the window, because I saw
that the prince had gone from the room. Down in the garden two of the
men were carrying him to the waterside, where a skiff was tied up to the
private landing.”
“And they took Prince Marcos to the yacht in that skiff?”
“That’s what I suppose. I didn’t see it, because they caught me when I
went out of the house--to help the prince.”
“You did that, Phillips?” interposed the girl. “That was very brave of
you.”
Phillips’ eyes lighted up at this praise from the beautiful Claudia, as
he replied simply:
“I did it, of course, Miss Solado. I had to, because the prince would
have done it for me. He is not afraid of anything. However, I wasn’t
able to help him. I wasn’t strong after being knocked over the head, and
when two of them came for me at once, I had to go under.”
There was no “grand-stand play” about Phillips. He told his story with
perfect simplicity, and as if he had done only what any other man must
have done under the circumstances.
“It was very hard on you to lie there on that bench so many hours,” put
in Chick.
“I thought it was death,” was the reply. “I felt myself growing weaker
and weaker, and at last I was all in, my senses gone. The gag had
prevented my shouting, or I might have attracted the attention of people
going past, either on the river or the road. It would have been only an
off chance, at that, but better than nothing.”
“You did not know any of the men?” asked Nick.
“They were all strangers to me.”
The girl could not help giving a slight sigh of relief. At least, her
uncle had not taken a personal part in the attack on the valet.
These men who had come were doubtless hired rascals. She had heard of
such men. There were bravos in all countries.
“Which way was the yacht headed when you saw her?”
Nick asked this question without expecting to gain any useful
information, no matter what the reply might be. It was an easy matter to
turn a vessel another way, especially one propelled by steam.
“She was headed up the river,” replied Phillips.
Nick thought for a few minutes. He argued that there would be no
particular object to be gained by going up the Hudson, unless it was the
intention of the men who had stolen Marcos to get him ashore as soon as
convenient and spirit him away to some retreat in the mountains--the
Adirondacks, perhaps.
On the other hand, he reflected that these men were very cunning, and
would be quite likely to follow his own line of reasoning, with the
purpose of circumventing him.
“They may go down the river, because they would think that I should
regard that as the least desirable for them, and thus they would try to
fool me. On the other hand, they might go up, and----”
He stopped his half-audible musings and laughed. He was just where he
had started. His reflections did not lead him anywhere, it seemed, and
he would have to depend on chance, after all.
“You will let me get up now, won’t you?” asked Phillips. “I want to go
and find the prince.”
“No,” returned Nick, with a positive shake of the head. “You must remain
in bed for the rest of this day, anyhow. I will leave my assistant with
you. I shall go and look for Prince Marcos, and if he is to be found at
all, I will get to him.”
“But do you know that Prince Marcos is in great danger--from political
enemies, who will----”
“Yes, Phillips,” interposed Claudia. “This gentleman knows all about it.
You need not worry. He will find Prince Marcos if any one can. You have
heard of Nicholas Carter, of course?”
“What? The great detective, who caught that gang of thieves in South
America two years ago?” broke in Phillips. “Is this the great Nicholas
Carter? It seems impossible that I can be talking to one whom I have
thought of so often. Wonderful!”
Phillips delivered himself of these sentiments with the simple sincerity
with which he said everything. He could hardly bring it to his
understanding that he was actually face to face with Nicholas Carter,
the greatest detective in the world.
“I shall have to send you home before I do anything else,” said Nick,
turning to Claudia. “My chauffeur, Danny Maloney, is thoroughly
dependable. He is much more than a chauffeur to me. He is often a very
able assistant in my professional work.
“I have no doubt that he would take me home safely,” replied the girl.
“But--I cannot go home now.”
“Cannot go home? Why?”
“I must go with you.”
“Go with me?” echoed Nick Carter. “I’m afraid that would be impossible.
You could not run into the danger that may face me when I come up with
the rascals who so nearly killed poor Phillips. You can see from that
how desperate they are.”
“Nevertheless, I must go,” returned Claudia, with gentle firmness.
“It would be altogether too dangerous.”
“I expect it to be dangerous. That is why I want to come.”
This was unanswerable, although Nick tried to answer it. He soon saw
that he might as well spare his breath.
With a shrug and smile, he turned to his assistant.
“Well, Chick, keep close watch here, and take care of Phillips. Miss
Solado intends to go with me, and there is nothing much to be said. I
will go down to the boathouses and see whether I can get a power launch.
Will you wait here till I return?” he asked the girl. “I shall not be
long. I’ll go down in the motor car.”
“I will wait,” she answered quietly.
A few minutes later Nick Carter was in his limousine, and Danny Maloney
was bowling him along Broadway to the place where the detective knew he
could hire a launch.
“Joe Travers will have one, I know,” he told himself, as he leaned back
comfortably, while Maloney drove on with his usual unconcern.
Joe Travers was an old acquaintance of Nick’s, and he was only too
pleased to take the detective into his boathouse and show him where he
had, under shelter, a power launch which proclaimed itself at first
glance a fine specimen of its class.
It was about five o’clock when Nick Carter chugged up to the boat
landing of Crownledge and fastened his craft to the big iron ring.
Before he could get up to the house, Claudia came running down to the
riverside, with Chick and the bloodhound close behind.
Chick was glad of the opportunity of helping the pretty girl into the
boat. Soon she was comfortably seated in the stern. Then Nick again took
his place at the engine and steering wheel.
“Look after Phillips, Chick! When he seems able to take care of himself,
as he will by the morning, I feel sure--you can go home, with Captain,
and keep close to the telephone. I may call you up at any time.”
The engine in the launch was a powerful one, and the boat went shooting
up the Hudson as if prepared to overhaul any other craft that might come
in its way.
“Do you think we shall find Marcos, Mr. Carter?” asked Claudia, after a
rather long silence, broken only by the chugging of the engine and the
swish of the water past the hull. “Have you any idea where he is likely
to be?”
“I may be mistaken,” replied Nick. “But I can’t help feeling that we
shall get on his trail before morning.”
And, as he hustled the launch along, he believed thoroughly what he
said.