OVER THE BRIDGE.
Each man in the touring party carried a large satchel, and Nick noticed
that he took very good care of the grip, never letting it get out of his
hands for an instant.
The satchels appeared to be rather heavy, and once, when one of them
dropped to the bottom of the auto, the detective heard a jingle as of
coin.
The morning was bright, the air was fresh, and for five miles the Red
Spider cut along at a smart clip.
“Show me how to operate the thing,” said Martin, and Nick instructed him
in the art.
“How long have you had this machine, Mr. Martin?” Nick asked.
A silence followed the question, during which Martin exchanged looks
with the men on the rear seat.
“Close onto two years,” said Martin, finally. “What do you want to know
for?”
“It seems strange that you haven’t learned something about running the
Red Spider in two years.”
Martin leaned forward and rapped Nick on the shoulder.
“Look here, Jones,” he growled, “don’t you get too blamed inquisitive.
It’s liable to strike in and carry you off.”
After that Nick held his peace for a time, but there were a whole lot of
things he wanted to know, and he wasn’t long in opening up again.
“Chicago is a great town,” he remarked.
“Bet your life!” exclaimed Martin.
“I used to do janitor work in the Guggenheimer Building,” confided Nick.
“Is that so?”
“Sure. You know anything about Chicago?”
“Well, rather. I’ve lived there about all my life.”
“Then you know the Guggenheimer Building, corner State and Madison
Streets?”
“Like a book. Been in it more times than I can count.”
The detective wanted to laugh.
There was no such building in Chicago.
“Do you remember the orang-outang, carved out of marble, that they’ve
got over the door of the Guggenheimer Building?” Nick went on.
“You bet. Seen it a hundred times.”
“Gosh!” exclaimed Nick. “It seems like meeting old friends to run across
a man who remembers that orang-outang.”
At the end of the five miles there was a little town called Herkimer,
and here the party stopped for breakfast.
When they got down from the machine and went into the hotel, they took
their satchels with them.
Nick got outside of his meal and returned to the Red Spider several
minutes before the rest of the party had finished and left the table.
The detective knew very well that Chick and Patsy wouldn’t bring their
machine up to the place while the Red Spider was in evidence, but he
wanted some assurance that his assistants were following.
He got what he wanted, for Patsy appeared in the road, back at a point
where it made a turn in the woods, and gave his hat a wave.
Patsy then disappeared, and Nick felt much easier in his mind.
“It’s a cinch,” thought Nick, “that not one of this outfit of supposed
Chicago men knows anything about Chicago.
“And another thing, Martin never had the Red Spider for two years, or
he’d know how to run it.
“But what did the Chicago chief of police mean by that message he sent
to the police department in Latimer?”
Nick was exceedingly thoughtful for a few moments.
“I’d like to pinch the entire outfit, and make them prove that they’re
what they say they are,” he said to himself, finally, and gave a look
down the road, as though he would summon Chick and Patsy.
But Chick and Patsy were not in sight.
If Nick could have known what Martin and his two friends were talking
about in the hotel, however, it is safe to assume that he would have
made the effort of his life to arrest the three men before they had gone
another mile further.
“I don’t like the looks of that driver of yours, Clancy,” one of
Martin’s pals was saying.
“He’s all right, I tell you, Spark,” averred Clancy. “Didn’t I spot him
while trying to sneak a wallet in my room? I’ve got the fellow right
under my thumb, and he knows it.”
“He looks to me as though he’s playing a part. Don’t you think so,
Cricket?”
“He looks all right to me,” replied Cricket.
“We ought to get rid of him,” persisted Spark.
“What’s got you on the run, old man?” queried Clancy.
“Give it up; but I’ve got a feeling that there’s trouble ahead. And look
here--I’ll bet I can prove to you that this Jones, as he calls himself,
is crooked.”
“If you can do that, Spark,” said Clancy, “we’ll salt him too quick.”
“Can you run the Spider now, Clancy?”
“Well enough to take us where we want to go. But come on, if you’re
through. It’s time we hit the trail.”
They got up, picked up their satchels from beside their chairs, and went
out and got into the auto.
“Keep right on along the turnpike, Jones, just as we were going before
we stopped,” said Martin.
Nick carried out his orders, and they were soon spinning along in a due
north direction.
“Did you have any trouble in connecting with the twenty thousand,
Clancy?” asked Cricket.
Clancy!
The word was out of Cricket’s mouth before he fairly realized that he
had said it.
Savage looks were darted at him by Clancy and Spark, and then all three
fixed their eyes upon Nick.
Apparently he had not heard the word.
“No trouble at all,” said Clancy.
“It was easy money,” went on Cricket, “and earned you a hundred per
cent. overnight.”
Nick knew that Clancy and Cricket were talking about the demand
certificate for twenty thousand dollars which the former had got from
the People’s National Bank on Monday afternoon.
Here was proof that the money had been deposited, stolen back, and
collected again on the demand certificate.
The detective was more than ready now to take chances in capturing the
three scoundrels.
Some parts of the deal were still dark to him, but he was sure of his
ground so far as Clancy and his two pals were concerned.
But how were the men to be captured?
With two at his back and one beside him, to attempt to make an arrest
single-handed would have been the height of folly.
A startling expedient occurred to Nick.
Why not wreck the machine?
That would give Chick and Patsy a chance to come up and take a hand in
the capture.
Nick looked ahead.
The turnpike wound around through the hills, and was bordered with large
trees.
Some of these trees stood out close to the roadway, and it would be a
comparatively easy matter to speed up the auto and smash against a tree.
The collision would certainly wreck the Red Spider, and it might also
cause the gasoline tank to explode.
In the latter event it was a question whether any of the party would be
left alive to tell the tale.
Nick had no desire to cut short his career on that lonely turnpike in
northern Vermont, but still he realized that he would have to take
chances, no matter what course he pursued.
In the distance he could see a plank bridge crossing a stream.
The edge of the bridge was guarded with a low wooden railing, and to run
the Red Spider into the railing and off the bridge would not be a
difficult task.
But that would be infinitely more dangerous than running the auto into a
tree.
Nick, therefore, decided on a collision.
The approach to the bridge was slightly downhill, and he started the
Spider at a tremendous clip.
“Slower, slower!” shouted Clancy. “Do you want to wreck us?”
“It’s out of control!” cried Nick. “I can’t do anything with it!”
The Spider was shooting toward a tree, a hundred feet ahead, and Nick
seemed to be working frantically at the levers in an attempt to stop it.
Suddenly Spark, who sat directly behind Nick, thrust a hand in his
pocket and slipped his fingers through a set of brass knuckles.
Bringing the hand out of his pocket, Spark half arose and dealt the
detective a smashing blow on the back of the head.
Nick fell forward, stunned and helpless.
“He was shamming!” cried Spark; “quick, Clancy! Turn the machine, or
we’re gone!”
Clancy flung himself on the steering lever and swerved the auto so that
it missed the tree by a hair’s breadth.
A moment more and he had halted the ponderous machine.
“He was trying to do for us,” said Spark, excitedly.
“But why in the fiend’s name should he try to wreck us?” answered
Clancy. “He would have done for himself as well.”
“He had some game, I tell you,” persisted Spark. “He must be one of Nick
Carter’s men. He wants revenge for what you and I did to Carter,
Clancy.”
“Bosh! Your nerves are running away with you, Spark.”
“Look here!”
Spark leaned over Nick and tore the false mustache from his lip.
“Now what do you think? This sneak thief of yours, Clancy, has been in
disguise!”
Clancy voiced a lurid oath.
“I wish I knew Carter’s assistants,” he added, with a fierce growl; “but
I don’t even know Carter himself, except from description.”
“Are you sure we got Carter at the hotel?” queried Cricket.
“Nicholas is the name he uses, now and then, and we know he took that
bank robbery case. You followed him from the Holland Hotel to the
Central House, Cricket, and ought to know him, if anybody does.”
“Nicholas was disguised,” said Cricket, “and I couldn’t tell what he
looked like with the disguise off. But he didn’t look anything like this
fellow.”
“This chap is trying to plug our game, anyhow,” said Clancy, a savage
gleam in his eyes, “and right here is our chance to get rid of him.
Bring out a couple of ropes, Cricket.”
Cricket fumbled around in the bottom of the auto, and finally found a
piece of rope, which he cut in two.
Nick was still unconscious, and did not recover his wits until the tying
operation had been completed.
When he opened his eyes, Clancy was going through his pockets.
“Guns, and handcuffs, and a pocket bull’s-eye,” muttered Clancy,
producing the articles one by one and handing them over the back of the
front seat to Spark and Cricket. “A nice equipment for a sneak thief to
tote around with him. He’s Nick Carter’s assistant, all right.”
“He has two men assistants,” spoke up Spark--“Chick and Patsy.”
“I have heard of them,” said Clancy, with an oath. “Here, you!” he
added, grabbing Nick by the shoulders and giving him a rough shake;
“what sort of a deal were you trying to ring in on us?”
“Who hit me?” demanded Nick.
“I did,” asserted Spark. “What did you try to wreck the auto for?”
“I couldn’t manage it.”
“Bah!” snorted Clancy. “You’re one of Nick Carter’s men, we know that,
and right here is where our trails divide. I’m from Montana, I am, and
Ramsay, a man Nick Carter hounded into the penitentiary, was a pal of
mine.
“I swore, when Ramsay got sent over the road, the other day, that I’d
never rest until I had played even with Carter on Ramsay’s account.
“I have pretty near succeeded in doing that, I reckon. Cricket shadowed
Carter from the Holland Hotel to the Central House and reported to Spark
and me. Then I put up that job and called up Carter on the Central House
phone. Spark was beside the glazed window in the court, and he fired the
shot that put this crack detective of yours out of the chase after these
bank robbers.
“I didn’t count on having such good luck as to connect with one of
Carter’s assistants; and now that we’ve got you, Jones, or whatever your
name is, we’ll see that you’re properly taken care of.”
“You may be able to take care of me,” said the detective, “but you’ll
still have Nick Carter to settle with.”
“Carter!” sneered Clancy. “Why, he ain’t in it with me when it comes
down to head work. I can think all around him any day in the week.”
“You’re thinking all around him now,” answered Nick, quietly.
“What do you mean by that?”
“You’ll know some time.”
“Quit this fooling!” cried Spark. “Let’s get rid of the fool and then
push on toward the Canadian line. I won’t feel easy till we cross the
border.”
That was Nick’s first clew to the intentions of Clancy and his pals.
They were working to get into Canada, where an American detective could
not touch them without going through a lot of red-tape proceedings.
If these men were captured, it must be before they crossed the line.
“How’ll we fix him?” asked Clancy.
“A gun is good enough,” said Cricket.
“A knife is better,” supplemented Spark. “It makes less noise.”
“What do we care for noise?” asked Clancy, with a harsh laugh; “there is
no one within a mile of us. But I know a trick worth two of either one
of those.”
“What is it?” inquired Spark.
“We’ll give him a chance to swim without the use of his hands or feet.”
“That’s the talk!” declared Cricket.
“Make for the bridge,” added Spark, “and we’ll toss him over.”
Clancy ran the Red Spider to the foot of the hill and onto the bridge,
halting close to the right-hand railing.
Then he and Spark stood up, Nick was caught by the feet and shoulders
and swung back and forth.
“One, two, three,” counted Clancy; “now, then!”
The form of the detective was released and went whirling outward and
downward.
“Help!” he cried, at the top of his voice; “the river!” Then he splashed
into the water and went plunging away on the breast of the swift
current.