UNDER OATH.
“That’s what I propose to do, Chick.”
“Go to the bottom of it, Nick?”
“Plumb to the bottom,” declared the famous detective. “I am now in the
case in dead earnest, Chick, and I’m going to know who killed that man
Kendall or lose a leg in the attempt.”
“I’ll wager you’ll retain both legs,” laughed Chick.
“I gave my word to that Royal girl when I believed there appeared
nothing very serious in the way of making good my promise, and now that
I find myself confronted with the most serious of all problems, I’m
blessed if I’ll throw up the sponge. I’ll ferret out the truth, the
whole truth, and nothing but the truth. You hear me!”
Chick laughed again, and he was by no means blind to the grim
determination reflected in Nick’s face, nor to the feelings with which
his words were imbued.
It was less than an hour since Nick left the scene of the murder
committed the previous night, and he had hurried home to rejoin Chick
and inform him of all he had seen and heard.
With Nick Carter to think was to act, yet despite his hurried return
from Fordham, and the fact that he was now very definitely actuated,
Nick was not a little puzzled by the conflicting evidence of the case.
It was this evidence that he was discussing with Chick, which had led to
the foregoing digression, while Nick was rapidly putting on the same
disguise that he had worn in Flood’s place the previous evening.
“It appears plain enough that Flood went out there last night after
leaving his faro-bank,” Nick grimly continued. “You saw him take that
cane just as he departed, and I can swear it to be the same that was
found this morning.”
“It cannot have gone out there of itself,” remarked Chick.
“But why Flood went out there again, after having been turned down by
the rector, and making that big losing to Kendall, is more than I can
conjecture.”
“You heard young Royal’s threats in the faro-bank,” said Chick.
“Certainly I heard them.”
“Possibly Flood feared that the drunken scamp meant to execute them, and
he may have gone out there to prevent him.”
Nick quickly shook his head.
“Well enough reasoned, Chick,” said he, “but your theory hasn’t feet to
stand on.”
“Why not?”
“In the first place,” replied Nick, “Flood attached no serious
importance to Royal’s threats, and barely gave them a second thought.
His face showed that; also that his mind was intent upon some other
matter.”
“I’ll admit that he appeared so.”
“Furthermore,” added Nick, “he had only Royal’s maudlin intimation as to
where Kendall might be found, and he would not have banked so heavily on
them as to have traveled post-haste to Fordham.”
“Possibly not, Nick.”
“He must have gone directly out there, however, for it was after eight
o’clock when he left the faro-bank, and we have the physician’s word for
it that the murder was committed about nine o’clock.”
“That’s true.”
“No, no, Chick, some other motive took Flood out to Fordham last night,
and only the devil himself could guess just what occurred there.”
“You don’t believe that he killed Kendall?”
“Not by a long chalk!”
“I’d wager all I possess against that.”
“But what about young Royal?”
“He’s an open question.”
“Do you think he did it?”
“It’s barely possible, yet it is too early in the game to think
profitably,” replied Nick. “There’s something I want you to do.”
“Name it.”
“Royal keeps a room at the Carleton Chambers. Do you know where they are
located?”
“Yes.”
“Then into a disguise, in order that we may not appear in the case as
yet, and go up there,” continued Nick. “If you can find Royal, question
him as to where he went last night after leaving Flood’s place, and see
what you can gather from his answers and his bearing.”
“Trust me for that, Nick. But suppose he is away?”
“Then quietly ascertain, if possible, whether he occupied his room there
last night, and at precisely what time he came in.”
“Is that all?”
“All for the present, Chick, as far as he is concerned. That central
office sleuth, Gerry, will get after him soon enough, as well as after
Flood, and I wish at present to keep a bit in the background.”
“Gerry will soon learn all about Kendall’s winning that money.”
“No doubt, Chick, but he’ll not discover that Flood lost it voluntarily.
You and I and that cuekeeper are all that know about it, and the
humpback will keep his mouth closed. I’ll wager that Flood has insured
that.”
“But the evidence against Flood is decidedly incriminating,” declared
Chick. “Gerry will probably land him this very morning.”
“I don’t think so,” smiled Nick oddly. “I’m going to get in the way of
Mr. Detective Gerry.”
“Oh, ho, that’s your game, is it?”
“That’s the beginning of it,” replied Nick, more gravely. “I’m
convinced, despite the evidence against him, that Flood had no hand in
this crime. Before I can proceed to an intelligent investigation of it,
however, I must learn just where Moses Flood stands, and what attitude
he will take when informed of the murder.”
“I see,” nodded Chick.
“He may deny any knowledge of it, or claim that he was not——Ah, but
what’s the use of trying to anticipate Flood’s conduct?” Nick bluntly
demanded. “A man who would do what he did last evening, Chick, would
hesitate at nothing that served his purpose. He’s as difficult to read
as—as——”
“As yourself,” supplemented Chick, with a laugh.
“Possibly even more difficult,” smiled Nick, as he completed his
disguise. “At all events, Chick, I’m not quite sure that I want Flood
arrested, and so I’m going to get in Gerry’s way until I can learn how
the land lies.”
“Do you think Flood will inform you?”
“I don’t think that he will, but I believe I can gather something from
an interview with him,” explained Nick.
“I see.”
“He’ll not suspect me, in this disguise, of being other than a fellow
gamester, and I have already shaped my course with him. Meantime you
investigate young Harry Royal, and meet me here at noon.”
“Leave that youngster to me,” nodded Chick, as they prepared to depart,
in company. “By the way, Nick, have you communicated with Gilsey, of the
Trust Company?”
“I have telephoned him only that Kendall was in Flood’s place last
evening,” replied Nick. “I could not well inform him of the murder
without disclosing that I had been out there. He’ll get the news of that
soon enough, however. As the case now looks,” added the detective, as
they were about parting at the street corner, “I think we may have some
warm work before we see the end of it.”
“Let it come, Nick. I reckon we can take care of it.”
“We’ll give it a try, at all events. See me again at noon, Chick.”
“Sure thing.”
It happened that morning that Moses Flood arrived at his gambling-house
less than ten minutes in advance of Nick Carter. It was an hour,
moreover, when there was rarely any business, and Flood found the house
deserted by all except the attendant at the street door and the deformed
cuekeeper on the floor above. Both were engaged in putting the place in
order after the night game.
Flood at once mounted the stairs and entered the chamber previously
described. At that hour, however, the room presented a vivid contrast.
It was like looking at the bare stage of a theater seen by daylight.
There was no game going, no excited players, no glare of electric
lights, no clicking of ivory chips, no signs of apprehension, no
precautionary measures. For the door of the room stood open, and John
Green, the humpback, was engaged in wiping the glassware on the
sideboard.
Flood appeared pale and haggard, like one who has passed a sleepless
night; yet he was neatly dressed, as was always the case, and carried
himself with habitual dignity and composure.
“Good morning, John!” said he, with a sharp glance about the room.
The face of the humpback lighted perceptibly, yet a certain anxious look
in his tired eye betrayed his secret misgivings.
“Good morning, Mr. Flood!” he replied, a bit huskily. “You’re down
early, sir.”
“Somewhat. Who has been here this morning?”
“Only Nate Godard, sir. He looked in for a minute, then said he had an
errand down-town.”
“No one else has called?”
“Not a soul, sir.”
Flood suppressed a sigh of relief; yet, despite the assurance given him,
his eyes again swept sharply about the room.
“What time did the game stop last night?” he asked.
“Just about midnight, sir. There weren’t many around after—after——”
“After I made my big losing?” queried the gambler, with a faint smile
crossing his pale face.
“Aye, sir; that’s what I had in mind,” replied Green, with grave
humility.
“Did young Royal show up again?”
“No, sir.”
“You saw what I did, John?”
“How could I help seeing it, Mr. Flood? I had to mark up the cues when
you signed a card taken.”
“Did I do the job well, John?”
“Sure, sir—well’s no name for it!” cried the humpback. “On my word, sir,
I was the most surprised man that ever sat shaking in a chair.”
“There was nothing for you to fear.”
“Mebbe ’twasn’t all fear, sir.”
“Be not surprised at anything I may do,” added Flood moodily. “Was any
person wise to the play?”
“Never a one, sir,” declared Green, with emphasis. “All hands thought
the losing was on the level. Not a man save us knows what you did, Mr.
Flood. I’d stake my life on that.”
“For your life, then, John, keep the secret!” cried Flood, laying a
heavy hand on his startled hearer’s shoulder. “Give me your word, your
oath, man, that you’ll keep it, let come what may!”
“My oath ’tis, sir, then!” cried the humpback, with his hand
impressively raised. “So help me God, sir, I’ll keep the secret!”
“Nor reveal it under any circumstances?”
“Never, sir, until you say the word.”
“For reasons of my own, John, I wish——”
“Oh, dash your reasons, sir!” came the impulsive interruption. “Your
wish is enough for me. I’ve not forgot ’twas you who took me out of the
streets and put me in the way of a decent living. I told you last night
you could trust me. And I tell you now, sir, I’ll let go my life if need
be to hide what you did last night.”
Flood dropped his hand from the man’s shoulder and took that of the
speaker.
“I know that I can trust you, John,” said he slowly. “My only fear was
that you might disclose the truth for my sake, should serious
circumstances involve me.”
“Not I, sir, if you say not.”
“Understand me, John,” and Flood’s resonant voice grew strangely hard
and grim. “I am now playing against a tough and hard game, the hardest a
man ever has to face, and one that may bring me between life and death.”
“Good God, sir!”
“Nay, don’t start and grow pale. I know what I’m about and what I am
saying. Mark well my words, and remember your vow. Under no
circumstances, not even to save my neck from a hangman’s noose, are you
by word or sign to betray my secret.”
The face of the humpback was the color of dead ashes, and its expression
one never to be forgotten. Yet he again raised his hand and fervently
answered:
“Never, sir, God hearing me!”
“If I ever wish the truth disclosed, I will inform you. Till then, let
come what may, be silent—always silent!”
“Trust me, sir, my lips are sealed.”
“And if the gratitude of a man of my calling is worth anything,” added
Flood, with a strange light sweeping over his hueless face, “if a
gambler’s appreciation, a gamester’s thanks——Hush! Not a word! See who
rang——”
A single note from the bell on the street door had sounded through the
quiet house.
It caused Flood to start as if stung. His countenance changed like a
flash. His features became hard as flint, and his eyes, in which were
reflected the sad memories evoking his grateful words, took on a light
like that cast from a blade of polished steel.
The humpback darted into the hall and peered down the stairs.
The attendant was just opening the street door.
Nick Carter, in the disguise of Joe Badger, stood on the steps.
“Hello, Peters!” he exclaimed familiarly, “is Moses Flood about?”
The goggle eyes of the humpback swept round to meet those of the
gamester, standing as rigid as stone in the adjoining room.
“It’s only Joe Badger, sir,” he whispered hoarsely.
Again that fleeting expression of relief swept over Flood’s white face.
“Badger—at this hour!” he muttered darkly. “What does he want?”
“He says he must see you, sir.”
“Must?”
“That was the word, sir.”
“Must! Ha! What matters? Let him come up.”
The humpback called down the stairs:
“All right, Peters! Let him come up!”
And Nick Carter quickly mounted the stairs.