A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE.
Though not particularly elated over having located Flood so promptly,
Nick Carter felt considerable satisfaction in that he had accomplished
it before Detective Gerry, who, he expected, might arrive upon the scene
at any moment. That Flood’s arrest would immediately follow, unless Nick
saw fit to prevent it, the detective had not a doubt.
The settled paleness of Flood’s clean-cut, forceful features when Nick
entered the room was the only outward sign of his recent brief
excitement. He greeted the disguised detective with a careless nod,
saying indifferently:
“Good morning, Badger. What brings you here at this hour? There’s seldom
anything doing before noon.”
“I know it, Mose,” replied Nick, with a glance about the room to learn
who was there. “I did not come to make a play.”
“For what, then?” asked Flood, smiling curiously. “Merely to make a
social call?”
“Not exactly that, either,” returned Nick. “I want a few words with you,
Mose.”
“With me, eh? Well, Badger, here I am; so you may out with them.”
“If it’s all the same to you, Mose, I’d prefer to see you alone.”
Flood began to suspect that his caller wished to borrow some money, an
experience to which he was by no means a stranger, and a look of less
concern rose to his face.
“You may come to my private room, Badger,” said he, leading the way, and
closing the door after they had entered. “Sit down if you like. Now,
what can I do for you? Are you strapped, or running low?”
It was the same room in which Flood had paid Kendall his ninety thousand
dollars, and, incidentally, included the deck of strippers with which he
had dealt himself a loser.
Nick glanced about the finely furnished room, then took a chair near the
table.
“No, Mose, I am not here to ask a loan of you,” said he, smiling. “I
suppose I could have it, however, if I wished one.”
“I think it likely, Joe,” said Flood, sitting carelessly on a corner of
the table.
“That’s like you, Mose,” remarked Nick, ready to note any change in the
face of his hearer. “Well, I’m not here for that. I call with another
object.”
“What object?”
“I have just come down from Fordham. I live out that way, you know.”
Flood started slightly and his dark brows drooped ominously.
“From Fordham?” said he, with eyes searching Nick’s.
“Exactly,” nodded Nick. “You’ve not heard the news, I take it?”
Yet Nick was already convinced that he was right in his suspicions, and
that Flood already knew of the murder. To learn what attitude he next
would take was Nick’s immediate motive, on which his own course
necessarily would depend.
“To what news do you refer, Joe?” Flood coolly inquired.
“It’s about that chap who made a big winning here last night. I was
present at the time, you remember.”
“Yes, I remember. But what about him?”
“Dead!” said Nick tersely.
“Dead!” echoed Flood, with well-feigned amazement.
“Murdered,” added Nick.
“Murdered! Impossible!”
“It’s a fact, Mose.”
“When and where?”
Though he now saw that Flood had already resolved upon some fixed line
of conduct, Nick was determined to drive him to the wall.
“He was killed about nine o’clock last night, Mose, near the house of
Doctor Royal, the Fordham rector.”
“You amaze me! Cecil Kendall dead! Are you sure of this, Badger?”
“Rather,” nodded Nick. “I saw the body myself. He was found near the
library windows, stiff as a poker, with his head crushed in with a
club.”
“Dreadful! Horrible!”
“So ’tis, Mose, but there’s no doubt about it,” continued Nick, watching
him as a cat watches a mouse. “They are dead sure it is a case of
murder.”
“Whom do you mean by they?”
“Detective Gerry and the police. They are out there looking for
evidence.”
“Gerry, of the central office?”
“The same.”
“God above!” exclaimed Flood, playing his part to perfection. “I can
hardly believe this, Badger.”
“You’ll find it’s true, all right,” declared Nick. “The poor devil’s
winnings didn’t do him much good, Mose. I reckon robbery was the motive,
for the satchel is missing which you loaned him to take away the stuff.”
“How do you know I loaned him the satchel for that purpose?” Flood now
demanded, with a harsh ring creeping into his heavy voice.
“Oh, I merely guessed at that, Mose; and it looks likely enough. You
heard young Royal’s threats, too. Mebbe he was the chap who did it.”
Flood sprang down with an oath.
“Not on your life, Badger!” he cried vehemently. “Royal’s threats were
the ravings of a drunken boy. He cannot have done it. It isn’t in him to
have done it. For your life, Badger, if you’re a friend of mine, don’t
ever hint again that Harry Royal committed this crime.”
A curious gleam showed for an instant in Nick’s keen eyes, but he gave
no expression to the thoughts that occasioned it.
“You’ve got no better friend than I am, Mose, you can gamble on that,”
he declared significantly.
“Possibly not.”
“It’s only because I wish to do you a good turn that I am here.”
“Do me a good turn!” echoed Flood, with eyes now glowing suspiciously.
“What do you mean by that, Joe Badger?”
“Can’t you guess what I mean, Mose?”
“By no means.”
“You ought to.”
“Well, I can’t,” cried Flood, with rising resentment. “Speak plainly.
What do you mean?”
Nick now drew forward in his chair and replied with lowered voice and
more impressively.
“I’ll tell you what I mean, Mose,” said he. “I was on the spot when this
trick was turned and I heard all that was said. Gerry has found the
weapon with which Kendall was killed. There’s no doubt about it!”
“Well, what of it?” demanded Flood, in perplexity too genuine to be
doubted. “Suppose they have found it? What’s that to me?”
“Much!”
“Why so?”
“The weapon, Mose, was a heavy ironwood cane, the same which you carried
when you left this house at eight o’clock last evening. The murder was
committed one hour later.”
Despite the rigid control he was imposing upon himself, which was
plainly obvious to Nick’s keen discernment, Flood now started slightly
upon hearing the detective’s disclosures. Nick saw at once that he had
brought the gamester at least one item of news, and that Flood, whatever
he knew of the crime, was ignorant of the means employed.
In an instant, however, though his face grew even more pale, Flood again
had his feelings under rigid control.
“Are you sure of what you are saying, Badger?” he slowly demanded, with
voice grown strangely hard.
“Dead sure of it, Mose.”
“That Kendall was killed with the cane you describe?”
“The evidence is conclusive. It is an ironwood cane with a large silver
head.”
“That’s like mine.”
“It was found hidden under some brushwood near the rear wall of the
grounds,” continued Nick. “It was covered with blood; and bits of scalp
and hair, plainly those of the murdered man, had cleaved to it.”
Flood heard him without moving from his seat on the edge of the table,
and with never a change in his set, white face.
“This is strange, Badger, on my word,” he said firmly.
“There is another bad feature, Mose.”
“Still another, eh? And what is that?”
“The cane was identified by Doctor Royal as belonging to you,” said Nick
pointedly.
“That so?”
“He declared that he had seen you carrying it many times, and that gave
Gerry the clue for which he was seeking. He said that you must be landed
without delay. He may arrive here at any moment to arrest you.”
Still Flood neither moved nor changed.
“Let him come,” said he, with icy indifference.
“You’ll stand for it?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll not attempt to escape?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I prefer to face the music. Don’t ask me why. That’s my
business.”
Nick began to see his way more clearly. Had Flood imagined for a moment
that his visitor was Nick Carter, he would have appreciated the
difficulty of hiding his true feelings and designs, and quite possibly
have proceeded differently. As it was, Nick was steadily getting at the
truth; yet he still had much to learn, and he saw that Flood had
resolved upon some fixed design which he by no means would voluntarily
disclose.
Nick was equally determined to discover of what the design consisted, as
well as the motive for it, and he now pressed home the weapon he knew
would wound deepest, and possibly evoke a self-betrayal. With a grave
shake of his head, he slowly answered:
“True, Mose, it is your business. But I told you just now I was as good
a friend as you have, and when Gerry spoke of arresting you I hastened
here to head him off and warn you of your danger.”
Flood relaxed a little, as if he appreciated the service mentioned, and
gravely answered:
“That was very good of you, Badger, and you meant well. But I am not a
man to run when danger threatens. I’ve been up against it too many
years.”
“You’ll let them arrest you, eh?”
“I shall make no move to prevent it.”
Nick’s grave voice took on a subtle ring.
“On the contrary, Mose, I think you will.”
“You think I will!” exclaimed Flood, with a dark frown.
“Precisely.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because it does not suit me, Mose, that you shall be arrested for
Kendall’s murder.”
“Not suit you! Why so?”
“For a very good reason. If robbery was the motive for the crime, I
happen to know that you did not commit it.”
“What do you mean?” Flood hoarsely gasped. “How do you know it?”
“Because no man would kill another for money voluntarily lost to him
within an hour,” cried Nick sharply. “I was wise to your play last
night. I saw you deal a very clever brace game, and yet you made
yourself a loser. With a deck of strippers you forced Kendall to win the
money for which he afterward was slain—but not by you, Moses Flood! I’ll
stake my life upon that, let the evidence be what it may. You——”
“Your life! God above, Badger, if you value that life, listen to me!”
Nick’s rapid verbal thrusts had accomplished just what he had expected.
Yet the change that had come over the gambler was one to have startled
and alarmed most men. As he heard the words that told him his secret was
known to another, Flood became ghastly white, sat silent for a moment,
then suddenly sprang down from the table, gave utterance to the
interruption noted, and seized Nick by the throat.
“You are mad—mad!” he fiercely continued, with eyes blazing and his
voice choked with rage. “I did nothing of the kind. My loss was on the
level. If you ever breathe another word of this, Joe Badger, I’ll
throttle your life from your body. I tell you——”
“Let go, Mose, or you’ll have done it here and now!” cried Nick,
struggling to his feet and throwing off the impassioned man. “I know
what I saw last night——”
“You lie! You lie!”
“And I’m out to learn the truth, Mose, the whole truth——”
“Stop! Hark you!” interrupted Flood, livid with passion. “I say you are
wrong—wrong—wrong! If you ever again assert that I dealt a false card
last night, so help me Heaven, I will——”
Clang!
Again the street door-bell rang loudly through the house.
Flood instantly dropped his hand from Nick’s collar, abruptly terminated
the threat he was about to utter, then turned like one electrified and
sprang to open the door of the outer room.
The humpback, with eyes starting from his head, appeared on the
threshold.
“God in Heaven!” he cried hoarsely, with his uncouth face convulsed with
alarm. “It’s Detective Gerry, of the central office.”
Nick saw and heard, and his bearded features took on a look of sudden
passionate resolution. With a bound he reached the gambler’s side and
threw him back toward the table, at the same time crying, with terrible
sternness:
“Hark you, Flood! Not a word! You must escape! Your arrest must be
prevented! Leave this detective to me!”
Nick Carter’s influence at such a critical moment was irresistible.
Moses Flood, scarce knowing why, recoiled from the terrible look on the
detective’s face, and Nick instantly strode into the outer room, closing
the door behind him.
The humpback was already darting to secure the heavy door leading into
the hall, with a view to preventing Gerry’s entrance.
Before this could be accomplished, however, the central office man, who
had bounded up the stairs, and saw the swinging door, hurled himself
forcibly against it and came nearly headlong into the room.
“Oh, I say, Gerry!” cried Nick coolly, “what’s the meaning of this?”
Gerry glared at him, as he recovered his equilibrium, but failed to
recognize him. Whipping out a document from his pocket, he cried
sharply:
“It means that I have a warrant here for the arrest of Moses Flood.
Where is he?”
“Arrest of Flood, eh?” rejoined Nick, with a derisive laugh. “Why the
devil didn’t you come in on horseback to serve it?”
Gerry, who was an impulsive fellow, though a very capable officer,
resented the remark with an ugly snarl.
“None of your durned business!” he cried angrily. “I’d have come in an
automobile if I’d wanted to.”
“You might have come in a balloon, Gerry, for all I should have cared,”
retorted Nick.
“Oh, is that so?”
“Flood’s not here, as you may see for yourself. It’s a bit early for him
to show up. Come down at this hour of the night, Gerry, and you’ll find
him. There are but few of us owls out in the sunlight.”
“Evidently you’re looking for trouble, mister,” snapped Gerry, with a
threatening nod at Nick. “I happen to know that Flood is here, for
Peters said so at the street door. He’s not so far away but that——”
“Stop a bit!”
“Not I!” thundered Gerry, drawing a revolver. “If you interfere with me,
my man. I’ll let daylight into you.”
And before Nick could prevent him the central office man sprang aside,
bounded to the door of Flood’s private room, and violently threw it
open.
One glance into the room was sufficient.
Even Nick Carter was startled and momentarily amazed.
For the private room, despite that the windows were thirty feet above
the ground, and only one door visible, was found to be vacant.
Moses Flood had vanished as mysteriously as if the walls of the room, or
the floor itself, had opened and swallowed him.