NEW CLUES.
As Gerry drew back, amazed at not finding Flood in his private room,
Nick caught one swift, significant glance from John Green, the humpback,
whose face had lighted like that of nature after a summer shower.
The glance spoke even louder than words, and it told Nick what he
already had begun to suspect—that a secret door existed, concealed in
one of the walls of the room, by which Flood had easily made his escape.
That he had decided to do so, moreover, suited Nick to the very letter;
and, with a cautionary wink at the humpback, he observed derisively:
“You’re down on a dead card, Gerry, that’s plain enough. I told you that
Flood was not here, and as you now may see for yourself.”
“But Peters informed me——”
“What Peters told you is of no consequence,” interrupted Nick. “It is
half-an-hour since Peters admitted him, and Flood has gone out
meantime.”
Much to his own satisfaction, Nick now felt tolerably sure that he spoke
the truth, and that Flood had for some reason changed his mind and
resolved to evade arrest. With a keen insight that was eminently
characteristic of him, moreover, when measuring men’s motives from their
conduct, Nick already suspected the occasion of the gambler’s change of
mind.
Nick did not defer his departure, therefore, merely to have further
words with Gerry. Leaving the latter to take what action he pleased, he
bestowed upon the humpback a wink that plainly advised a discreet
silence, then coolly marched down the stairs and out of the house.
He had accomplished more than superficially appears, as will soon become
obvious, and had paved the way for another curiously artful move.
It was nearly noon when he left the gaming-house, and having removed his
disguise at an opportune moment Nick next headed for the Milmore Trust
Company, to have a word with President Gilsey.
Just as he was approaching the bank building, however, he saw a flashily
clad young lady emerge, none other than Gilsey’s stenographer, then
about going to her lunch.
The instant Nick saw her he was struck with an idea, and, as previously
remarked of Nick, to think was to act. He quickly intercepted the girl,
to whom he said a bit curtly:
“You are Miss Belle Braddon, aren’t you?”
Belle arched her brows, stared at him for a moment, then pursed her red
lips, and replied:
“Yes, that’s my name. But, really, I don’t recall you, neither your face
nor your name.”
“Oh, yes, you do,” said Nick, with a rather impressive nod. “You just
think a bit, and you’ll presently speak it.”
“Dear me, is that so?” queried the girl, in tones of insolence. “Ah, now
that I look again, I believe I do. You are Detective Carter, are you
not?”
“Right!”
“I saw you in Mr. Gilsey’s office yesterday, did I not?”
“Right again, Miss Braddon. And there’s a question I wish you to
answer.”
“Indeed?”
“Why did you tell Moses Flood that Kendall was short in his accounts?”
Nick asked the question in a way that sent the color from the girl’s
cheeks, and her eyes betrayed that he had hit the nail on the head.
Yet Miss Braddon flushed hotly after a moment and curtly said, with a
resentful frown:
“I did nothing of the kind.”
“Yes, you did.”
“I did not! Why do you say so?”
“Because I know that Flood learned of it, and you’re the only person,
except Mr. Gilsey, who could have told him. Now, why did you tell him?”
Belle Braddon shrugged her shoulders, hesitated for a moment, and then
indulged in a low, mocking laugh.
“Your assertion is really too absurd, Detective Carter,” she glibly
replied. “To begin with, I did not know that Kendall was short in his
accounts; and to end with, I have not seen Moses Flood for a week. You
think I’m lying, eh?”
“Well——”
“Oh, I see that you do, so don’t deny it. Come round and call on me some
evening, Detective Carter, and we’ll talk it over—or have a game of
ping-pong, if you prefer. I mustn’t be seen talking too long with a man
on the street. It’s not good form, you know; so I’ll bid you good-by.”
With which Miss Braddon gathered up her skirts, gave Nick a nod and
smile of the chip-on-my-shoulder type, then tripped away without a look
behind her.
Nick knew that she had lied, but it served his purpose to let her go.
Yet he grimly said to himself as he entered the Trust Building:
“Don’t be too sure that it’s not au revoir, young lady, instead of
good-by. I now suspect you of cutting in this affair a figure bigger
than a cipher.”
Nick found Mr. Gilsey in his private office, dismayed by the news he had
received, not only of Cecil Kendall’s murder, but also of the latter’s
recent career, plainly indicating that the deficit at the bank was a
deplorable probability.
“I now have experts at work on the books, Detective Carter, and we shall
soon know the worst,” said he, after their greeting and a brief
discussion of the crime discovered that morning.
“I am like a man in a nightmare,” he added. “I can scarcely realize what
has occurred, and hardly know where I stand.”
“That’s not to be wondered at,” said Nick. “The situation is serious
enough surely, but I shall continue my work on the case and do the best
I can with it.”
“You have said that Kendall won a large sum of money last night, of
which he was robbed. Do you think there is any possibility of recovering
that money?”
“I certainly shall try to do so, Mr. Gilsey.”
“I hope you may succeed.”
“I shall make every effort, sir. There are several questions I wish you
to answer, and I must then hasten away upon other work bearing on the
case. To begin with, Gilsey, has Kendall been observably friendly with
your private stenographer, Miss Braddon?”
Gilsey looked surprised for a moment, then answered:
“Why, yes, I think that he has been. They have frequently lunched in
company, and I have heard of them at the theaters together. I cannot, of
course, say to what extent their intimacy has gone.”
“It does not matter particularly,” replied Nick. “You stated yesterday
that she lives with her uncle.”
“Yes.”
“Who is he?”
“He is one of our depositors. His name is Godard—Nathan Godard.”
“Oh, ho! Flood’s lookout at the faro-bank!” Nick exclaimed to himself.
“By Jove! this affair is shaping itself up in a new light. I begin to
scent a rat.”
With no betrayal of his momentary surprise, however, Nick presently said
aloud:
“How large a deposit does Godard carry here?”
“Several thousand dollars at times.”
“Flood’s money,” thought Nick promptly. “Deposited in Godard’s name.”
“It is comparatively small now, however, amounting to only a few hundred
dollars,” added Gilsey. “Surely, Carter, you do not suspect my
stenographer or her uncle of having any part in these crimes?”
Nick did not tell him what he suspected. Instead, he said gravely, as he
took his hat to depart:
“I am not prepared to make any statement, Mr. Gilsey. I have, however, a
bit of advice to give you, which I wish you to promptly follow.”
“And what is your advice?”
“Get rid of your stenographer with the least possible delay, Mr.
Gilsey.”
“Good heavens!”
“When she returns from lunch, sir, discharge her immediately, and
without a recommendation,” added Nick. “If she asks you why you do so,
inform her that Nick Carter advises it! Nay, even more than that, tell
her that I command it.”
“But——”
“There are no buts, Gilsey,” protested Nick emphatically. “Either do
this, and do it this very day, or up go my hands and I drop the whole
case. I do not give such instructions as these without an object. When
the time comes, Gilsey, you shall know why I insist upon this.”
Gilsey did not fancy the expression on Nick’s face, and he wisely pulled
in his horns.
“Why, certainly, Carter, if you put it in that way,” said he. “I will
discharge Miss Braddon the moment she returns.”
“Very good.”
“But I fail to see——”
“You will see at the proper time, Gilsey, take my word for that,”
interrupted Nick. “Now, there is one more thing.”
“Well?”
“Write Nathan Godard at once, and instruct him to withdraw his deposit.
Give him no reason, mind you, but insist upon his closing his account
here.”
“Well, well, this is a curious proceeding——”
“He’ll not think so, Gilsey,” Nick again interrupted significantly.
“He’ll comply without an objection, take my word for that. Look to it,
Gilsey, and leave all the rest to me. I’ll turn a trick for you of some
importance, old chap, before this case ends. But no more on that subject
just now. I must be off at once.”
Leaving the banker to stare and wonder, Nick hastened from the building
and headed for home.
“Nathan Godard, eh?” he grimly soliloquized, as he walked briskly away.
“Uncle to Belle Braddon, eh? And she has been hand and glove with
Kendall, eh?
“Why, it’s as simple as two times two. The girl is queer from her feet
up, a clever crook, secretly a capper for the game at Moses Flood’s. As
likely as not, Mose does not know of it, but I’d go my pile that Godard
has been using the girl for a decoy.
“It’s a hundred to one that she started Kendall on the down grade and
lured him into Godard’s clutches. When a girl of her stamp works at a
respectable vocation, it is invariably with an evil design. From the day
she sought employment in that bank, the jade had Kendall marked for her
secret prey; and Godard opened an account there only to give things a
better look to the poor devil.
“Well, well, he has danced his dance and has now paid the price. His
blood is on some man’s hands, and I must learn whose. Luckily, I now
know some hands that are still clean, despite the mass of evidence to
the contrary. Unless I am greatly mistaken, I shall give that central
office sleuth, Gerry, a queer feeling before this case goes upon
record.”
Thus musing, Nick hastened home, where he found Chick just returned from
the Carleton Chambers and a call upon young Harry Royal.
“Well, what did he have to say for himself?” asked Nick, the moment he
entered.
“He spoke fairly enough,” replied Chick, laying aside his cigar. “He
says he did not go to Fordham last evening, but went directly from the
faro-bank to his room in the Carleton Chambers.”
“He’s a liar!” exclaimed Nick, frowning.
“Ah, you’ve struck a clue, eh?”
“A thread, Chick—merely a thread. Yet I’ll wager I know to what it
leads. I’ll not delay to explain, for I want a crack at that young man
myself. Did you leave him at his lodgings?”
“Yes, less than half-an-hour ago,” nodded Chick. “I think you’ll find
him there, for he appeared badly knocked out, and said he was as sick as
a dog.”
“The result of a week’s debauch,” growled Nick censoriously. “It serves
him right. Did you inform him of Kendall’s murder?”
“He had already heard of it, Nick, and that Flood is suspected of the
crime.”
“H’m! So the news has spread, eh? Well, I’ll soon settle that chap’s
breakfast. I want a bout with him before others can get in a blow. Just
wait a bit, Chick; I want your opinion of a disguise.”
Nick hurried from the room and Chick resumed his cigar. At the end of
ten minutes the former returned, yet one would never have known him.
His figure was slightly padded, his brows darkened, his lower features
heavily bearded, and he was tastefully clad in a suit of black, with a
generous display of immaculate shirt-front and a piercing solitaire
stud.
Barring the heavy beard, Nick at that moment was a counterfeit
presentment of—Moses Flood.