THE RIGHT MAN.
It was precisely nine o’clock when Nick Carter, Chick, and Belle Braddon
arrived at Godard’s shore house, to which they were admitted by the
humpback and conducted into the dining-room.
Nate Godard appeared pale and somewhat intoxicated when he received
them, but his nerve quickly returned after the introductions and the
hearty responses of his visitors, and he promptly invited them to the
sideboard to have a drink.
“Here’s your very good health, Mr. Hedge,” said he, addressing Nick by
the name he had assumed.
“Yours, too, sir,” cried Nick.
“So you are fond of bucking the tiger, are you, and have come out here
to give my game a little play?”
“Fond of it’s no name for it, neighbor,” declared Nick, as he drained
his glass. “I’m a bit off color just now, though, for I haven’t set down
before a stack o’ checks for nigh a year. All the more saved up for you
to win, eh?” he added, with a boisterous display of good humor. “That
ere’s one way o’ looking at it, Mr. Godard.”
Godard joined in Nick’s loud laugh, and Belle Braddon, who was now
making up to Nick with an eye to the future, playfully twined his arm
with her hand and cried gleefully:
“Oh, you’re really too funny, Mr. Hedge.”
“Thet so, lass?”
“You make me laugh nearly every time you speak.”
“Waal, as long as I don’t make you cry, my dear gal, there’s no sleep to
be lost, eh?”
“No, not a wink, sir,” Belle rejoined, with a seductive glance and
smile.
A very little of such banter as this went a long way with Nick when more
serious business was pressing, and he presently asked roundly:
“Where’s your game, Mr. Godard? Let’s have a look at it.”
“We can talk and play at the same time, you know,” put in Chick
agreeably.
“You don’t do any playing, my boy,” roared Nick good-naturedly. “It’s
bad enough fur one o’ the Hedge family to be up agin’ the tiger. You
don’t set down a chip—mind that, my boy.”
“Well, I can look on, can’t I?” grumbled Chick. “There’s no harm in
that!”
“Sure you can look on, lad. There’s no chance to lose in looking on.”
“Come up-stairs, Mr. Hedge,” said Godard.
“I’m coming, too,” declared Belle, as he led the way. “I want to see how
you Westerners go at the game, Mr. Hedge.”
“We go at it, gal, like a bull at a gate,” Nick loudly laughed, slipping
his arm around her as they mounted the stairs.
Green already had the room brightly lighted, yet he gave no sign of ever
having seen the visitors.
The faro-room was, barring the elaborate furnishings at Flood’s, not
unlike that previously described, and a sonorous laugh broke from Nick
Carter when he beheld the layout on the table and saw the preparations
which had been made for the game.
“Waal, she does have a durned natural look, Godard,” he cried, in
stentorian tones. “How much can I sit to win?”
“Your expenses, at least,” Godard significantly replied, joining in the
other’s laugh.
Nick’s expressive eyes evinced just the least bit of disappointment when
he perceived the pack of cards laid carelessly on a chair at one side of
the table, but when Nathan Godard took his seat back of the layout, and
then produced a pack from behind the check-rack, a momentary blaze fired
their somber depths, only to wane again to a steady glow like that of
burning coals through the darkness.
Nick recognized the deck of cards at a glance.
It was the same deck of strippers with which Moses Flood had dealt
himself a loser and afterward strapped in the satchel with the money he
had paid to Cecil Kendall, less than one hour before the latter was
murdered in the rectory grounds.
They were very positive evidence of Nathan Godard’s guilt, yet Nick knew
that there were other cards like them, and foresaw that even further
proof was desirable. A profound reader of human nature, as well as a man
of tremendous mental force, Nick was planning to drive the wretch
opposite to a frenzy of excitement when, at the proper time, he could
evoke from him an involuntary yet absolute self-betrayal.
“My expenses, eh?” he boisterously replied, turning to wink at Belle,
then at the humpback cuekeeper, who had taken his seat at the end of the
table.
“Sure thing, sir, if you get ’em down right,” laughed Godard, a bit
nervously.
“Waal, my expenses will be suthing,” roared Nick, “if we blow in the
stuff as we did at the Waldorf. Gee whiz! but it costs suthing to eat
and liquor up in that ’ere tavern. Eh, Archie?”
“Right you are, old man,” nodded Chick, who was seated near-by.
“Are you in with my play, lass, or with Godard’s?” cried Nick, turning
to Belle with a great display of joviality.
“I’m always in with the winner,” replied the girl, with a ringing laugh.
“Oh, ho, that’s it, eh? Cunning as a kitten, aren’t you?”
“I’m always looking out for my own interest,” grinned Belle, patting
Nick’s cheek from behind his chair.
“Good for you, gal,” cried Nick approvingly. “Waal, Mr. Godard, across
the crick thar, give me a stack o’ chips. I’ll show you how we play the
bank on the t’other side o’ the Mississip. I dropped seven thousand in
hides in Chicago, on my way here, the which I’m out to get back. Ha, ha!
in with the winner, lass, are you?”
While boisterously voicing the above, Nick drew from the side pocket of
his coat a huge roll of bank-notes, from which he quickly stripped off
two of five hundred dollars each, and carelessly tossed them across the
layout.
“Gimme a stack o’ chips!” he cried noisily.
“One stack?” queried Godard, startled by the prospect of so big a game.
“One stack—sartin!” cried Nick. “Fifty dollars a chip, that’s good
enough fur me. Same as plug ante, what we used to play in ’49 under the
wagon-trains. What’s the limit, by the way?”
Godard began to tremble under this show of utter recklessness.
“You may stack them up until I call you down,” said he, speaking calmly
with an effort.
Yet he did not feel easy. It is no small undertaking to deal brace faro,
even under ordinary conditions; and to Godard these appeared without
precedent.
His evil heart was beating like a trip-hammer. His blood was rushing
like fire through his veins. Yet the sight of the pretended
cattle-dealer’s money served to nerve him for a time, and with jaws
fixed he began to shuffle the deck of strippers.
“Till you call me down, eh?” roared Nick, as if in great enjoyment.
“That ought to be good enough, and it’s what I like to hear. No piking
around fur me, a chip a rip. They say it’s good luck to stake a cuss
afore beginning, so take that, my bucko, and put it in your kit.”
“Thankee, sir!” cried the humpback, as Nick tossed him a chip valued at
fifty dollars.
Nick nodded and laughed.
“You’re sort of a cross atween a man and monkey, ain’t ye?” he jokingly
demanded.
“Well, sir, I’ll not take any blue ribbons for my beauty,” rejoined
Green, laughing.
“Ha, ha, ha!” roared Nick. “That’s the stuff, my lad! All ready, eh?
What’s to the top o’ the box—an eight?”
Despite his show of carelessness, Nick had seen the cards shuffled,
stripped, and butted. He knew to a certainty how to place his money. He
divided his stack of chips and coppered two winners for the entire lot.
Godard felt a thrill of exultation.
Nick had set his money down to lose.
The miscreant opposite was not forced to take a false card in order to
win, and he felt relieved.
The first turn from the box brought a decision—the pretended dealer in
cattle had lost.
“Oh, ho!” he cried, with a quick flash of his eyes. “Can you do thet,
ag’in? Let’s see you do thet ag’in!”
Godard’s only reply was to send out another turn from the deal box.
But Nick’s question was answered—he had lost again, just as he had
planned.
Now he did not laugh. He jerked his chair quickly nearer the table, and
ferociously yanked out his roll of money.
“Gimme two stacks this time!” he cried aggressively.
“Two goes, mister,” nodded Godard.
He raked in the bank-notes cast upon the layout, and set forth their
equivalent in chips.
Yet he did not speak again, to add to his husky remark. He dared not
trust his voice. It was nothing short of robbery, this that he was
doing, and he felt that he could see his finish if he got caught
cheating.
Nick looked and acted like a man who would fairly eat another, under
such a provocation.
Then Nick went down upon the layout with every chip that he had bought.
This time he bet to win, thus forcing Godard to take a false card.
Nick’s object was to drive the man to a frenzy of excitement, when
discretion would be overwhelmed, and then bring a climax that would
evoke self-betrayal.
Godard took the false card, made a secret sign, and a quick responsive
rap sounded from his cuekeeper.
Yet he was ghastly to the lips when he glanced at Nick to see if the
deception had been detected.
Nick saw it all right, but his countenance did not change. He saw, too,
that Godard was beginning to work under the highest kind of pressure.
The latter raked in a thousand dollars on the turn, and the magnitude of
the possibility before him alone enabled him to maintain his nerve.
“Can’t I win a bet?” Nick hoarsely cried, after buying for the third
time and losing. “Curse the infernal luck—can’t I win a bet?”
“You are really getting them down a bit unlucky, uncle,” observed Chick,
with pretended sympathy.
“So he is, dear man,” said Belle, in persuasive tones.
They now appeared to be wasted upon the irate cattle-dealer, however.
“Gimme some more chips, Godard,” he fiercely growled, slinging a fifth
thousand dollars over the layout. “Gimme some more chips, I say! What
sort of a dealer hev I been steered up agin’, eh?”
“The deal is all right, sir,” stammered Godard.
“Who said ’twasn’t? I said dealer!” snarled Nick ferociously.
Godard’s hand shook visibly as he shoved the desired stacks of chips
toward Nick. The strain upon him was something frightful, and his brain
felt as if seared with a terrible heat. The gravity of the situation
seemed to steadily increase, and fear of what might occur was taking
ugly hold upon him. He ground his teeth together, and nerved himself to
finish the deal.
From the top of the box to the bottom Nick did not win a bet.
He started the second deal ten thousand dollars loser, and Godard was
trembling in his chair.
The second deal was about like the first.
Nick played to lose. He coppered the winning cards, and played the
losers to win. Time and time again he forced himself to call for more
chips, and each time noticed that Godard was becoming more and more
beside himself. The perspiration stood in great drops on the latter’s
face, and the arteries of his neck and brow were pulsing violently. Nick
saw that he had him nearly where he wanted him.
Even Belle Braddon was gazing with affrighted eyes upon the dreadful
scene, hushed and pale now, with her hands pressed above her heart.
Chick saw by the look in Nick’s eyes that the climax was approaching,
and he quietly made ready for it.
Half-a-minute later Nick drove the knife deeper into his victim.
The deal had come down to two turns only, and Nick knew the cues were
wrong and that Godard must take a card to right them.
Nick forced Godard to win by stealing, and the latter’s hand shook as if
with palsy as he did it.
A rap from the cuekeeper followed, and then the announcement:
“Last turn!”
Nick resolved it should be the very last.
He placed his bet—and purposely lost!
Then he uttered a terrible cry, as if thrilled with sudden suspicion.
“Be the cues right? Be the cues right?” he roared, glaring fiercely at
the startled humpback.
“Aye, sir——”
“Then lemme see them cards!” yelled Nick, with his swarthy face awfully
distorted and his eyes blazing like fire. “Lemme see the cards. I say!
—— you, Godard, there’s suthing wrong with them cards!”
The humpback leaped to his feet with a hoarse remonstrance, and while
Nathan Godard, ghastly as a corpse, covered the cards with his left
hand, his right went to his hip pocket.
It was the very move Nick wanted to see him make.
“Lemme see ’em!” he roared furiously, half rising from his chair. “I
tell you there’s suthing wrong with them cards!”
“I think not——”
“Lemme see ’em! Lemme see ’em, or I’ll——”
“Let him see them, Nate!” shrieked Belle Braddon, wild lest Godard’s
frightful agitation should betray him.
Nick reached across the layout with a terrible imprecation, and snatched
the pack of cards from under Godard’s quivering hand.
“There’s blood on them!” he roared fiercely, with his eyes fixed on
those of the shaking man opposite. “There’s blood on them! The blood of
a man killed for money—killed for gain, and by you who now——”
Nick got no further.
The thrilling accusation was more than Nate Godard, in his unnerved
condition, could sustain. He saw the scheme by which he was being
duped—and he saw again the staring corpse that he had left behind him in
the rectory grounds in Fordham.
With a single wild cry, most like a shriek, he leaped to his feet.
“Curse you!” he yelled; “I know you now! You’re Moses Flood!”
“You lie!” thundered Nick, tearing off his disguise. “I am Nick Carter,
the detective!”
Belle Braddon uttered a scream that pierced the very walls of the house,
and from somewhere under her skirts snatched out a revolver.
Chick Carter, with eyes alert to see where he was most needed, was upon
her as a leopard leaps upon a hare.
“Not on your life, miss!” he cried, wrenching away the weapon and
forcing her into a chair.
Nate Godard, too, had drawn his revolver, but he never again discharged
it.
Nick swept across the table like a whirlwind, and in an instant had the
desperate man by the throat.
Then he drew back, startled.
Godard’s grip on his revolver had relaxed, and the weapon fell
clattering to the floor. He threw both hands above his head, like one
stricken a fatal blow, then brought both palms violently to his skull,
as if within were the seat of a dreadful pain. His distorted face
suddenly grew ghastly, with lips drawn and eyes rolling, and but for
Nick Carter’s supporting arm he would have fallen headlong to the floor.
“He’s done for!” cried Nick to Chick, over his shoulder.
Nick was right: one glance at the man’s death-swept face was enough.
In the awful stress of his horror, terror, and excitement, Nathan Godard
had ruptured an artery of his brain.
The rest, involving the subsequent fortunes of those who have figured in
these pages, may be briefly and simply told.
Godard died within an hour, without regaining consciousness, and thus
cheated human justice, only to meet at a divine tribunal the punishment
he deserved.
From Belle Braddon, however, whom fear of punishment now drove to a
confession, the facts were obtained that fully established Godard’s
guilt.
He had left the faro-bank just after seeing Kendall win the ninety
thousand dollars, and when the latter emerged Godard shadowed him to
Fordham.
As Nick Carter had shrewdly reasoned, Kendall went to peer through the
library window before entering the rectory. Godard, meantime, had seen
Flood arrive and hitch his team at the rear gate, putting his heavy cane
in the body of the buggy.
Flood, however, wishing to see Dora Royal alone, had not gone directly
to that side of the house on which the crime was committed, but had
passed slowly around it, in the hope of attracting her attention from
one of the windows.
Godard, meantime, secured Flood’s cane, waylaid and killed Kendall, then
made off with the satchel of money, afterward concealing the cane in the
brushwood, that the crime might be charged to Flood.
The latter, upon coming around the house, had seen only Harry Royal,
with the results already set forth.
Belle Braddon did not for her confession, however, escape punishment for
her evil doings. Nick promptly placed her under arrest, as an accessory
after the crime, as well as for the attempt upon his life, and she
ultimately received her just deserts.
When the heroic part that Moses Flood had played in behalf of the Royals
was fully made known to the rector, he did precisely what Nick Carter
anticipated. Upon Flood’s renunciation of his business, which had been
entirely voluntary, Doctor Royal forgave the past and accepted him as
his daughter’s suitor.
Flood went abroad for six months, returning as the American
representative of one of the largest silk concerns in France, and he and
Dora Royal were married that year, establishing themselves in a fine
West End Avenue residence. The two houses, which were sad reminders of
his past, Flood sold to the best advantage, and gave the entire proceeds
to charity.
The love and gratitude of the happy couple for Nick Carter may be easily
imagined, and both were numbered among Nick’s dearest friends.
The great detective frequently said of Flood in after years, when
recalling the incidents here depicted:
“He certainly was the prince of gamesters!”
And certainly it seems to be a good safe wager that Nick Carter, as
usual, was entirely right.
THE END.
FRANK MERRIWELL
Is the hero of every true American boy. Frank has had numerous
adventures which are chronicled in a manner most satisfactory to every
boy who seeks clean, vigorous literature. These books can be found only
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Price, 10c. Per Copy
By BURT L. STANDISH.
150 Frank Merriwell’s School-Days.
167 Frank Merriwell’s Chums.
178 Frank Merriwell’s Foes.
184 Frank Merriwell’s Trip West.
189 Frank Merriwell Down South.
193 Frank Merriwell’s Bravery.
197 Frank Merriwell’s Hunting Tour.
201 Frank Merriwell in Europe.
205 Frank Merriwell at Yale.
209 Frank Merriwell’s Sports Afield.
213 Frank Merriwell’s Races.
217 Frank Merriwell’s Bicycle Tour.
225 Frank Merriwell’s Courage.
229 Frank Merriwell’s Daring.
233 Frank Merriwell’s Athletes.
237 Frank Merriwell’s Skill.
240 Frank Merriwell’s Champions.
247 Frank Merriwell’s Secret.
251 Frank Merriwell’s Danger.
254 Frank Merriwell’s Loyalty.
258 Frank Merriwell in Camp.
262 Frank Merriwell’s Vacation.
267 Frank Merriwell’s Cruise.
271 Frank Merriwell’s Chase.
276 Frank Merriwell in Maine.
280 Frank Merriwell’s Struggle.
284 Frank Merriwell’s First Job.
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They are high-class tales, not of the “blood-and-thunder” order, but
with plausible plots which hold the reader fairly captivated with
breathless expectation. Among these are the stories of the adventures of
Nick Carter and his clever assistants; of “Old Spicer,” the clever
private detective, whose exploits are among the most remarkable ever
performed by any detective. If you are in search of good, interesting
matter, a decided change from that to which you have been accustomed,
purchase a few of these titles. They will not only please and interest
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PUBLISHED EVERY WEEK
To be Published During April
441—The Ring of Iron By Inspector Stark
440—The Lure of Gold By Nicholas Carter
439—The “L” Mystery By Dick Stewart
438—Behind a Throne By Nicholas Carter
To be Published During March
437—A King Among Crooks By J. K. Stafford
436—Under the Tiger’s Claws By Nicholas Carter
435—The Great Green Diamond By Inspector Stark
434—Through the Cellar Wall By Nicholas Carter
To be Published During February
433—The Human Cat By Dick Stewart
432—The “Limited” Hold-Up By Nicholas Carter
431—Shot From Above By J. K. Stafford
430—Marked for Death By Nicholas Carter
To be Published During January
429—On the Trail of “Big Finger” By Scott Campbell
428—Below the Dead Line By Scott Campbell
427—The Sign of the Dagger By Nicholas Carter
426—The Western Ferret By Inspector Stark
425—The Crime of the Camera By Nicholas Carter
424—The Belrox Mystery By Dick Stewart
423—The Terrible Thirteen By Nicholas Carter
422—The Crimson Blind By Fred M. White
421—A Triple Identity By Nicholas Carter
420—The Nitroglycerin League By Inspector Stark
419—The Bloodstone Terror By Nicholas Carter
418—The Man Who Hid By Dick Stewart
417—A Victim of Deceit By Nicholas Carter
416—The Broken Pen By J. K. Stafford
415—The Key Ring Clew By Nicholas Carter
414—A Modern Sorceress By Inspector Stark
413—The Four-Fingered Glove By Nicholas Carter
412—Checkmating a Countess By Dick Stewart
411—The Boulevard Mutes By Nicholas Carter
410—Shadowed ’Round the World By J. K. Stafford
409—Nick Carter’s Double Catch By Nicholas Carter
408—Only a Headless Nail By Dick Stewart
407—The Pretty Stenographer Mystery By Nicholas Carter
406—The Eye of Gold By Inspector Stark
405—The Plot That Failed By Nicholas Carter
404—The Red Stain By Scott Campbell
403—The Marked Hand By Nicholas Carter
402—The Albert Gate Affair By Louis Tracy
401—The Fatal Legacy By Louis Tracy
400—The Living Mask By Nicholas Carter
399—An Oath of Vengeance By John K. Stafford
398—Under a Black Veil By Nicholas Carter
397—A Crime Without a Name By Dick Stewart
396—A Baffled Oath By Nicholas Carter
395—A Kentucky Moonshiner By Inspector Stark
394—Playing for a Fortune By Nicholas Carter
393—The Convent Mystery By John K. Stafford
392—With Links of Steel By Nicholas Carter
Transcriber’s Notes
—Silently corrected a few typos.
—Retained publication information from the printed edition: this eBook
is public-domain in the country of publication.
—Added a Table of Contents, based on chapter headings.
—In the text versions only, text in italics is delimited by
_underscores_.