THE COUNTERSTROKE.
The bright light within illumined the drawn curtains of the Lexington
Avenue flat, casting on them a filigree shadow of the filmy lace
draperies, convincing Nick Carter before he had entered that Sadie
Badger had not bolted.
Nick’s ring was quickly answered, moreover, by the woman herself. He saw
the evil light that flashed up for an instant in her intense black eyes
when she saw and recognized him, which further assured him that he not
only had sized up the circumstances correctly, but also that her designs
were precisely what he suspected.
Sadie Badger greeted him with a smile, however, placing her forefinger
on her lips and glancing significantly up the stairs.
"Not too loud, Bosey, till we’re inside and the door closed," she said
quietly, drawing back for him to enter. "I’m a bit leary of those ginks
on the next floor. What they don’t know won’t hurt them. If they get
wise to too much, it might hurt me."
Nick nodded approvingly, with a grim smile on his made-up, hangdog face,
and he took the chair to which she pointed. He noticed that her hat,
veil, and a long black cloak were lying on a sofa, as if she had just
come in, or intended going out.
"That’s good judgment, kid," he replied, in the same husky voice he had
assumed the previous night. "There’s nothing lost by keeping others in
the dark."
"Right you are, Bosey." "Was you looking for me to-night?"
"Sure thing," nodded Sadie, sitting opposite. "You said you’d come,
didn’t you? I always take the word of a pal. Have you seen the
newspapers?"
"All of them, kid. I nailed them as soon as the story was out. But the
dicks ain’t wise to anything. You’ve still got the stuff safe in the
house?"
"No, not here, now," said Sadie. "That was too long a chance. I’ve put
it in care of some friends, but I can get it any hour we want it."
"I dunno about that," Nick demurred, with manifest suspicion.
"You can bank on me and what I tell you, Bosey, and that goes," Sadie
hastened to assure him. "I wouldn’t double cross a pal. You can meet my
friends and see the plunder for yourself, if you like."
"How’s that?" questioned Nick, though he saw plainly to what she
immediately was leading.
"I’ve got to go out there," Sadie glibly explained. "I’d have been gone
before now, Bosey, if I hadn’t been looking for you. I had a hunch you
would show up quite early, so I decided to wait for you."
"What’s the game?" Nick questioned, still pretending to be a bit
doubtful.
It convinced Sadie Badger that he did not suspect her deeper game, and
that he would walk blindly into the trap she and Goulard had laid for
him.
"There’s another job on, Bosey," she replied, with voice lowered.
"What kind of a job, kid?"
"Same kind. A crib up in Riverside Drive. It has been sized up by
another pal of mine, and a good haul can be made, but it will take three
or four of us to pull it off. I’ve told him about you, Bosey, and
insisted that you be let in on it. I’ve not forgotten last night, you
see," Sadie added expressively.
"You’re all right, kid," Nick grimly nodded. "But when is the trick to
be turned?"
"To-morrow night. I’ve got to go out and talk it over with the other
this evening. You’re to go with me, if the scheme hits you all right."
"Sure it hits me all right," Nick quickly declared. "But where do we go
to see them?"
"A good piece out of town."
"By train?"
"No. Taxi."
"Ain’t that taking a chance?" growled Nick, still seeming doubtful. "I
don’t bank strong on chauffeurs."
"The one I employ is all right," said Sadie, with sinister earnestness.
"He is one of the gang. We can trust him the limit."
"Well, that’s more like it," said Nick. "What’s his name?"
"Fallon."
"How can you get at him?"
"By telephone," said Sadie, with a glance at an instrument on a stand in
one corner. "He’s expecting to hear from me. I’ve been waiting only for
you to show up, Bosey, and say you would go."
Nick was very willing to go and he saw no reason to defer doing so, the
woman’s assurance convincing him that she felt that she held the ribbons
and that he suspected no ulterior designs. Nick had not a doubt,
moreover, as to whom he was to meet.
"Sure, kid, I’ll go," he said, after a moment. "Why wouldn’t I go?"
"No reason, Bosey."
"Get next to the phone, then, and fetch on your man. We can’t start too
soon to suit me."
"That’s the stuff!" cried Sadie; with another momentary gleam of
satisfaction in her eyes. "I’ll have him here with his buzz car in five
minutes."
She arose with the last and hastened to the telephone.
Nick fished out a black cigar and lit it, smoking indifferently until
the woman resumed her seat. He then continued the conversation much
along the foregoing lines, until the noise of the approaching taxicab
was heard by both, when Sadie started up and exclaimed:
"He’s here, Bosey. That’s Fallon."
"So I heard."
"I’ll get into my cloak and lid."
"Stop a bit, kid," said Nick, checking her and lurching forward in his
chair. "Lemme have a look at him before we start."
"What’s that for?" questioned Sadie quickly.
"Only because I like to see who I’m in with," Nick explained
indifferently. "Call him in and give him your directions. That’ll be
enough."
Sadie Badger saw nothing for him to gain, if she complied with his wish,
feeling that she had all the best of him. She shrugged her broad,
shapely shoulders and laughed, then stepped to the front door and called
Fallon into the house.
"He is here, Bosey," she remarked, when the burly chauffeur followed her
into the room. "Shake hands with Bosey Magee, Bill, who is going out
with me. You’ll find him all right."
Fallon grinned and complied.
"The more the better, old top," he remarked carelessly.
"Glad to know you," Nick growled cordially.
"Take us out to Corson’s place, Bill, and get there lively," said Sadie,
in compliance with Nick’s suggestion.
"I can make it in twenty minutes," Fallon nodded.
"Good enough. I’ll get into my rags and veil and be with you in a couple
of minutes."
"I’ll wait for you outside."
"Go ahead, then. We’ll not be long."
Fallon swung round and swaggered out of the house, returning to his seat
in the taxicab.
Sadie Badger arose and took her cloak from the sofa.
When she turned to put it on--she found Nick Carter confronting her,
with a revolver thrust under her very nose.
"If you speak, Sadie, this will speak louder," he said sternly, gripping
her by the shoulder. "Not a sound, mind you, or you’ll get all that’s
coming to you."
The woman turned as white as the knot of lace at her throat.
"Heavens!" she muttered, with lips twitching. "You mean----”
"Silence!" Nick sternly hissed. "I’m wise to the whole business. Our
partnership in crime is ended, also your little game. If you utter a
sound to warn Fallon, I’ll send you to prison for twenty years."
"Curse you, Carter, I----”
"Hush! Ah, Chick, you’re here!"
Chick Carter had darted quietly in from a rear room.
Sadie Badger had dropped on the sofa, as pale as if death-stricken.
"I picked the lock of the back door," Chick whispered. "Is the way
open?"
"Wide open," said Nick, whipping out a pair of handcuffs. "Get into her
garments. We must be out in another minute. I’ll fix the woman."
Sadie Badger, with the detective’s threat ringing in her ears, which she
knew only too well he would execute, collapsed completely and offered no
resistance.
Nick handcuffed her with her arms behind her, then tied a bandage
securely over her mouth. He then marched her into a closet in the
adjoining room and locked the door.
When he returned, after less than a minute, he found Chick clad in the
woman’s hat and veil, with his figure almost completely enveloped in her
long, black cloak.
"Capital!" said Nick, surveying him. "You’ll get by hands down."
"I think so."
"Ready?"
"As a rivet."
Nick switched out the electric light.
Fallon saw the glow vanish from the curtained windows. Less than two
minutes had passed since he returned to his seat.
He merely glanced at the two figures that came from the house, quickly
crossing the sidewalk in the darkness and entering the open taxicab. The
door was closed with a bang, and another moment saw them speeding
away--whither Sadie Badger had directed.
Five minutes later a policeman, acting under instructions Nick had given
him earlier, entered the flat and removed the detective’s partner in
crime to the precinct station.
It was half past six when Fallon slowed down in the darkness bf the
narrow road into which he had turned, immediately drawing up at one side
of it. He stopped the motor, then sprang down and opened the cab door.
"We’ll have to walk to the house, Sadie," he growled, addressing the
veiled figure in the opposite corner. "I’ll not risk running the taxi
over this bum road in the dark. It’s only fifty yards to the house. We
can walk it."
"Sure!" said Nick. "Come on, kid."
Fallon drew back to let them out, turning to gaze up the narrow,
deserted road.
Nick stepped in front of him, drawing his revolver.
"Put your hands behind you, Fallon," he said sternly. "You are under
arrest. Take it easy and save yourself worse trouble."
Fallon staggered and glanced back over his shoulder in search of Sadie
Badger. The hat, veil, and cloak had been discarded by the figure behind
him, and he found himself gazing at the face of Chick Carter.
"Good heavens!" he gasped involuntarily. "What am I up against?"
"You know, Fallon, without my telling you," said Nick. "The game is up,
and we’re out to get the entire gang. We’re going to do it, too."
"I guess that’s no fairy tale." Fallon knuckled with a sickly smile.
"You’re the worst ever, Carter, the very worst. Well, I’m not in so bad,
at that. Go as far as you like."
"Put bracelets on him, Chick, and we’ll secure him with another pair to
one of the taxicab wheels," Nick directed. "That will hold him till we
return."
"Let me sit inside," said Fallon. "I’ll not bolt."
"I shall feel a little more easy if I don’t take the chance," Nick dryly
answered. "You’ll not suffer greatly, and it won’t be for long."
Fallon offered no further protest, and was left secured as described.
"Now, Chick, having landed a couple of the hirelings, we’ll get after
the master," said Nick, as they turned away. "Unless I am much mistaken,
we to-night shall see the last of Gaston Goulard, in so far as his
criminal career is concerned. He is booked to pay the penalty."
"That’s likely to be his life for having killed Batty Lang."
"It’s more than probable. Come on."
"You expect to find Helen Mantell here, I infer."
"I haven’t a doubt of it," said Nick. "Be quiet, now, and have your guns
ready. I’ll lead the way."
They had moved on and were picking their way up the narrow road. Through
the intervening trees, the outlines of the old Corson house could be
dimly seen. A solitary light appeared at one of the side windows.
Nick led the way in that direction, moving noiselessly over the damp
sod. It proved to be the window of a dining room, as he could see
between the curtain and the casing, though the roller shade was drawn
completely down.
No other precautions had been taken by Gaston Goulard, however, so sure
was he that the expected taxicab would bring only Fallon, Sadie Badger,
and Nick, with the latter up against odds that he could not possibly
oppose.
Though none of them were entirely visible, Nick could see that there
were several persons in the room. While he gazed, trying to identify one
or more of them, he heard the voice of the crook he was chiefly seeking.
"I’ll not stand for any further objections, Mrs. Mantell," Goulard was
harshly saying. "You write what I dictate to your husband, stating the
terms I direct, or I’ll----”
"Don’t you do anything of the kind, Mrs. Mantell," interrupted a voice
that Nick instantly knew to be Patsy’s. "Let this rascal collect the
ransom he demands as best he can. He’ll not harm you as long as he sees
any show of getting it. Don’t write a line, or----”
"You keep quiet, or I’ll silence you in a way you’ll not fancy," Goulard
fiercely cut in. "I’ll put you away, Garvan, as well as Nick Carter, if
I do nothing else. You listen to me, woman, and----”
Nick did not wait to hear more. He touched Chick’s elbow and continued
on toward the rear of the house, where the door of the kitchen met his
gaze.
"We have them where we want them, Chick, if we can enter quietly," he
whispered.
"Dead to rights," Chick nodded.
"There is no lock on the door. It may be hooked or bolted on the inside.
No, by Jove, it is not. They were cocksure of their game, all right."
Nick had tried the door and found that he could open it. He did so,
glancing at Chick, and both stepped into the kitchen.
The only light came through a doorway in the near hall, that of the
dining room.
The voice of Goulard again could be heard, addressing the abducted woman
and rising loud and harsh with his threats and commands. It served to
completely drown the stealthy steps in the hall.
Suddenly it stopped short, as if the miscreant’s tongue had been
palsied, and then came a shriek of dismay that was bloodcurdling in its
intensity.
Goulard saw Nick and Chick in the open door, with hard-set faces and
drawn revolvers.
A shout came from Patsy, bound hand and foot to a chair.
A scream of relief broke from Helen Mantell, seated white and helpless
in one corner.
Mullen, Sampson, and Jim Corson, with jaws suddenly dropping, stared as
if they beheld two ghosts.
"Sit still, all of you," Nick calmly commanded. "I will shoot the first
man who shows fight or makes a move in that direction."
Only one man did so--Goulard.
A vision of the electric chair must have leaped up in his mind. For his
face turned as gray as ashes, and he appeared to choose the quicker
fate. He whipped out a revolver, clapped the muzzle against his ribs,
and fired.
The thundering report fairly shook the house.
Goulard pitched face forward on the floor, shot through the heart.
It was the last step of a downward career, the last act of a man gone
hopelessly to the bad.
The arrest of the others was easily accomplished, with nothing more
sensational than imprecations and curses. Nine o’clock that evening saw
all that remained of the gang securely lodged in the Tombs.
The same hour saw Helen Mantell restored to her husband’s arms, and the
cloud of fear that had hung over the Mantell mansion was dispelled
forever.
Though uninjured by the experience she had suffered, Helen could only
state that, after riding away with the man she had supposed to be her
father-in-law, he had almost immediately seized her and plunged a needle
into her neck, evidently impregnated with some powerful and quick-acting
drug. She knew no more until she revived in the old Corson place, scarce
a half hour before Nick Carter’s arrival.
The gratitude of the Mantells, as well as their reward to the detectives
for their splendid work, were all that the Carters could ask, and Patsy
made sure that Frank Steel got his for the services rendered.
The crooks suffered the extreme penalty for their crime, including
Nick’s partner in knavery--but the detective made sure that the Buckley
plunder was restored to its owner.
It was found in the secret cellar under the Corson stable--with the
hidden fruits of several previous robberies.
"Taken as a whole," Nick Carter remarked that evening; "it was the
round-up and wind-up of a very bad gang."
THE END.
"The Mystery of the Crossed Needles; or, Nick Carter and the Yellow
Tong," will be the title of the long, complete story which you will find
in the next issue, No. 151, of the NICK CARTER STORIES, out July 31st.
In this interesting narrative the famous detective matches wits with a
clever Chinese crook, and throughout the story there is a constant
mental battle between the man of the Orient and the man of the
Occident. Then, too, you will also find the usual installment of the
serial now running, together with several interesting articles.
Sheridan of the U. S. Mail.
By RALPH BOSTON.
(This interesting story was commenced in No. 148 of NICK CARTER STORIES.
Back numbers can always be obtained from your news dealer or the
publishers.)