WHAT NICK HAD LEARNED.
It was after one o’clock when Nick Carter left the Waldmere residence,
after having given such further instructions as the circumstances seemed
to require.
Twenty minutes later found him seated in his business office with Chick
and Patsy, when he at once began to tell them what he thought of the
case.
“There is little to it, and also much to it,” said he enigmatically. “We
must do some quick work, mighty quick work, or farewell to the Waldmere
plate.”
“How do you size it up, chief?” questioned Patsy, who saw that Nick was
somewhat anxious over the outcome of the case.
“That may be told in a nutshell,” Nick replied. “Waldmere’s designs were
known by his servants. One of them put a gang of crooks wise to the
possibility of this robbery and what could be derived from it.”
“Surely,” put in Chick. “That’s as plain as twice two, though Waldmere
does not think so.”
“The information was stealthily learned from the inventory received two
weeks ago,” Nick continued. “A copy of it was secretly made, no doubt,
and given to one of the crooks.”
“Ten to one,” Chick nodded.
“That gave them the numbers of the three cases containing the gold
plate, and they afterward were kept constantly informed as to the time
of their arrival and of what Waldmere’s intentions consisted.”
“That’s obvious, also.”
“Just how she was led into this crime, however, and with whom she has
been communicating and handing out this information, remain to be
discovered. It must be discovered, too, without delay.”
“She!” exclaimed Patsy, gazing. “Do you suspect one of the maids,
chief?”
“More than suspect, Patsy,” Nick replied. “I am sure of her.”
“Which one, chief?”
“Minerva Grand.”
“Gee whiz! That doll-faced girl! She don’t look capable of stealing a
feather from a peacock’s tail.”
“That’s too true for a joke, Patsy,” said Chick, a bit dryly. “Are you
really sure of it, Nick?”
“Dead sure, Chick, and then some.”
“By Jove, it seems almost incredible.”
“Let me explain,” said Nick. “I found on the highly polished face of one
of the small interior drawers in Waldmere’s desk numerous dainty finger
prints.”
“H’m, is that so?”
“I might not have been so quick to suspect, however, if I had found the
same on the adjoining small drawers, also. But they were only on one. It
was the one to which Waldmere reached when I asked him to let me see the
inventory. I already felt sure it was in that drawer.”
“Ah, that explains it,” said Chick, smiling. “I wondered at what you
were driving.”
“Gee! I was in on that, all right,” put in Patsy. “I couldn’t fathom
it.”
“I suspected that they were the finger prints of the girl who sweeps and
dusts the room,” Nick continued. “That would have given her an
opportunity, or many of them, in fact, to stealthily examine the
inventory, and even make a copy of it.”
“Surely,” Chick nodded.
“I decided, however, that I had better clinch my suspicion. I found the
same dainty finger print on the damp silver spoon which I had her bring
and hold for a moment.”
“Gosh, that did settle it!” said Patsy. “Clever work, chief, all right.”
“I am convinced of the guilt of this girl and the part she has played in
the robbery.”
“Why didn’t you arrest her, then, and force a confession from her?”
Chick inquired.
“That last might not be easily done,” Nick replied. “Furthermore, the
girl may not know the crooks.”
“Not know them? How can that be, providing your suspicions are correct?”
“She may have been lured into this by a supposed friend, one who is in
league with the crooks and who is acting as a sort of go-between.”
“I see the point,” bowed Chick. “Minerva Grand might not be able to put
us on the track of the gang itself.”
“That’s the point precisely,” said Nick. “I would not take the chance of
arresting her, therefore, or even of letting her know that I suspect
her. That is why I did not make a special mark of her in my inquiries,
also why I have kept all this from the Waldmeres and left them entirely
in the dark. I feared they might betray me to the girl by some word, or
look.”
“I see.”
“Now, to go a step further, the man who held up McLauren was one of the
gang,” Nick continued. “He was, in reality, the chief of the gang. He is
the same man who followed Frank Gilbert to Boston, and who so artfully
had the three cases put near the door of the freight car, and afterward
succeeded in getting a forged copy of the bill of lading. He is a keen
and clever rascal. He is all the mustard in the pot, that fellow.”
“You speak as if you already know him,” said Chick, gazing.
“I do know him, Chick.”
“The dickens! Whom do you suspect?”
“A man who stopped me in Madison Avenue a few days ago,” Nick declared,
with more feeling. “It was the first time I have seen him for a couple
of years. He cursed me for having put him to the bad, and he threatened
me with something no less strange than--the melting pot.”
“The melting pot?” Chick echoed perplexedly. “What did he mean?”
“That’s right, too. What?” questioned Patsy.
Nick Carter laughed a bit grimly.
“I did not know what he meant at the time, nor seriously care,” he
replied, after a moment. “I now know, however, what he meant by the
melting pot. He threatened to put something over on me and send me all
to the bad. It now is plain enough to me that he had this robbery in
mind, and the job well in hand.”
“You mean?”
“It’s the melting pot, not for me, Chick, in reality, but for this
priceless Waldmere plate--unless we can move quickly enough to prevent
it.”
“By gracious, chief, that must be what he meant!” cried Patsy, with
countenance lighting.
“But who is the man, Nick?” Chick demanded. “You have said nothing to me
about meeting him.”
“I thought it hardly worth while,” Nick replied. “The threats of such
rascals have no weight with me. The man was Stuart Floyd.”
“Great guns!” said Chick. “Is he in New York again?”
“Very much here.”
“Were you aware of it before?”
“No.”
“He must have been lying mighty low. I have not heard so much as a hint
at it.”
“All the same, Chick, he is the man behind the gun in this job,” Nick
said confidently. “He has got back at Waldmere for that other affair in
which he was put on the rocks?”
“By Jove, the case seems to be shaping up.”
“It is shaping up to that extent,” Nick went on. “But Floyd is much too
keen and cautious to have figured openly in this robbery with such a
girl as Minerva Grand. There is a go-between, either a girl friend, or a
lover. That’s who we must find and get after.”
“By Jove, I guess you are right,” Chick said, more gravely.
“Sure thing!” put in Patsy.
“We will take that chance,” Nick replied. “It is nearly a safe gamble,
too, that Floyd, after holding up McLauren as a pretended detective,
waited only for Bug Bannon to show up before he would release the
truckman.”
“That’s how I sized it up,” Chick agreed.
“You think Bannon is in the job, chief?” questioned Patsy, who had lost
part of what had been said in Waldmere’s library.
“I do, Patsy.”
“In what way?”
“He probably was watching in the railway yard when the three cases were
taken away by others of the gang,” Nick explained. “Bannon then flew up
to Forty-eighth Street to covertly notify Floyd that the two men had got
safely away with their plunder.”
“Gee! that seems reasonable.”
“Floyd then released McLauren,” added the detective. “I suspected all
this when McLauren was telling his story.”
“We’d better get after Bannon, then,” Chick suggested.
“Both Bannon and Minerva Grand,” said Nick. “Both must be shadowed.”
“That’s the stuff, chief.”
“This is the girl’s afternoon and evening out, and she may have an
appointment with the suspected go-between. The gang will have learned
that we are on the case, of course, and may look to Minerva Grand to
find out what we make of it.”
“They’ll get fat, chief, on what she can tell them,” laughed Patsy.
“You had better follow up the girl, Chick, and be governed by
circumstances.”
“That will suit me, Nick, all right,” Chick said agreeably.
“Not having communicated openly with Floyd, and I having said nothing
about this at the Waldmere residence, Bannon naturally will not fear
that he is suspected,” Nick added. “Do you know him by sight, Patsy?”
“Well, rather!” Patsy exclaimed expressively. “I know the face of every
rat of his kind from Harlem to the Battery.”
“Get out in disguise, then, and see what you can accomplish,” Nick
abruptly directed. “I will begin a still-hunt for Floyd himself, in the
meantime, also for the two men who got away with the cases. This work
must be done in record time, mind you, or it will be all off with the
Waldmere plate.”
“Record time goes!” cried Patsy, hastening to make ready.
“By this time to-morrow, perhaps, unless we can prevent it, the melting
pot will have turned the priceless plate into ingots, precluding
identification, and which could be sold for good, hard cash,” Nick
declared, rising. “It’s up to us to head off that deviltry and round up
these crooks.”