IT WORKED LIKE A CHARM.
When he arrived at the Adams House,
he found a telegram from Chick, which
read:
"Alvarez at Spanish-American Hotel.
Dining with the Cuban, Moreno. Shall
endeavor to overhear conversation. If important,
will report at Boston and put
Patsy on the case here."
"Good!" said Nick. "The fellow who
tried to knock me out must be one of
Moreno’s gang. I must warn Chick."
He forthwith sent the following cipher
telegram:
"Telegram received. Moreno’s gang
have discovered I am on case. One of
them made attempt on my life. Act cautiously,
and come on if anything important.
NICK."
He handed this to the operator in the
hotel corridor, and, feeling satisfied that
nothing more could be done that night,
he retired to his room.
Early in the morning he was awakened
by a loud knocking at the door.
"A telegram for you, sir!" said a voice.
"Push it under the door!" cried Nick.
He tore open the dispatch and seemed
to be completely mystified by the contents.
It read:
"Rogers case. Watch Lord. Am writing.
Important news.
CHICK."
He dressed himself hurriedly, and immediately
telegraphed to Chick:
"Received telegram. Come on at once.
Put Patsy in charge.
NICK."
After breakfast he took the train to
Dorchester.
It was now nine o’clock, and the funeral
was to take place at ten.
He wandered up the road where Lord’s
house was situated, and was just making
up his mind to call when he saw a carriage
stop at the gate.
"Too late," said Nick. "The fellow is
just going up to Rogers’ place."
Nevertheless, he lolled about in the
shadow of the trees.
In a few minutes Dr. Lord’s door was
opened, and Nick Carter saw a sight that
surprised even him.
Walking down the garden path, apparently
in earnest conversation, were the
doctor and the Cuban who had attempted
to assassinate him the night before. Dr.
Lord got into the carriage; but the Cuban,
taking off his hat respectfully, turned
from the place and walked down the road,
followed by Nick at a safe distance, who
saw his man enter a street car bound toward
Boston.
Nick hailed a cab near at hand.
He merely showed the driver his badge
and said:
"Keep that car in sight; but do not
pass it!"
"Trust me, sir," said the hackman,
with a knowing wink.
When his fare stepped out of the cab,
at the corner of Kneeland and Washington
streets, the driver nearly lost his balance
from the shock.
A lively-looking chap got into the cab
in Dorchester, and a staid-looking clergyman
paid him his fare in Washington
street.
The Cuban had left the street car at the
next block, and Nick hurried after him
on foot.
The man entered the United States
Hotel, and immediately went to the office.
Nick Carter was close at his elbow.
"Any letters or telegrams for Gonzales?"
inquired the Cuban.
"Yes, sir. One telegram," said the
clerk, who handed it to him.
He tore open the envelope and began
to read the dispatch.
Nick was watching him intently, although
he was apparently studying a
time-table.
The Cuban seemed to be puzzled about
something in that telegram.
He looked around uneasily, still holding
the message in his hand.
Finally his eyes rested on the clergyman,
and he approached him.
"Excuse me, sir," he said, with a pronounced
foreign accent. "I am a stranger.
I have just received this telegram."
Here he handed the dispatch to Nick
and added:
"What is the meaning of Bay State,
Worcester?"
Nick Carter looked up from the telegram
and replied, in a well-disguised
voice:
"There is a hotel in Worcester called
the Bay State; but this message tells you
to ask somebody named Rogers about it."
The Cuban laughed and said:
"No, no! You no understand. But I
thank you for explain hotel."
Whereupon he took the telegram from
Nick, lifted his hat courteously, and disappeared
in the direction of the bar.
The moment he was out of sight, Nick
said to himself:
"That worked like a charm. The dispatch
must have been from Moreno."
He immediately took off his disguise
and ordered a cab.
"To police headquarters!" was his instruction
to the driver.
When he arrived there, he asked to see
the chief.
"Why, Mr. Carter, how do you do?"
cordially welcomed the head of Boston’s
police.
"I want you to do me a favor," said
Nick.
"Certainly, my dear sir. Got some important
case on, I’ll wager."
"Yes," mildly returned Nick. "It is a
very mysterious case. I want you to arrest
a Cuban named Gonzales, and hold him
without examination for me. If you do
this secretly you will oblige me, as his
detention may be of much importance."
"With pleasure," said the chief, as he
touched a bell.
An officer answered instantly.
"Send Waldo here at once."
"Yes, sir.
"Waldo," said the chief, when the detective
entered, "go with this gentleman
and arrest the party he will point out.
Ask no questions, and bring your prisoner.
Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
At the United States Hotel, Waldo,
who spoke Spanish fluently, asked for
Gonzales.
He was in his room.
Waldo ascended to the Cuban’s apartment,
and returned in about ten minutes
with his prisoner. Nobody in the hotel
corridor imagined for a moment that an
arrest had been made, so friendly did the
pair seem to be.
Only one person understood the situation.
That was Nick, who anxiously watched
them from the paper stand, fearful that
the Cuban might make a break for liberty.
But Waldo knew his business too well.
He hailed a cab, ordered Gonzales to
get in, and, having taken a seat opposite
his prisoner, he directed the cabman to
drive to police headquarters.
When they had gone, Nick consulted
his watch.
It was half-past one.
"Now for young Rogers!" he cried.