A TERRIBLE POISON.
"Mr. Rogers," said Nick, when he
was alone with that young gentleman,
"can you come with me for about two
hours?"
"Now?"
"Yes; at once."
"Where are you going?" asked the
young man.
"To police headquarters."
"Police headquarters?" exclaimed Rogers,
in dismay. "What on earth do you
want me to go there for, Mr. Carter. You
surely have not placed this matter in the
hands of the police?"
"No, sir. The suspicion or fact that
your father has been murdered is unknown
to a single soul, outside you and me."
"But won’t my going to police headquarters
attract attention?"
"I have arranged that no one shall
know of your visit. If it was not of great
importance, I should not ask you to leave
the house at such a time."
"Very well, sir," said Rogers. "Let us
go at once, as my uncle will be back at
five o’clock for dinner. He goes away by
the six-thirty train."
"Where is he now?" asked Nick.
"With the lawyer, in Boston. My
father left him sole executor."
When they arrived at police headquarters,
they were met by the chief, who
ushered them into his private room.
"We wish to see the prisoner without
being observed by him," said Nick. "Use
the screen."
"All right," said the chief.
He requested his visitors to stand behind
a large screen, in which there were
several small holes.
A few minutes afterward Gonzales appeared,
accompanied by Waldo. Nick
now directed Rogers to look through one
of the holes in the screen.
The young man did so, and immediately
drew back with a visible shudder.
He seemed to be extremely agitated upon
recognizing the Cuban, and was about to
say something to Nick, when that gentleman
put his finger to his lips and
signaled him to be silent.
At that moment the chief said to the
prisoner:
"What is your name?"
"Manuel Gonzales."
"Write your name in this book."
This was in compliance with a request
which Nick had made.
When the prisoner had been removed,
Rogers turned quickly to Nick Carter and
exclaimed:
"That was her brother. His name is
Alvarez, not Gonzales."
"When did you see this man last?"
asked Nick, when they got outside.
"Last winter. At Tampa, Florida."
"Are you quite certain you have not
seen him since then?"
"Absolutely certain. But how on earth
did you get hold of him, and for what?"
"You will know that later, Mr. Rogers."
They were now driving rapidly toward
Dorchester, and Nick decided to discontinue
his investigations until he was safely
closeted with his companion in the latter’s
home.
Having arrived there, Nick asked him
abruptly:
"Was Dr. Lord at Tampa with you last
winter?"
"Yes."
"Did he also meet this fellow Alvarez?"
"I am not certain; but I think he must
have seen him, as he and I frequently
went to the gambling rooms where
Alvarez did business."
"Tell me," said Nick. "Would it not
be to your interest if your sister did not
marry Dr. Lord?"
This sudden question confused young
Rogers.
"I do not know what you mean, Mr.
Carter," he faltered.
"I will put it plainer. Do you wish
your sister to marry Dr. Lord?"
"I do."
"Now, Mr. Rogers, I want you to answer
me truthfully: Are you afraid of
your wife?"
"I do not understand."
"Come, sir, are you not afraid that the
price of her secrecy about your marriage
will be a perpetual blackmail?"
The young man became very nervous;
but he answered:
"Yes; I do fear that she will continue
to blackmail me."
"For that reason," said Nick, "would
you not like to have the one hundred and
thirty thousand dollars which your sister
would lose if she did not marry Dr. Lord?"
"I assure you, Mr. Carter, that, no matter
what that woman--my wife--wishes,
I sincerely hope to see my sister married
to the doctor."
Nick noticed that he put particular emphasis
upon the words, "no matter what
that woman wishes," and he did not ask
the young man another question.
Ten minutes later he rang the bell at
Dr. Lord’s door and was admitted.
"Well, sir," said the doctor, who was
visibly displeased when he saw Nick, "I
thought I told you yesterday that I had
no surgical instruments that wanted repairing."
"So you did, doctor; but I have made a
discovery that may interest you."
"What is it?" asked the doctor. "I am
in a hurry, for I have to visit a patient."
"It is this," said Nick, producing the
hypodermic syringe case.
The doctor became interested.
"Oh, you have discovered something
about that, have you?"
"Yes, doctor."
"Have you found the owner?"
"No," said Nick, intently watching
his listener’s face. "I have not discovered
the owner; but I have found the point
that was broken off."
"Let me see it," said the doctor.
Nick handed it to him.
"Yes," said the medical man; "this is
certainly the missing point. Where did
you find it?"
"Ah, that’s a secret, doctor. But I believe
you know the person to whom it
belongs."
"Absurd! If I did, I should not have
given it to you."
"It was well you did," said Nick, "or
we might never have been able to locate
where this point came from."
"It makes very little difference one way
or the other," said the doctor, who was
now beginning to feel bored.
"Don’t you remember," said Nick,
"that I said it was of Spanish make?"
"Well, what of that?"
"Had you not a Spanish visitor the day
before yesterday?"
The doctor started.
"What do you mean?" he cried.
"I was thinking that perhaps he might
have left it behind. And if you gave me
his address, doctor, I would call upon him
and offer to mend it."
Dr. Lord laughed and said:
"Yes, I had a Spanish visitor the day
before yesterday. But it wasn’t a man. It
was a lady."
"I found a new kind of fluid in this
little syringe, doctor," said Nick, adroitly
changing the subject.
"Indeed?"
"Yes. You know that people who understand
surgical instruments usually go
in for a little chemistry, too. When I
examined the cylinder of this syringe I
noticed a small quantity of colorless liquid
in it; so I took it out and analyzed it."
The doctor was now becoming interested
again, and Nick continued:
"I found it was a terrible poison."
"What?" cried Dr. Lord.
"Yes, doctor. That little syringe contained
enough poison to kill a dozen men."
"You astonish me!" said the doctor.
"I have a little vial of the same drug
here," said Nick, producing the one which
he had picked up in the snow.
Dr. Lord took it in his hand and examined
it curiously.
"You are certain that this is the same
fluid?" he said, looking inquiringly at
Nick.
"Absolutely certain, doctor. And it
strikes me that it is a rather dangerous
one to give a hypodermic injection with."
"You forget," said the doctor, "that
all drugs are greatly diluted before being
used for injection purposes."
"That is true," said Nick, apologetically.
"However," said Dr. Lord, "I shall
consider it a favor if you will allow me to
examine this. I have never seen anything
like it before."
"You may do so," said Nick, and he
continued: "Perhaps you would like to
know where I discovered the point of the
syringe?"
"Yes. Where did you find it?"
"In a dead man’s wrist!"
"What?" cried the doctor.
"It is as I have said," calmly rejoined
Nick. "And now, doctor, I shall not detain
you any longer from your patient. I
shall call for the vial to-morrow."