PATSY’S TRAIL.
As now must be inferred, of course, after his interview with Sadie
Badger, in which appeared most of the conclusions at which he had
arrived, Nick Carter had started out to locate the suspected gang after
the discoveries made while in the Mantell residence. He also had
assigned Chick and Patsy the task of hunting up Gaston Goulard, in which
they were engaged while Nick was busy as described.
Nick had felt reasonably sure, in fact, that these several parties, whom
he knew must have been in the Manhattanville house the previous night,
and presumably under the circumstances which he shrewdly suspected--he
knew they would come together sooner or later. His first move was to
hunt them up, therefore, before they could learn how much he had
discovered and suspected, and guard themselves against the steps he
naturally would take.
The latter part of the afternoon found Chick and Patsy, both in a
disguise of a rather sinister character, completing a round through
several East Side stuss houses, known to be frequented at times by
Connie Taggart, the murdered cracksman.
They were not seeking him, of course, but were looking for the man now
known to have been one of the confederates the previous night--Gaston
Goulard.
They reasoned, also, that they might discover others, or hear some
remarks dropped that would supply a clew to the whereabouts of Goulard.
In each of the stuss houses visited, therefore, both detectives had
played briefly at one or more of the tables, while sizing up the other
players and listening to what was said.
They were thus engaged about half past four, in the stuss house then run
by Karl Ritchie, known to be a favorite haunt of ex-convicts and
denizens of the underworld.
“There’s one of them, now,” Chick whispered to Patsy, when entering the
place. “He has done time twice for holdup jobs.”
“You mean Slugger Sloan?” questioned Patsy, glancing toward the table at
which the gambler was seated.
“Yes, of course,” Chick muttered. “There’s a vacant chair next to him.”
“I see.”
“I’ll take it, Patsy, while you play at one of the other tables. We’ll
look the place over very thoroughly, and then get out.”
“I’m on,” nodded Patsy, sauntering to another part of the room.
Very little attention was paid to either of them by the other players,
and the man mentioned by Chick hardly noticed him when he took the next
chair and began his play.
He was a stocky, muscular chap in the twenties, with a countenance
evincing depravity and vice, also a taciturn and surly nature. The
latter had plunged him into numerous fights, which had earned for him
the nickname he was bearing, that of Slugger Sloan.
Chick had been playing less than ten minutes, however, and was
apprehending no profitable results, when something occurred that quickly
reversed his opinion.
He felt a hand touch the back of his chair, and then a woman who had
just hurried into the place, bent between him and Sloan, to whom she
whispered, yet not so low but that Chick heard her:
“Quit the game, Slugger. I’ve fixed it.”
Sloan turned his shifty gray eyes upon her, but did not stir from his
chair. The gambler’s passion was the strongest in his evil nature.
“Will she see him?” he asked, scarce above his breath.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“As soon as he can get there.”
“Her crib, Moll?”
“Yes. Get a move on,” Moll Damon whispered impatiently. “It’s more
important than this piking business. Go and send him up there. You know
where to find him.”
Sloan pushed his chips toward the dealer to be cashed.
“You hike home and stay there,” he muttered to the woman. “I’ll see him
and set him going. Leave it to me.”
Chick caught Patsy’s eye and signaled for him to shadow the woman. Half
a minute later he followed Slugger Sloan from the house. Moll Damon was
waiting outside, on a corner, for the crook. They met again and talked
for several moments.
Chick and Patsy watched them from the stuss-house doorway, the former
stating what he had overheard.
“Why are you banking so strong on it?” Patsy questioned.
“Because I happen to know that Sloan and Taggart were good friends,”
said Chick.
“Gee! it may be then that Sloan was in the job last night.”
“That’s the very point.”
“But whom is he going to see, and why----”
“Wait! We’ll find out.”
The couple had moved on and were crossing the street.
The detectives shadowed them to a house in the next block, which both
entered.
Five minutes later both emerged, in company with--Gaston Goulard.
“Eureka!” Chick quietly exclaimed. “I was right, Patsy. They’re our
men.”
“It’s Goulard, all right, as sure as blazes,” chuckled Patsy. “The game
certainly is breaking cover.”
“They’re going to separate. Goulard is going to leave them.”
The three crooks were lingering briefly at the foot of the steps.
“Shall we shadow him?” questioned Patsy.
“You do so,” Chick directed. “I’ll follow Sloan and the woman. They may
have more up their sleeves. They’re a bad pair.”
“Have you any suspicion where Goulard is going?” Patsy asked.
“A suspicion only,” Chick nodded. “He is going to the home of some
woman, judging from what that jade said to Sloan. It may be to the home
of Sadie Badger.”
“In that case----”
“He’s off,” Chick interrupted. “Don’t lose sight of him.”
Gaston Goulard had abruptly left the couple and was hurrying away.
“So long!” nodded Patsy. “If I lose sight of him, Chick, I’ll chuck my
job.”
Goulard was hastening toward Third Avenue, where he boarded a
north-bound elevated train.
Patsy Garvan occupied the same car.
Twenty minutes later, without the slightest idea that he was the subject
of an espionage, Goulard left the train and walked rapidly east. He
brought up in the low section on the water front in which Nick Carter
had arrived not more than half an hour before.
There were comparatively few people in the street, which made it
necessary for Patsy to proceed quite cautiously. He crossed to the
opposite side from Goulard, remaining some thirty yards behind him, and
noted, with some surprise, that he began to appear suspicious when
approaching the lower end of the street. He was on the same side as the
long wooden block, of which Sadie Badger occupied the last dwelling.
Goulard was glancing sharply at the house, and once back over his
shoulder. Upon arriving at the last door, moreover, he merely glanced at
it and walked on, not stopping until he came to the river wall, and
opposite a two-story building, on which was the lime sign previously
mentioned.
“Gee! I wonder what that signifies,” thought Patsy. “He’s got something
on his mind. He seems to fear that the house may be watched.”
That, as a matter of fact, was precisely what Goulard feared, and he
resolved not to enter the front door--which was the one and only reason
why Nick Carter was discovered and caught by the gang a little later.