A FRIEND IN NEED.
Nick Carter’s intuition in regard to the telephone girl was verified
much sooner than he really expected. He entered his Madison Avenue
residence about an hour later and found in the library his two chief
assistants, Chickering Carter and Patsy Garvan. He heard the following
remarks from Patsy as he was approaching the open door.
“She certainly is a peach, Chick, and I felt dead sorry for her. She’s
in wrong, all right, but I don’t half credit the charges, at that.”
“What charges, Patsy?” Nick inquired, entering. “Of whom were you
speaking?”
“Of a girl I saw at police headquarters about twenty minutes ago,” said
Patsy, turning from his desk. “I went down there on that Waldron case.”
“Was the girl under arrest?”
“Yes.”
“For what?”
“For helping a crook elude the police,” Patsy explained. “She denied it,
chief, sobbing as if her heart would break; but they’re putting her
through the third degree now, hoping to break her down and force a
confession from her. My money goes on the girl, chief, all the same.”
“Who is the girl?” Nick questioned. “Did you learn any of the
circumstances?”
“Sure!” nodded Patsy. “Her name is Helen Bailey.”
“H’m, is that so?”
“She’s a telephone girl, and a sister of Barton Bailey, wanted for
robbery in Mantell & Goulard’s big department store, where he was
employed at the time. He got away with a diamond sunburst, you remember,
and nearly cracked the skull of Gus Flint, one of the store detectives,
who had seen him lift the bauble and tried to prevent his escape. That
was six months ago.”
“Yes, I recall the case,” said Nick, with a more serious expression.
“But what are the circumstances bearing on the girl’s arrest?”
“It seems that Bart Bailey was seen going into a house in East
Forty-third Street about ten o’clock this morning,” Patsy continued. “He
was in disguise, but was recognized by some one who declined to give his
name to the headquarters chief, to whom he hastened to telephone.”
“He stated, I suppose, that he had seen Bailey going into the house.”
“That’s what,” said Patsy. “The chief then called up the precinct
station and told the sergeant to go to the house with a couple of men
and get Bailey.”
“I see.”
“Before he could finish giving his instructions, including the number of
the house, the telephone connection was suddenly broken. Nearly ten
minutes passed before the chief could get it renewed, and that brief
delay cost the guns their man. When they arrived at the house, Bailey
had been gone about three minutes.”
“Did the chief know his sister is employed in the telephone exchange?”
“Bet you!” exclaimed Patsy sententiously. “Let him alone to have learned
that. He has had men out after Bailey for nearly six months. He learned,
too, that Helen Bailey was the operator who connected him with the
precinct station, and he noticed while talking with the sergeant that
the connection was broken once and quickly renewed.”
“Precisely,” thought Nick, recalling his own observations. “He was not
alone.”
“Half a minute later,” Patsy added, “it was broken completely, and the
chief lost his man. It made him sore, for fair. He knows the girl must
have overheard his orders to the sergeant, and he suspects that she
purposely cut him off and afterward telephoned her brother to bolt.”
“Not an unreasonable inference,” Nick allowed, a bit grimly.
“Nevertheless, Patsy, the girl did nothing of the kind.”
“Gee whiz!” Patsy returned, gazing. “Are you wise to something bearing
on the case? Do you mean----”
“Never mind what I mean,” Nick interposed, glancing at his watch. “I’ll
inform you later. I’ll knock those suspicions out of the chief’s head in
about two shakes of a lamb’s tail. Helen Bailey is a heroine--much more
heroic than most girls would have been under the same temptation.”
Nick did not wait to explain to Chick and Patsy. Disregarding their
looks of surprise, he replaced his hat and started immediately for the
police headquarters. He was so well known there, where his services were
very frequently required, that no one would have thought of opposing
him. He learned that the chief still was talking with Helen Bailey in
his private office, into which Nick walked without the ceremony of
knocking.
The chief regarded him with a look of surprise. It became more marked,
even, when Helen Bailey, pale and with eyes red from weeping, uttered a
low cry and exclaimed:
“Oh, sir, here is the man who assisted me. This is the man I have told
you about. He knows that my faint was not feigned. He will tell you----”
“I will tell the chief all that is necessary, Miss Bailey,” Nick
interposed, smiling and shaking hands with her. “I am very glad to be
able to befriend you.”
“Goodness!” said the chief, with his austerity suddenly vanished. “What
do you know about this matter, Nick?”
“I know all about it, chief,” Nick replied, taking a chair. “Garvan was
here when this young lady was brought in. He has told me why she was
arrested and what you suspect. But you’re in wrong, chief, and I’ve come
here to say a word for the girl.”
“A word from you, Carter, is usually enough,” replied the chief, while
Helen Bailey, hearing the name of the famous detective, gazed at him
with amazement and inexpressible relief.
“I can explain in a nutshell,” said Nick. “I was in the telephone
office, chief, and saw all that occurred.”
“What did you make of it, Carter?” asked the chief.
Nick then told him all he had seen and what he had done.
“This girl did not cut you off, chief, but quite the contrary,” he
added. “She knew, nevertheless, precisely what your communication
signified. I saw her withdraw the plug once, then willfully reinsert it.
I saw how terribly she felt, how terribly she was tempted--and I now
know, too, with what heroism she resisted the temptation and stuck to
her duty, though it involved the sacrifice of her own brother.”
The chief gazed for a moment at the detective, who had spoken quite
feelingly.
“The girl has told me that, Nick, but I could not credit it,” he said,
more gravely.
“It is true, chief. You can bank on it.”
“I’m mighty glad you have showed up, then.”
“I knew you would be.”
The chief turned to Helen Bailey and laid his hand on hers.
“Pardon me, my girl,” he said gently. “We have hard duties to perform at
times, and duty leaves us no alternative. You are a good girl and a
brave girl, and I’m sorry to have given you so much pain and trouble. I
now believe all you have told me, and I’m very proud of you.”
Helen was sobbing again, but with mingled gratitude and relief. She
turned and grasped Nick’s hand, saying brokenly:
“Oh, Mr. Carter, how can I thank you--how can I thank you?”
“By not trying to do so,” Nick replied kindly. “These little services
are the bright spots in our lives. Go and wait for me in the outer
office. I wish to talk with the chief a few moments and I then will join
you.”
Helen dried her tear-filled eyes and obeyed him.
Nick had remained only to question the chief concerning Bart Bailey, and
to find out what had been learned about him in the house he had been
seen to enter.
“Nothing was known about him there, Nick,” the chief replied. “It is a
lodging house and is run by an honest, elderly woman. Bailey was there
about ten days ago, remaining only two nights, and requesting the
privilege of leaving a suit case until he could call for it.”
“That is why he went there this morning?”
“Yes. He remained only ten minutes.”
“He is a stranger to the landlady, I infer.”
“Yes, a total stranger. She knows nothing about him. I happen to know,
however, that he’s a very bad egg, and I wanted to get him.”
Nick remained only a few moments longer, then went to the outer office
and rejoined the waiting girl.
“Come with me,” he said pleasantly. “There is no occasion for you to
remain here. I don’t think you will ever be wanted again, Miss Bailey.”
“I cannot express my gratitude, Mr. Carter,” she replied, while she
accompanied him to the street.
“Don’t try,” smiled Nick. “Tell me something about yourself and your
brother. He used to work for Mantell & Goulard, I understand.”
“Yes, sir. Young Mr. Mantell gave him a position there for--for my
sake,” said Helen, blushing in a way that Nick rightly interpreted. “But
Bart can’t go straight. He is bad, awfully bad. He is only my half
brother, sir.”
Nick saw that the topic was a painful one for her, and he decided not to
press his inquiries. He learned that the rascal had frequently
threatened her, however, because of her refusals to join in his knavish
projects, and that the girl stood somewhat in fear of him.
Nick took her Lexington Avenue address, therefore, and promised to aid
her again if occasion required it. Smiling in response to her repeated
thanks, he then placed her in a taxicab which he hailed and saw her
driven rapidly away, well satisfied with the kindly deed he had done,
but not supposing for a moment that it would have any further
significance.