“THIS IS TERRIBLE, TERRIBLE!”
There had been nothing at any time which Nick could properly seize upon
as an excuse for action, much as he longed to end the terrible suspense.
Doctor Grantley had the whip hand throughout, and the isolation of the
financier, alarming as it was under the circumstances, was nothing more
than any surgeon might be expected to insist upon in such a case.
The only departure from that rule occurred on the fifth day, when J.
Hackley Baldwin’s confidential secretary received a check, directing him
to fill out a check for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, payable
to Hiram A. Grantley, and send it to the latter’s house in the Bronx.
The secretary, who was necessarily in the secret, immediately telephoned
to Nick. The detective responded at once and carefully examined the
note. A microscopic comparison with various documents left no reasonable
doubt that the message had actually been written and signed by the
millionaire. Not only that, but the handwriting revealed no sign of
tremulousness or any other indication that Baldwin had not been himself
when he wrote it.
Forgery was plainly out of the question.
Nevertheless, both Nick and the secretary could not help feeling a
profound disquiet. The affair struck them as decidedly irregular. It
suggested an unseemly haste on Grantley’s part to collect the promised
fee for the operation at a time when Baldwin was still in his power and
no one on the outside was in possession of any real evidence that the
conditions had been complied with--namely, that the operation had been a
success.
Irrespective of his success or failure, however, if Grantley had in any
manner influenced Baldwin to take this step, he had acted in a way that
no reputable surgeon would have dreamed of doing.
On the other hand, it was quite possible, of course, that Baldwin had
acted purely on his own initiative, in order to show, by his prompt
payment, the gratitude he felt for his returning sight.
It was another delicate and trying situation.
In the end, Nick advised the secretary to make out the check and send it
as requested. There were no obstacles in the way of this, for the
millionaire, who had the utmost confidence in his secretary, had signed
several checks in blank before entering the private hospital.
Nick reasoned, that, if all was straight, the secretary might get into
serious trouble with his dictatorial employer if he failed to carry out
the latter’s instructions to the letter. Besides, a quarter of a million
was only a drop in the bucket compared with the immense bulk of
Baldwin’s fortune. If the millionaire had come to any harm, the money
loss would quickly pale into insignificance.
Lastly, the giving of a check and the payment of it are two very
different things. Payment of it could be stopped, if necessary; or, on
the other hand, the rapidity with which Grantley might try to realize on
it, or the use to which he might put it, could be turned to advantage
as an indication of the game being played.
It went against the grain, but the check was made out and sent without
further delay.
That was on a Friday.
Nick at once set a watch over both Grantley’s bank and Baldwin’s, but
they closed on Saturday, without any attempt having been made to catch
or deposit the big check.
The delay gave the detective a more favorable impression than anything
else had done, for it seemed to show that Grantley was in no hurry to
take advantage of the payment, and that implied that the surgeon had no
intention of trying to disappear.
But Nick soon changed his mind.
Early Sunday morning, just a week after the operation, Patsy Garvan was
on duty as near the Grantley house as he dared to go.
He saw a taxi drive up. Almost immediately Doctor Grantley and his
assistant, young Doctor Siebold, helped the millionaire out of the house
and into the machine.
Baldwin seemed to be rather feeble or uncertain in his movements, and
there were black patches over his eyes.
Patsy was not near enough to ascertain the number of the taxi, which at
once started downtown at a rapid rate of speed. Unfortunately, too,
there was no other vehicle at hand.
It was hopeless for Patsy to attempt to follow, and, consequently, he
did the only thing that was left for him to do--he ran to the subway
terminal, two or three blocks away, and took a downtown train.
Twenty-five minutes later he alighted at the station nearest to
Baldwin’s house and started on a sprint toward Fifth Avenue.
He hoped that the millionaire had been taken home, and when he arrived
at his destination, he learned, to his great relief, that such was the
case.
But the next piece of information he obtained gave him a shock that he
was never to forget.
He was given to understand that Mr. Baldwin had arrived in a most
alarming condition--and all alone.
The financier had presented a startling appearance, and was obviously in
a dazed condition. He had not recognized any one, and had had to be
carried to his room. Doctor Vanderpool had been summoned at once, but
had not yet arrived.
The taxi was still standing at the curb and the driver was inside,
having been detained by Baldwin’s secretary.
Patsy gained admittance by using Nick’s name, and soon obtained an
interview of a few moments with the distracted secretary, Frank Craven.
“Thank Heaven you’re here!” the latter exclaimed. “I’ve telephoned to
Mr. Carter. This is terrible, Garvan, terrible! Mr. Baldwin doesn’t
recognize me. He’s in a state of collapse and doesn’t seem to have a
spark of intelligence. He’s whimpering like a baby up there. I made the
driver wait so that Mr. Carter could see him. He says that two men, who
answered the description of Grantley and that precious assistant of his,
helped Mr. Baldwin into the cab.”
“Yes, I saw that,” Patsy interrupted. “But where did they leave it?”
“At Lenox Avenue and One Hundred and Twenty-fifth, according to the
chauffeur. See what you can get out of the man. He’s downstairs with the
servants. Heaven only knows what those fiends have done, Garvan, and
they must be found, if the whole world has to be turned upside down to
do it! Do what you can--everything you can. I must go back to poor Mr.
Baldwin.”
With that Craven turned around and sprang up the stairs.
Patsy hunted up a telephone and called his chief’s number. Chick
answered, after being called to the instrument by the detective’s
butler.
Garvan explained the situation in a few words, and his fellow assistant
promised to speed up to Grantley’s house at once, and try to intercept
Hoff and the nurse if they had not already vanished.
It was also arranged that Ida Jones, Nick’s pretty woman assistant,
should accompany Chick in the car as far as One Hundred and Twenty-fifth
Street, where she would drop off, in order to search for the trail
there.
Patsy knew that minutes might be priceless things just then, and he felt
sure that Nick would sanction the moves made.
As soon as he hung up the receiver he sought the basement, where he
found the driver of the taxi surrounded by a knot of excited servants.