HELGA IS AMONG THE MISSING.
Doctor Lightfoot, the actress’ physician, was greatly excited and had
just telephoned to Nick’s house, after the detective had left for the
hotel.
The doctor had arrived there about half an hour before, for his regular
morning visit. To his consternation he had found the night nurse
stretched out on Helga Lund’s bed, unconscious, and clad only in her
undergarments.
The actress was nowhere to be found.
The anxious Lightfoot was of very different caliber from the prison
physician at Sing Sing. He had recognized the nurse’s symptoms at once,
and knew that she had been hypnotized.
He set to work at once to revive her and succeeded in doing so, after
some little delay. As soon as she was in a condition to question, he
pressed her for all the details she could give.
They were meager enough, but sufficiently disquieting. According to her
story, a man whom she had supposed to be Lightfoot himself had gained
entrance to the suite between nine and ten o’clock at night.
He had sent up Doctor Lightfoot’s name, and his appearance, when she saw
him, had coincided with that of the attending physician. He had acted
rather strangely, to be sure, and the nurse had been surprised at his
presence at that hour, owing to the fact that Lightfoot had already made
his two regular calls that day.
Before her surprise had had time to become full-fledged suspicion,
however, the intruder had fixed her commandingly with his eyes, and she
had found herself powerless to resist the weakness of will which had
frightened her.
She dimly remembered that he had approached her slowly, nearer and
nearer, and that his gleaming eyes had seemed to be two coals of fire in
his head.
That was all she recalled, except that she had felt her senses reeling
and leaving her. She had known no more until Doctor Lightfoot broke the
dread spell, almost twelve hours afterward.
She had met the bogus Lightfoot in one of the outer rooms of the suite,
not in the presence of the actress. Miss Lund had been in her bedroom at
the time, but had not yet retired.
The nurse was horror-stricken to learn that her patient was missing, and
equally at a loss to explain how she herself came to be without her
uniform.
But Doctor Lightfoot possessed a sufficiently analytical mind to enable
him to solve the puzzle, after a fashion, even before Nick arrived.
The detective had told him that the sight of an enemy of the actress’
had caused her seizure, and it was easy to put two and two together.
This enemy had doubtless made himself up to represent the attending
physician, had hypnotized the nurse, and then passed on, unhindered, to
the actress’ room.
He had obviously subdued her in the same fashion, after which he had
removed the unconscious nurse’s uniform and compelled Helga to don it.
The doctor remembered now that the two women were nearly alike in
height and build. The nurse had dark-brown hair, in sharp contrast to
Helga’s golden glory; but a wig could have remedied that. Neither was
there any similarity in features, but veils can be counted on to hide
such differences.
Doctor Lightfoot, despite his alarm, was rather proud of his ability to
reason the thing out alone. He had no doubt that Helga Lund, under
hypnotic influence, had accompanied the strange man from the hotel,
against her will.
It would have been very easy, with no obstacle worth mentioning to
interpose. No one who saw them would have thought it particularly
strange to see the nurse and the doctor leaving together. At most, it
would have suggested that they were on unusually good terms, and that he
was taking her out for an airing in his car.
The keen-witted physician had progressed thus far by the time Nick
arrived, but he had not yet sought to verify his deductions by
questioning any of the hotel staff.
Nick listened to his theory, put a few additional questions to the
nurse, and then complimented Doctor Lightfoot on his analysis.
“That seems to be the way of it,” the detective admitted. “A light,
three-quarter-length coat, which the nurse often wore over her uniform,
is also missing, together with her hat. The distinctive nurse’s skirt
would have shown beneath the coat and thereby help the deception.”
Confidential inquiries were made at once, and the fact was established
that the two masqueraders--one voluntary and one involuntary--had left
the building about ten o’clock the night before.
The supposed Lightfoot had arrived in a smart, closed town car, which
had been near enough to the physician’s in appearance to deceive the
carriage starter. The chauffeur wore a quiet livery, a copy of that worn
by Lightfoot’s driver. The car had waited, and the two had ridden away
in it.
That was all the hotel people could say. The night clerk had thought it
odd that Miss Lund’s nurse had not returned, but it was none of his
business, of course, if the actress’ physician had taken her away.
It was of little importance now, but Nick was curious enough to make
inquiries, while he was about it, which brought out the fact that a man
had registered at the hotel the morning after the affair at the theater,
and had paid his bill and left the evening before.
It might have been only a coincidence, but certain features of the man’s
description, as given, left room for the belief that Doctor Grantley had
really been at the Wentworth-Belding during that interval.
But where was he now, and what had he done with the unfortunate actress?
Such as it was, the slender clew furnished by the closed car must be
followed up for all it was worth.
That was not likely to prove an easy matter, and, unless Grantley had
lost his cunning, the trail of the machine would probably lead to
nothing, even if it could be followed. Nevertheless, there seemed to be
nothing else to work on.
The chauffeur of the car might have been an accomplice, but it was not
necessary to suppose so. It looked as if the wily Grantley had hunted
up a machine of the same make as Doctor Lightfoot’s, and had engaged it
for a week or a month, paying for it in advance.
There are many cars to be had in New York on such terms, and they are
extensively used by people who wish to give the impression, for a
limited time, that they own a fine car.
It is a favorite way of overawing visitors; and chauffeurs in various
sorts of livery go with the cars, both being always at the command of
the renter.
It would not, therefore, have aroused suspicion if Grantley had
furnished a livery of his own choice for his temporary chauffeur.
The first step was to ascertain the make of Doctor Lightfoot’s car.
Another make might have been used, of course, but it was not likely,
since the easiest way to duplicate the machine would have been to choose
another having the same lines and color.
“Mine is a Palgrave,” the physician informed Nick, in response to the
latter’s question.
“Humph! That made it easy for Grantley,” remarked the detective; “but it
won’t be so easy for us. The Palgrave is the favorite car for renting by
the week or month, and there are numerous places where that particular
machine might have been obtained. We’ll have to go the rounds.”
Nick and his assistants set to work at once, with the help of the
telephone directory, which listed the various agencies for automobiles.
There were nearly twenty of them, but that meant comparatively little
delay, with several investigators at work.
A little over an hour after the search began, Chick “struck oil.”
Grantley, disguised as Doctor Lightfoot, had engaged a Palgrave town car
of the latest model at an agency on “Automobile Row,” as that section of
Broadway near Fifty-ninth Street is sometimes called.
The machine had been engaged for a week--not under Lightfoot’s name,
however--and Grantley had furnished the suit of livery. The car had been
used by its transient possessor for the first time the night before, had
returned to the garage about eleven o’clock, and had not since been sent
for.
The chauffeur was there, and, at Nick’s request, the manager sent for
him.
The detective was about to learn something of Grantley’s movements; but
was it to be much, or little?
He feared that the latter would prove to be the case.