=NICK CARTER STORIES=

                          =New Magnet Library=

                    _Not a Dull Book in This List_

                        ALL BY NICHOLAS CARTER


Nick Carter stands for an interesting detective story. The fact that
the books in this line are so uniformly good is entirely due to the
work of a specialist. The man who wrote these stories produced no
other type of fiction. His mind was concentrated upon the creation of
new plots and situations in which his hero emerged triumphantly from
all sorts of troubles and landed the criminal just where he should
be--behind the bars.

The author of these stories knew more about writing detective stories
than any other single person.

Following is a list of the best Nick Carter stories. They have been
selected with extreme care, and we unhesitatingly recommend each of
them as being fully as interesting as any detective story between cloth
covers which sells at ten times the price.

If you do not know Nick Carter, buy a copy of any of the New Magnet
Library books, and get acquainted. He will surprise and delight you.


                     _ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT_

     850--Wanted: A Clew
     851--A Tangled Skein
     852--The Bullion Mystery
     853--The Man of Riddles
     854--A Miscarriage of Justice
     855--The Gloved Hand
     856--Spoilers and the Spoils
     857--The Deeper Game
     858--Bolts from Blue Skies
     859--Unseen Foes
     860--Knaves in High Places
     861--The Microbe of Crime
     862--In the Toils of Fear
     863--A Heritage of Trouble
     864--Called to Account
     865--The Just and the Unjust
     866--Instinct at Fault
     867--A Rogue Worth Trapping
     868--A Rope of Slender Threads
     869--The Last Call
     870--The Spoils of Chance
     871--A Struggle with Destiny
     872--The Slave of Crime
     873--The Crook’s Blind
     874--A Rascal of Quality
     875--With Shackles of Fire
     876--The Man Who Changed Faces
     877--The Fixed Alibi
     878--Out with the Tide
     879--The Soul Destroyers
     880--The Wages of Rascality
     881--Birds of Prey
     882--When Destruction Threatens
     883--The Keeper of Black Hounds
     884--The Door of Doubt
     885--The Wolf Within
     886--A Perilous Parole
     887--The Trail of the Finger Prints
     888--Dodging the Law
     889--A Crime in Paradise
     890--On the Ragged Edge
     891--The Red God of Tragedy
     892--The Man Who Paid
     893--The Blind Man’s Daughter
     894--One Object in Life
     895--As a Crook Sows
     896--In Record Time
     897--Held in Suspense
     898--The $100,000 Kiss
     899--Just One Slip
     900--On a Million-dollar Trail
     901--A Weird Treasure
     902--The Middle Link
     903--To the Ends of the Earth
     904--When Honors Pall
     905--The Yellow Brand
     906--A New Serpent in Eden
     907--When Brave Men Tremble
     908--A Test of Courage
     909--Where Peril Beckons
     910--The Gargoni Girdle
     911--Rascals & Co.
     912--Too Late to Talk
     913--Satan’s Apt Pupil
     914--The Girl Prisoner
     915--The Danger of Folly
     916--One Shipwreck Too Many
     917--Scourged by Fear
     918--The Red Plague
     919--Scoundrels Rampant
     920--From Clew to Clew
     921--When Rogues Conspire
     922--Twelve in a Grave
     923--The Great Opium Case
     924--A Conspiracy of Rumors
     925--A Klondike Claim
     926--The Evil Formula
     927--The Man of Many Faces
     928--The Great Enigma
     929--The Burden of Proof
     930--The Stolen Brain
     931--A Titled Counterfeiter
     932--The Magic Necklace
     933--’Round the World for a Quarter
     934--Over the Edge of the World
     935--In the Grip of Fate
     936--The Case of Many Clews
     937--The Sealed Door
     938--Nick Carter and the Green Goods Men
     939--The Man Without a Will
     940--Tracked Across the Atlantic
     941--A Clew from the Unknown
     942--The Crime of a Countess
     943--A Mixed-up Mess
     944--The Great Money-order Swindle
     945--The Adder’s Brood
     946--A Wall Street Haul
     947--For a Pawned Crown
     948--Sealed Orders
     949--The Hate that Kills
     950--The American Marquis
     951--The Needy Nine
     952--Fighting Against Millions
     953--Outlaws of the Blue
     954--The Old Detective’s Pupil
     955--Found in the Jungle
     956--The Mysterious Mail Robbery
     957--Broken Bars
     958--A Fair Criminal
     959--Won by Magic
     960--The Piano Box Mystery
     961--The Man They Held Back
     962--A Millionaire Partner
     963--A Pressing Peril
     964--An Australian Klondike
     965--The Sultan’s Pearls
     966--The Double Shuffle Club
     967--Paying the Price
     968--A Woman’s Hand
     969--A Network of Crime
     970--At Thompson’s Ranch
     971--The Crossed Needles
     972--The Diamond Mine Case
     973--Blood Will Tell
     974--An Accidental Password
     975--The Crook’s Double
     976--Two Plus Two
     977--The Yellow Label
     978--The Clever Celestial
     979--The Amphitheater Plot
     980--Gideon Drexel’s Millions
     981--Death in Life
     982--A Stolen Identity
     983--Evidence by Telephone
     984--The Twelve Tin Boxes
     985--Clew Against Clew
     986--Lady Velvet
     987--Playing a Bold Game
     988--A Dead Man’s Grip
     989--Snarled Identities
     990--A Deposit Vault Puzzle
     991--The Crescent Brotherhood
     992--The Stolen Pay Train
     993--The Sea Fox
     994--Wanted by Two Clients
     995--The Van Alstine Case
     996--Check No. 777
     997--Partners in Peril
     998--Nick Carter’s Clever Protégé
     999--The Sign of the Crossed Knives
    1000--The Man Who Vanished
    1001--A Battle for the Right
    1002--A Game of Craft
    1003--Nick Carter’s Retainer
    1004--Caught in the Tolls
    1005--A Broken Bond
    1006--The Crime of the French Café
    1007--The Man Who Stole Millions
    1008--The Twelve Wise Men
    1009--Hidden Foes
    1010--A Gamblers’ Syndicate
    1011--A Chance Discovery
    1012--Among the Counterfeiters
    1013--A Threefold Disappearance
    1014--At Odds with Scotland Yard
    1015--A Princess of Crime
    1016--Found on the Beach
    1017--A Spinner of Death
    1018--The Detective’s Pretty Neighbor
    1019--A Bogus Clew
    1020--The Puzzle of Five Pistols
    1021--The Secret of the Marble Mantel
    1022--A Bite of an Apple
    1023--A Triple Crime
    1024--The Stolen Race Horse
    1025--Wildfire
    1026--A _Herald_ Personal
    1027--The Finger of Suspicion
    1028--The Crimson Clew
    1029--Nick Carter Down East
    1030--The Chain of Clews
    1031--A Victim of Circumstances
    1032--Brought to Bay
    1033--The Dynamite Trap
    1034--A Scrap of Black Lace
    1035--The Woman of Evil
    1036--A Legacy of Hate
    1037--A Trusted Rogue
    1038--Man Against Man
    1039--The Demons of the Night
    1040--The Brotherhood of Death
    1041--At the Knife’s Point
    1042--A Cry for Help
    1043--A Stroke of Policy
    1044--Hounded to Death
    1045--A Bargain in Crime
    1046--The Fatal Prescription
    1047--The Man of Iron
    1048--An Amazing Scoundrel
    1049--The Chain of Evidence
    1050--Paid with Death
    1051--A Fight for a Throne
    1052--The Woman of Steel
    1053--The Seal of Death
    1054--The Human Fiend
    1055--A Desperate Chance
    1056--A Chase in the Dark
    1057--The Snare and the Game
    1058--The Murray Hill Mystery
    1059--Nick Carter’s Close Call
    1060--The Missing Cotton King
    1061--A Game of Plots
    1062--The Prince of Liars
    1063--The Man at the Window
    1064--The Red League
    1065--The Price of a Secret
    1066--The Worst Case on Record
    1067--From Peril to Peril
    1068--The Seal of Silence
    1069--Nick Carter’s Chinese Puzzle
    1070--A Blackmailer’s Bluff
    1071--Heard in the Dark
    1072--A Checkmated Scoundrel
    1073--The Cashier’s Secret
    1074--Behind a Mask
    1075--The Cloak of Guilt
    1076--Two Villains in One
    1077--The Hot Air Clew
    1078--Run to Earth
    1079--The Certified Check
    1080--Weaving the Web
    1081--Beyond Pursuit
    1082--The Claws of the Tiger
    1083--Driven from Cover
    1084--A Deal in Diamonds
    1085--The Wizard of the Cue
    1086--A Race for Ten Thousand
    1087--The Criminal Link
    1088--The Red Signal
    1089--The Secret Panel
    1090--A Bonded Villain
    1091--A Move in the Dark
    1092--Against Desperate Odds
    1093--The Telltale Photographs
    1094--The Ruby Pin
    1095--The Queen of Diamonds
    1096--A Broken Trail
    1097--An Ingenious Stratagem
    1098--A Sharper’s Downfall
    1099--A Race Track Gamble
    1100--Without a Clew
    1101--The Council of Death
    1102--The Hole in the Vault
    1103--In Death’s Grip
    1104--A Great Conspiracy
    1105--The Guilty Governor
    1106--A Ring of Rascals
    1107--A Masterpiece of Crime
    1108--A Blow for Vengeance
    1109--Tangled Threads
    1110--The Crime of the Camera
    1111--The Sign of the Dagger
    1112--Nick Carter’s Promise
    1113--Marked for Death
    1114--The Limited Holdup
    1115--When the Trap Was Sprung
    1116--Through the Cellar Wall
    1117--Under the Tiger’s Claws
    1118--The Girl in the Case
    1119--Behind a Throne
    1120--The Lure of Gold
    1121--Hand to Hand
    1122--From a Prison Cell
    1123--Dr. Quartz, Magician
    1124--Into Nick Carter’s Web
    1125--The Mystic Diagram
    1126--The Hand that Won
    1127--Playing a Lone Hand
    1128--The Master Villain
    1129--The False Claimant
    1130--The Living Mask
    1131--The Crime and the Motive
    1132--A Mysterious Foe
    1133--A Missing Man
    1134--A Game Well Played
    1135--A Cigarette Clew
    1136--The Diamond Trail
    1137--The Silent Guardian
    1138--The Dead Stranger
    1140--The Doctor’s Stratagem
    1141--Following a Chance Clew
    1142--The Bank Draft Puzzle
    1143--The Price of Treachery
    1144--The Silent Partner
    1145--Ahead of the Game
    1146--A Trap of Tangled Wire
    1147--In the Gloom of Night
    1148--The Unaccountable Crook
    1149--A Bundle of Clews
    1150--The Great Diamond Syndicate
    1151--The Death Circle
    1152--The Toss of a Penny
    1153--One Step Too Far
    1154--The Terrible Thirteen
    1155--A Detective’s Theory
    1156--Nick Carter’s Auto Trail
    1157--A Triple Identity
    1158--A Mysterious Graft
    1159--A Carnival of Crime
    1160--The Bloodstone Terror
    1161--Trapped in His Own Net
    1162--The Last Move in the Game
    1163--A Victim of Deceit
    1164--With Links of Steel
    1165--A Plaything of Fate
    1166--The Key Ring Clew
    1167--Playing for a Fortune
    1168--At Mystery’s Threshold
    1169--Trapped by a Woman
    1170--The Four Fingered Glove
    1171--Nabob and Knave
    1172--The Broadway Cross
    1173--The Man Without a Conscience
    1174--A Master of Deviltry
    1175--Nick Carter’s Double Catch
    1176--Doctor Quartz’s Quick Move
    1177--The Vial of Death
    1178--Nick Carter’s Star Pupils
    1179--Nick Carter’s Girl Detective
    1180--A Baffled Oath
    1181--A Royal Thief
    1182--Down and Out
    1183--A Syndicate of Rascals
    1184--Played to a Finish
    1185--A Tangled Case
    1186--In Letters of Fire


In order that there may be no confusion, we desire to say that the
books listed below will be issued during the respective months in New
York City and vicinity. They may not reach the readers at a distance
promptly, on account of delays in transportation.


                    To be published in July, 1926.

    1187--Crossed Wires
    1188--A Plot Uncovered


                   To be published in August, 1926.

    1189--The Cab Driver’s Secret
    1190--Nick Carter’s Death Warrant


                  To be published in September, 1926.

    1191--The Plot that Failed
    1192--Nick Carter’s Masterpiece
    1193--A Prince of Rogues


                   To be published in October, 1926.

    1194--In the Lap of Danger
    1195--The Man from London


                  To be published in November, 1926.

    1196--Circumstantial Evidence
    1197--The Pretty Stenographer Mystery


                  To be published in December, 1926.

    1198--A Villainous Scheme
    1199--A Plot Within a Plot




                         The Plot That Failed

                                  OR,

                           WHEN MEN CONSPIRE

                                  BY

                            NICHOLAS CARTER

       Author of “A Plot Uncovered,” “The Cab Driver’s Secret,”
                  “Nick Carter’s Death Warrant,” etc.

  [Illustration]

                      STREET & SMITH CORPORATION
                              PUBLISHERS
                    79–89 Seventh Avenue, New York




                         Copyright, 1903–1905
                           By STREET & SMITH

                         The Plot That Failed


                       (Printed in the U. S. A.)

    All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign
                languages, including the Scandinavian.




                         THE PLOT THAT FAILED.




                              CHAPTER I.

                      TAMBOURINE JACK’S MESSAGE.


“I feared you would not come.”

The speaker, a beautiful woman of two or three and thirty, half
reclined on a sofa, in an elegant apartment.

A gentleman, rather old, had entered the room.

He was what he looked to be--one of New York’s money kings.

“It is for the last time, Louise,” he said, toying with his watch guard.

“And why for the last time?”

For a second the woman appeared downcast, and then, rising to her feet,
she said, pleadingly:

“You swore that you would always love me.”

“Yes,” he thundered, “but then I was not aware that the shy and modest
Louise Calhoun was a common adventuress. Truly, you would be a nice
woman to grace my home and be a second mother to my orphan children!”

“I shall force you to keep your promise!” The woman’s eyes blazed and
she clinched her hands until the nails sank deep into the flesh.

“Force me--you will force me!” exclaimed the gentleman.

“Those were the words I used, Hilton Field.”

“Why, you are a criminal.”

She buried her face in her hands, and, as she began to sob, dropped
upon her knees.

The banker was moved; he had loved this woman, who had introduced
herself to him as the daughter of a New England clergyman, and said
that she had come to New York with the intention of supporting herself
by giving music lessons. Indeed, she bore letters of introduction from
a man Mr. Field knew to be trustworthy.

He had helped the stranger along and often called to see her, the
outcome of which visits resulted in a proposal of marriage, which was
eagerly accepted, as he thought.

He was deceived.

Louise Calhoun could not marry the banker, and none knew this better
than herself.

Her whole body seemed to shake with the emotions born of her grief as
she knelt at Mr. Field’s feet.

When she removed her hands the old man saw that the face upturned to
his was tear-stained and pale.

“How could you, oh, how could you?” she moaned.

“Compose yourself, Louise.”

“Would you be composed if such an accusation was made against you?” she
asked, “by one you dearly loved?”

“My information comes from a detective,” Mr. Field said.

“He told you a falsehood! Would you not take my word before his?”

The banker hesitated.

Far better would it have been for him if he had not.

“Perhaps,” he said, “the man was wrong. Do you mind if I bring him face
to face with you to-morrow?”

“You will persist in doubting me;” and, as she spoke, the girl appeared
to be highly displeased.

“Louise, I owe a duty to my family,” Mr. Field said; “no one can come
in contact with them whom even the breath of suspicion might rest on.”

“What is the name of the man who dares to injure my good name?” she
asked, her eyes fastened on him as she awaited the answer.

“His name is Nicholas Carter,” replied the banker.

“Nick----”

She suddenly placed her hand over her mouth.

“Yes, Nick Carter. You seem to know him.”

“Only from reading of him in the newspapers. I read of a bold capture
of his only this morning,” she replied.

Mr. Field was lost in thought for a second.

Then he raised the young woman from the floor and seated himself beside
her on the sofa.

“Tell me you don’t doubt me.”

Her left arm was thrown around his neck, while her right hand fumbled
about in her pocket.

Louise Calhoun was all smiles now, as she drew the banker to her so
that his head rested upon her shoulder.

Then quickly did she tighten her grasp, drawing a handkerchief from her
pocket and applying it to his nostrils.

Mr. Field struggled, and succeeding in breaking away, staggered to his
feet.

Then he fell to the floor.

The drug had done its work.

Louise touched the prostrate man with her tiny foot, and assured
herself that he was insensible.

“The old fool!” she exclaimed, and her laugh rang shrilly through the
apartment, “marry him? I guess not!”

“Louise, you are a trump!”

The speaker, a young man who would be known anywhere for what he was,
a sport and gambler, emerged from behind a heavy curtain, where he had
been hid.

“How was my emotional acting, Elmer?” she asked.

The fellow kissed the woman, saying:

“Your husband is proud of his wife.”

His praise seemed to please her.

“Where are your men?” she asked.

“They will be outside at half-past eleven”--he pulled out his watch and
glanced at it--“why, it is that time now!”

Elmer, as Louise called him, drew a long piece of thin rope from his
pocket and pinioned the old man.

When he had completed the job, he said:

“This night’s work will pay handsomely or I’ll eat my head; then for
Europe with the swag, sweetheart.”

The rascal left the house and soon returned with two brutal-looking
fellows, who awkwardly removed their hats.

Two more villainous-appearing gentlemen in the yeggman line it would
be hard to find.

“You, Mackrell, get the old gent by the head,” said one of them, “and
I’ll collar his feet.”

“All right, Skip.”

They carried the banker from the house and placed him in a grocery
wagon that was in waiting, and drove rapidly off.

This move was accomplished without discovery.

Investigation into some cases of the disappearance of rich persons
would establish the fact that they were kidnaped.

The gentlemanly rascal did not accompany his friends.

He could trust them; he had often done so before and found that they
would not go back on the man who paid them well.

The pair were members of the gang that Elmer had organized, and without
taking active part in their crimes, he was their acknowledged leader.

It seems strange that an organized gang of nearly two hundred ruffians
could exist long in the great metropolis, but Elmer Greer’s did until
they were--but that is anticipating.

Returning to the apartment where he had left his wife, he said:

“Louise, you must leave here.”

“Why?”

“It is probable that the banker’s friends knew he was coming here.”

“What then?” she remarked; “they know he often calls here; there can be
no suspicion cast on me.”

“He spoke about Nick Carter,” said Greer.

“Well?”

“Perhaps he might have come with the old chap and is now waiting for
him.”

“Elmer, never until now did I believe you to be an idiot,” said the
woman, “but your words force that conviction upon my mind. If Nick
Carter were outside do you suppose they would ever be able to carry the
old fellow out?”

“I am a fool; I spoke thoughtlessly,” replied Greer.

There was a sharp knock on the door which caused both the guilty pair
to start.

The man hid himself in his former place of concealment.

“Come in,” said Louise, faintly.

The door opened and a huge dog sprang into the room, followed by its
master.

The woman screamed.

“Don’t be afraid, miss, it is only me and Crackers. We won’t hurt her,
will we, Crackers, old boy?”

Louise was not so much afraid of the evil-looking cur as she was of the
monstrosity that accompanied it.

The newcomer was not over four feet in height, although his body
seemed to have been intended for a man at least two feet taller.

He wore a pair of pants at least a dozen sizes too large and his coat
hung about him in folds.

His head was very large, and the heavy shock of red hair that covered
it seemed to add to its size.

“Don’t come near me,” cried Louise, as the creature approached the sofa.

“I won’t harm you.”

“Who are you?” exclaimed Elmer Greer, issuing from his hiding place.

“Don’t you know me?”

“No,” replied the villain. “Come, be quick, answer my question.”

The fellow began to laugh and his laughter seemed more like the scream
of a hyena than anything else.

“I’m Tambourine Jack,” he said, at length, drawing a tambourine from
under his coat and jingling it, at which the dog Crackers set up a
dismal howl.

Greer caught the fellow, but released his hold when he felt the dog’s
teeth grasp his leg.

“Down, Crackers, down,” cried Tambourine Jack, shaking himself free.

Elmer drew his pistol and pointed it at the cur.

“Don’t shoot, you’ll be sorry,” said the owner. “I have business with
you. Come nearer; I must not let the lady hear it.”

The rascal stooped to enable Tambourine Jack to whisper to him.

When he had received the other’s communication, Elmer Greer became
deathly pale.

“Great Heaven!” he cried, “what you tell me cannot be true! How do I
know you speak the truth?”

“Give me your hand and I will convince you,” said Tambourine Jack,
stretching out his grimy fist.

Greer took the proffered hand, and when he released it his pallor
deepened.

“Do you believe me now?”

“I do,” replied the rogue. “You are one of us and dare not lie.”

“Come, Crackers, come; we have finished our business here.”

The dog made a snap at Elmer as he passed him, for which he was
rewarded with a kick from his master.

When the door closed upon the strange individual and his four-footed
companion, Greer said:

“Prepare for the worst, Louise. I fear we stand on the brink of a
volcano!”




                              CHAPTER II.

                         THE YEGGMEN’S LEAGUE.


At the foot of one of the uptown streets, East River, is, or was, a
tumble-down shed, once used as a wholesale oyster depot.

At high tide the water came up under the shed to within a few feet of
the street.

Seated around the room, the night following that of the abduction of
the old banker, were seven or eight men, while at a rude table in the
middle of the shed were two others engaged in playing cards, and on the
table between them were several black bottles.

They were a brutal set, the occupants of the place, and more than one
of them had received free board and lodgings at Sing Sing.

“I say, you, Jack Frost, that game ought to be about finished,” said
the man called Skip. “I’m thirsty, I am, and the bottles are empty.”

“You lose, Dick Denton,” said the fellow addressed as Jack Frost,
arising from the table. “Who will go and get the bottles filled? Two
quarts, Dick, you know.”

“I’ll go myself,” said the unfortunate gambler, picking up two of the
bottles and leaving the shed.

“For Heaven’s sake, don’t be long! I am dying for a drink,” remarked
the thirsty Skip.

Dick Denton had not been gone long when there came a double rap upon
the door.

The whole gang were on their feet instantly.

“Go to the door, Ben Baker,” said Skip, who seemed to be a leader among
them.

“Who is there?”

“Blue!” was the answer.

“Green!” exclaimed Baker.

“Yellow!”

The rough had locked the door when he went to it, but now he drew the
bolt.

“It’s Old Man Moses,” cried several, as an old Jew hobbled into the
room, and they all laughed heartily.

The newcomer joined in their mirth, with a succession of sounds
something like those of a bagpipe with the quinsy.

“You are very glad to see me, my children,” said he, as he rubbed his
hands together.

“Of course we are,” said Skip Brodie. “Got anything for us to do?”

Dick Denton rapped on the door, and the Jew started at the sound.

Raising both his hands above his head, he hoarsely whispered:

“Do not open the door.”

“It’s Dick Denton,” said one.

Once more Ben Baker went to the door.

The usual formula was gone through with.

“Blue!”

“Green!”

“Yellow!”

“Stop!” The Jew caught Ben Baker’s arm as he was about to open the door.

“Are you crazy?”

“No! no!” cried the Jew. “Tell me, do you know the voice?”

“As well as I do my own. It is Dick Denton.”

“You are sure?”

Baker admitted Dick.

“Hello, old Shylock!” remarked Mr. Denton.

“Very glad to see you, Dick.”

“You always are, I know, when I have any swag.”

“Say, Moses,” said Ben Baker, “why were you so anxious about my not
opening the door unless I recognized the voice? Don’t you know we have
hundreds of members I never saw, and I am an old hand?”

“I know all the boys, and they all know old Moses.”

“There is no doubt of that,” remarked Ben Baker, “especially if they
ever had any dealings with you. But, come, that is not answering my
question.”

They all had gathered around the table, now, and were engaged in
helping each other to empty the bottles.

“Boys!” cried the Jew, “you must leave here. You have been betrayed.
Detective Nick Carter knows of this place, and may be down on it at any
moment.”

“Betrayed!” shouted the brutes, in chorus.

“Tell me, who was it betrayed us?” Skip caught Moses roughly by the
arm. “They must have set no value upon their life.”

“Was it Tambourine Jack?” suggested Mackrell.

“No; not him.”

“Who, then?” shouted several of the ruffians.

“Speak, you old screw, speak!” said Skip, tightening his grasp upon the
other’s arm.

“You will not strike me?”

“No.”

“It was Dell Ladley.”

“You lie, Jew, the girl is as true as steel; I don’t go much on giving
secrets to women, but she is different to the rest.”

As he spoke, Skip Brodie raised his fist and would have felled Old Man
Moses to the floor, had he not been prevented by his companions.

“I swear to you what I say is true,” muttered the Jew, quivering with
fear, so fierce were the looks that were directed at him.

“What proof have you?”

“I heard her; she did not know that I listened,” replied the old
Hebrew; “she is to enter and open the door for Carter and the officers
he will have with him.”

“The devil shoot that same Carter, say I!”

The sentiments of the speaker, a burly Irishman, found an echo in the
breast of all.

“Excuse me, Moses, I believe you; I was too hasty.”

Skip extended his hand and the other grasped it.

“Why should I tell a lie?” said the Jew; “are we not bound to tell the
truth to each other where business is concerned?”

“Hark!” exclaimed Ben Baker, “I hear footsteps.”

“Quick, Barney, the boat!”

The big Irishman, although it was in the dead of winter, leaped through
a window into the waters of the river and swam to where a boat was
anchored.

While he was rowing it to a position under the window, Skip Brodie went
to the end of the shed nearest the land and opened a trapdoor.

“Give me a hand,” the leader said.

With the assistance of Mackrell and Dick Denton he dragged something
through the trap.

Covered with grime, in the dim light of the hovel, it would have been
hard indeed to have recognized this object as a human being.

Hilton Field, for it was he, more dead than alive, was dragged to the
window as if he had been a bag of wheat.

“Ready, Barney?” Skip cried.

“Yes!”

Dick Denton and the others got into the boat--with the exception of
Brodie.

“Now, boys, don’t drown him.”

Saying this, Skip flung the helpless banker into the arms outstretched
to receive him.

“Pull away and be sure and keep close to the Brooklyn side.”

“Ain’t you coming?”

“No,” replied Skip.

“But if you remain you will be nabbed,” remonstrated the Jew.

“You said the girl was to come first?”

“Yes.”

“Then I shall wait, and when she comes--well.”

The ruffian’s features were distorted with passion.

“Woe to you, Jew,” Skip continued, “if her coming is not followed by
that of the police. Pull off, boys; some one is knocking at the door.”

Again the knock was repeated.

Hastily closing the window, the rascal went to the door.

“Let me in! Let me in, I say.”

“That is not her voice,” muttered Skip.

“Blue!”

“Green!”

“Yellow!”

“Who’s there?”

The thief, believing now that they had been betrayed, was very careful.

“Me and Crackers,” was the reply he got.

“Come in--you!” exclaimed Brodie, swinging the door open.

“Crackers,” said Tambourine Jack, addressing the mongrel, “we don’t
seem to be very welcome here to-night.”

Jack was a very valuable member of the gang and, notwithstanding his
small size and queer ways, there were no large jobs undertaken in which
he was not an active worker.

“Anything in the bottles?” asked the visitor, before placing one of
them to his lips.

“I guess there is a little left.”

“Say, Skip, I wants to ask you a question,” said Jack. “How comes it
that this high-toned rooster, Elmer Greer, bosses the gang?”

“Elmer Greer--I don’t know any such person.”

“Oh, yes, you does.”

“Well, if I do,” muttered Brodie, “how comes it that you know him?”

“Oh, my eye, I knows all the bloods about town,” replied Tambourine
Jack. “Crackers here can tell you that we move in the very best
society.”

The fellow drew a cigar stub from his pocket and lighting it, said:

“That’s the kind Bill Vanderbilt smokes; he recommended the brand to
me, saying: ‘Jack, my boy, lay in a stock of them; they will all be
bought up within a few days, there is such a great demand.’”

Skip was in no humor for chaffing.

Dark passions reigned in his breast.

The brute sat on a low stool, his elbows on his knees, his head resting
on his hands.

He had determined upon a bloody piece of work, but the still, small
voice of his conscience whispered to him not to do what he meditated.

“Tambourine,” he growled, “you can’t stop here.”

“Where are the others?”

“Just left.”

This information did not seem to please Mr. Jack.

“Gone, eh?”

“Yes,” replied Brodie, “they pulled off in the barge as you knocked at
the door.”

“Go to sleep, Crackers,” said the little fellow, throwing himself on
the floor; “I guess we have as good a right here as anybody else,
seeing that we helps pay the rent. We haven’t got our receipt about us
for last month, but what of that?--they won’t go to court to have us
dispossessed.”

“I told you to go.”

“Now, Skip, we’re come to stay,” answered Jack. “Eh, Crackers?”

“He won’t squeal anyhow,” muttered Skip, “but I’d rather he was not
here.”

There was another knock on the door; the ruffian went to it and, after
getting the countersign, opened it.

“It’s you, is it? Curse you!”

He caught a young girl who stood in the doorway roughly by the arm, and
dragged her in.

“Oh, don’t! you hurt me, Skip.”

The rascal released his hold, and closing the door securely, fastened
it.

Returning to the woman, he again caught her and, dragging her toward
the light, cried:

“Now, traitor, what have you got to say for yourself? Quick, or I will
shake the life out of you.”

Dell Ladley was a fragile girl of about twenty, and she would have been
considered very beautiful were it not for the deep marks of dissipation
already stamped upon her young features.

“You would not hurt me, Skip,” she said; “you know you wouldn’t.”

“No, not I”--again he shook her--“but if you would jug us all, you know
the penalty.”

“What do you mean?”

“That you have betrayed us to that demon, Nick Carter. You grow pale.”

“It is a lie!” she exclaimed.

The ruffian threw her to the floor, and picking up a bludgeon, he
lifted it and was about to strike.

“When you were on the point of death, I nursed you,” moaned the girl.
“Oh, have pity on me!”

Her words arrested the villain’s arm.

“I have thought over all that,” Skip Brodie said.

“And you will have mercy?”

She dragged herself to him, and clasped her arms about his knees,
looking the while imploringly up into his face.

“It is a lie!” Dell continued.

“No, it is not.”

The girl shuddered.

She knew the nature of the man she had to deal with, and was quite
aware that to him the taking of a human life was but a passing
incident, remembered for a few days, and then forgotten unless
something occurred to recall it.

“You will not, oh, you will not kill me!” pleaded the trembling girl.

“But I will, traitor.”

“No, no, oh, mercy!”

The bludgeon was again raised on high and was about to descend.

“Stop!”

Tambourine Jack caught the uplifted arm and placed the cold muzzle of a
revolver against the villain’s head.

Skip allowed the club to fall to his side and pushed the little fellow
away from him.

“How now? Dare you interfere when a traitor is to be punished?” cried
Skip.

“Yes, I dare.”

The wig was torn off and the little fellow straightened himself up,
showing himself a good-sized man, as he placed a whistle to his lips.

“Nick Carter, the detective!” cried Skip Brodie, dashing through the
window, carrying away sash and all.

The detective sent a bullet after him, but whether the body that
splashed into the dark waters was that of a corpse or a living man he
could not tell.




                             CHAPTER III.

                          ONCE MORE ON HAND.


The bullet intended for Skip Brodie passed within half an inch of his
head.

As has been before stated, it was midwinter, but the hardy ruffian did
not seem to be at all affected by the cold.

Instead of striking out boldly for some boats that were anchored in
midstream, he swam slowly along in the shadow of the piers, heading his
course down the river.

The call blown by Nick Carter brought half a dozen police officers to
his aid.

“Get a boat,” he said, “the villain has just this moment leaped into
the river. If he is not at the bottom, he cannot be many yards away.”

The officers obeyed, but not a trace could they find, under or about
the neighboring docks, of Skip.

At one time they were so close to the chase that the bow of the boat
came within an ace of striking the fugitive’s head.

The fellow swam nearly a mile before determining to leave the water,
and then he pulled himself on board of a low-lying canal boat, anchored
at the foot of Thirty-fourth Street.

There were several other vessels lying alongside and, clambering over
these, he soon reached the dock.

In the vicinity was a favorite place of his, “Boozing Ken” he called
it, and thither he repaired.

Like nearly all saloons resorted to by thieves, it was in the basement.

There was a motley company present--toughs, drunken longshoremen,
thieves and, that choice exotic, the young man taking in the town.

“Hello, Skip, what’s up?” said the red-faced barmaid. “Been taking a
bath? Rather cold trick, I should say.”

“Hush up! Give me a drink.”

A bottle and glass were placed before Brodie, and, each time filling
the glass to the brim, he tossed off three drinks of the fiery stuff in
rapid succession.

“What’s up?”

The woman leaned over the bar as she spoke.

“The devil is to pay!” replied Skip. “Where is Jack?”

“In the other room.”

“Anyone with him?”

“Yes.”

“Who?” asked Skip.

“That high-toned friend of yours,” replied the woman. “You know, the
kid-gloved bloke. I forget what you call him.”

“I know who you mean.”

“Come in, Crackers; come in, I say.”

Tambourine Jack and his remarkable brute walked into the place.

Skip Brodie started as one who believes he sees a ghost.

A thought struck him, and with him to think was to act.

Rushing upon the little fellow, he caught him by the hair.

“Let go!”

“Damn the dog!” yelled Brodie.

Crackers had sprung upon his master’s assailant.

“Let go, I say!” cried Tambourine Jack.

Skip did release his hold, saying:

“You are genuine; I thought it was another.”

“And has any gentleman arrived in town that resembles me?” inquired
Jack. “I should just like to set my eyes on him, I would.”

“And so would I, if I had the upper hand,” muttered the ruffian.

“Strange, you should have taken anyone for me,” said Tambourine. “You
might know me by Crackers.”

“That’s where I got taken in,” said Skip. “He had a yellow dog just the
size of yours, and he also called him Crackers.”

“Do you hear that, Crackers?” said Tambourine Jack, addressing
the mongrel with great solemnity. “There are a couple of fakirs
traveling around injuring our good name. We’ll bring an action against
them”--the speaker turned to Brodie and held out his immense hands for
inspection--“I’ll lay Crackers against a soda biscuit that this nervy
chap did not have a pair of flips like them.”

Both the barmaid and Brodie laughed at this.

“Come, Skip,” said the barmaid, leading the way to the back room.

“Can I come?” asked Jack.

“Yes,” replied Brodie; “there is no mistake about your identity this
time.”

At a table in the back room was Elmer Greer, and seated opposite him a
fellow of the bruiser type, who kept the place.

The pair professed to be glad to see the newcomers, except Crackers.

That member of the party sniffed around Greer’s legs in a manner to
make their owner very uncomfortable.

“Jack, get me some dry togs and bring in some roaring hot punch. I swam
down from the ranch.”

Skip’s hearers were surprised, and began to ply him with questions, all
of which he refused to answer until he had changed his clothing.

When he had effected a change and gulped down more than one glass of
punch, he gave them a recital of what had occurred.

They were all attention, especially Elmer Greer.

“Are you sure, Skip,” he said, “that Hilton Field is safe?”

“Of course.”

“But those fellows may go back on us,” suggested Greer; “money is
tempting, and in the course of a day or two a large sum will be offered
for information of his whereabouts. Then, too, the detectives may
discover the hand we had in it.”

“Nick Carter already knows that. Dell Ladley, you may be sure, once she
began to talk, kept nothing from him.”

“Where have they taken the banker?” asked Greer.

“To the old house up at Sands Point, on Long Island,” was the reply.
“You need not fear for his safety. Mackrell is with them, and he is as
true as steel.”

The owner of the face pressed against the glass window that gave light
and sometimes ventilation to the room, drank in this last speech of
Brodie’s with great satisfaction.

And when the ruffian had finished the face disappeared.

“Our friend here,” said Jack Shea, the proprietor of the den,
addressing Skip and nodding toward Elmer, “has a nice lay for the boys.”

“Carrying off another old bloke, I suppose,” remarked Brodie.

“No, something in the bank-cracking line. It’s a soft thing.”

“Yes,” added Greer, “there will not be the slightest trouble.”

“Well, count me out,” said Skip. “New York is getting too hot for me; I
guess I’ll rusticate for a while.”

“If you are going to Florida for the good of your health,” remarked
Tambourine Jack, crossing one leg over the other, “count me in; my
lungs ain’t very strong, and as for Crackers, he has consumption very
bad. Haven’t you, old boy?”

There was a knock on the room door and, without waiting to be invited
in, the barmaid entered.

“Skip,” she said, “a young woman outside wants to see you.”

The ruffian followed the barmaid and found himself face to face with
Dell Ladley.

“You here!” he exclaimed. “You have nerve, at any rate. Don’t you know
I will kill you?”

“I care not,” she said, placing her hand tenderly on his shoulder.

With an angry motion he removed it and caught her by the throat.

“I said I would kill you!” he hoarsely cried, his grip becoming tighter
and tighter.

The poor girl grew black in the face; she tried to speak, but the
sounds were lost in gurgles.

“Don’t kill her,” said one of the roughs who crowded the place.

“What is the matter?” cried Shea, Greer and Tambourine Jack, who came
into the outer room, attracted by the noise.

“Matter enough. I have the traitress; she shall not escape me this
time,” exclaimed the ruffian.

The dog Crackers seemed to be a natural defender of everybody in
trouble.

He fastened his teeth in Skip’s thigh, causing that gentleman to yell
with pain.

“Down, Crackers, down,” cried Tambourine Jack, but the dog for once did
not obey.

“Do not murder her,” said Elmer Greer.

“Don’t you interfere.”

“I will, though,” exclaimed a man, making his way through the crowd
that surrounded the villain.

“Nick Carter!” shouted some one, in the crowd, and everybody rushed
from the place, except the barmaid, Brodie and his intended victim.

“Demon or whatever you are!” cried Skip, as he allowed the now
senseless girl to drop from his grasp, “is it possible you can read
tracks in the water as Indians read them on land?”

“You are my prisoner,” said the detective, drawing a pair of handcuffs
from his pocket.

Once again that night he had saved Dell Ladley’s life.

He was as much surprised to see the girl there as was Skip Brodie, when
the latter met her face to face.

Poor girl! She knew the detective would come hunting for Skip, and she
had determined to warn him.

Dell was not, as the ruffian thought, a traitress.

Old Man Moses deliberately lied when he said so.

“I’ll not go with you,” exclaimed Skip, making a dash for the door.

“Oh, yes, you will.”

The detective struck out with his fist and the ruffian fell like a log.

It was the work of a minute for Nick to fix the bracelets.

While he was doing so, the barmaid approached from behind with a heavy
pitcher in her hand, intending to lay him out.

A warning growl from Crackers, who, strange to say, had not left the
place, caught Nick’s attention.

He turned quickly on the woman, who ran behind the bar.

Without further interference he led his prisoner from the house.




                              CHAPTER IV.

                        A STARTLING REVELATION.


After turning Skip Brodie over to the authorities at police
headquarters, Nick Carter began in earnest running down Elmer Greer.

He had all along felt satisfied that the abduction of the banker had
never been planned by Brodie and his rough companions.

There was a master hand that pulled the strings, while the puppets
danced.

Nick Carter felt certain that he had found the leader in the person of
Elmer Greer.

For two days Nick haunted gambling saloons, theaters, sporting resorts
and other places where Elmer was likely to be found, without success.

The detective was cleverly disguised as a fop, and his best friend
would not have recognized in the dude the celebrated Nick Carter.

On the evening of the second day, the detective was sauntering across
the park at Union Square when a gentleman, walking hurriedly, his eyes
bent on the ground, collided with him.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” said the offending party.

“Don’t mention it.”

Carter walked on, but only for a few feet, then he turned.

“Shall I arrest him now?” he thought. “No, I will follow and see where
he goes; he can’t escape me.”

The man who had accidentally knocked against the supposed fop was Elmer
Greer.

The rascal walked very rapidly, but his pursuer never lost sight of him.

Greer entered a house in West Twenty-fourth Street--the same from which
Mr. Hilton Field had been carried.

It was bitter cold and the detective more than once wished that he had
arrested his man before he entered the house.

“I’m in for it,” thought the watcher, “if he doesn’t come out again
to-night. He will hardly stay in, though; were it a gambling house he
might stay until morning.”

The detective kept up a cheerful conversation with himself for about an
hour, when Greer again appeared.

Now he was accompanied by a boyish-looking young man.

Nick drew into the shadow of a doorway and allowed the pair to pass.

Greer and his friend turned up Broadway and entered one of the leading
hotels.

The detective was at their heels, and witnessed a meeting between them
and a man he knew to be a Wall Street broker.

The latter went to the clerk’s desk and engaged a room.

While the porter was showing the guests to the apartment, Nick Carter
went to the desk and glanced at the blotter.

The party had engaged room eighty-five.

“Is room eighty-four engaged?” he asked of the clerk.

“Yes.”

“Eighty-six?”

“You can have that.”

“Does it adjoin eighty-five?” asked the officer.

The clerk answered in the affirmative, wondering the while at the
question.

Nick took the room and was immediately shown to it.

He was in luck.

A door connected his apartment with that occupied by Elmer Greer and
his friends.

The door was locked, but the keyhole afforded him a good chance of
listening.

“You have made a nice mess of this business, Greer,” were the first
words the eavesdropper heard, and they were uttered by the broker.

“Why, my dear, Tom,” replied Elmer, “old Field hasn’t turned up yet.”

“But he has,” said the other; “read that ‘extra.’”

“It is impossible.”

Greer took the paper from the broker’s hand.

The article was headed “The Lost Millionaire Found.”

And it went on to describe the finding of the corpse of the missing
banker floating in the East River.

Here is an extract: “Although the face was so battered that recognition
would have been next to impossible, there were no doubts as to the
identity of the body. The clothing was the same as that worn by the
deceased, and his watch, money, diamond studs and a ring containing
a portrait of his dead wife had not been removed. It is generally
believed that Mr. Field had been murdered, but the object of the
assassin or assassins was clearly not robbery. The police have not a
clew to work on.”

“The devil they haven’t!” muttered the listener.

“How will that affect you?” asked Greer, eying the broker very closely.
“That will send the stocks he was interested in still lower. You ought
to clear a million.”

“I see through the game now,” thought Nick Carter.

For once the shrewd thief taker was in a measure at fault; he did not
see through the game yet, by any means.

“What is the stock selling at now?” continued Greer.

“It’s down to thirteen.”

“What was it a week ago?”

“Ninety-two,” replied the broker.

“You must have made a heap of money,” said Elmer, “and I have had but a
thousand dollars from you.”

“There are twenty thousand waiting for you, whenever you choose to
call.”

“Give me a check for it. I can easily get it cashed. You stand well in
financial circles.”

The man hesitated, but finally he filled out a check for the amount
demanded and handed it to the other.

“We are doing well, Elmer.”

It was the young fellow who spoke.

“This thing is getting hot,” Nick Carter whispered to himself; “my fine
young gentleman seems to be a lady in disguise. I must have that check
and also my friend’s next door.”

“It will be a month before the stock will go up again,” said the
broker, “and I can’t carry any considerable amount of it for a long
time. The death of Hilton Field will send it below thirteen. I don’t
care for the money so much.”

“What then?”

“It may be discovered I had a hand in this infernal business and
then----”

“And then?” repeated Greer.

“State’s prison!”

The thought sent a cold chill down this highly respectable gentleman’s
back.

Elmer placed his hands to his sides and laughed heartily, in which he
was joined by his young companion, who was, as the reader must have
guessed, Louise Calhoun.

“It is not a subject for mirth,” said the broker.

“That’s where you make a mistake,” said Greer. “I helped to dress that
corpse found floating in the river myself.”

“Then Field is alive?”

“He was this morning.”

“Give me your hand,” cried the broker, and most joyously did he grasp
the other rascal’s hand.

Nick Carter’s fingers itched to lay hold of the pair.

He took from his pocket a small phial filled with oil and a piece of
wire.

After carefully oiling the lock of the door connecting the two rooms,
he easily shoved back the bolt.

Then, opening the door, he quietly stepped into the room.

The word “surprised” will fail to describe the astonishment of the
three persons.

“What means this intrusion, sir?” asked the broker, angrily.

“Where have I seen that young fop before?” was the question Greer put
to himself.

“I dropped in to have a chat,” said Nick, seating himself in a
chair near the door opening on the hall; he had locked the door of
the apartment he had just left and the key was in his pocket; “I
accidentally overheard your conversation.”

The two started as if they had been bitten by an adder.

“How dare you?” cried Elmer, approaching the officer in a threatening
manner.

“Don’t come so close, please,” said Nick; “I dislike familiarity. There
were some things you did not explain quite as clearly as I would have
them.”

“What do you mean? are you a madman?” said the broker, quaking with
fear. “Leave this room or I will call for help and have you put out.”

“No, you won’t, and, besides, three men, or two and a girl, ought to
be able to handle me,” said the officer, pulling off his whiskers; “I
guess Elmer Greer will tell me where the missing banker is.”

“Great heavens, we are lost!” cried Greer; “it is Nick Carter!”

“Not yet!” exclaimed Louise, springing upon the officer with a knife
which she had concealed in the folds of her dress.

The detective had paid no attention to the girl’s movements. Had he
done so, the three rascals would not have stepped over his bleeding
body as they left the room.




                              CHAPTER V.

                        THE BANKER’S DAUGHTER.


Nick Carter was found by one of the hotel employees, who notified the
clerk.

Upon opening the dude’s coat they saw the detective’s badge.

A doctor was sent for, who, after carefully examining the wound,
declared it but a trivial one.

Louise Calhoun had stabbed the officer in the neck, within half an inch
of the artery; had her knife penetrated that, Nick’s race would have
been run.

The wounded man was very weak from loss of blood, but when he had been
given a stimulant he insisted upon leaving.

This the doctor refused to permit; ordering him to remain quiet for a
few days, until the wound had completely closed, lest he should get
cold in it.

Nick determined therefore to stop at the hotel.

Early next morning a porter came to the detective’s room to tell him a
lady wished to see him.

“Did she send up her card?” Nick asked, and he received a reply in the
negative.

“She said,” volunteered the servant, “that you would not know her by
her name, but that it was a matter of importance both to you and to
herself that she should see you.”

“I suppose I must see her,” said Nick. “Show her up.”

A few moments after a lady, young and handsomely attired, entered the
apartment.

Her face was covered with a veil, but when she had closed the door
behind her, she threw it aside.

A vision of surpassing loveliness burst upon the wounded man’s vision.

She saw the effect and smiled.

“I do not recognize you, madam,” said Nick Carter. “If ever I met you
before I have certainly forgotten it, and it is hardly possible that
one would forget such a face as yours.”

“For the present call me Mignon.”

“Well, Mignon, what can I do for you?” The officer smiled. “I can’t do
much for myself just at present.”

“What’s this?” exclaimed the woman, starting forward and snatching a
phial from a small table at the side of the bed.

“Medicine; the doctor sent it here but a few minutes ago,” answered
the detective. “I was just about to take a spoonful, when you were
announced.”

“You have not taken any of it; you are sure?”

Such was the intensity of her manner and her nervousness that the
detective started.

“No,” he replied; “but why do you ask? The physician attending me
would not send me anything wrong; he is one of the foremost in his
profession.”

“Thank God you did not take it!” Mignon cried. “Your physician did not
send you that. A few drops of it would cause your death in the most
horrible agony. No antidote would save you.”

She held the phial between her eyes and the light, saying:

“There can be no doubt about it. It is corrosive sublimate.”

“My enemies are still at work.”

The doctor entered now and the lady placed the phial in his hand.

“Did you send me that?” asked the detective, eagerly.

“I did not send you anything,” was the reply, and spilling some of
the stuff on a piece of paper, the physician pronounced it corrosive
sublimate.

“Look!” he said, holding the paper up for the wounded man’s inspection.

The poison had eaten through it, and the exhibition of the paper caused
Nick Carter, brave as he was, to shudder. He would not hesitate to
meet in the performance of his duties any man living, but how was he
to fight those secret means now used, and which would probably be used
again to kill him?

The surgeon examined his patient’s wound and, after dressing it, told
Nick that it was healing rapidly.

“When will I be able to get out?” the detective asked. “I must be up
and doing as soon as possible, doctor.”

“If you bundle your neck up well, and the weather is no more severe
than to-day, you can go out to-morrow.”

The doctor took his leave, but not before the detective exacted a
promise from him not to say anything about this fresh attempt upon his
life.

When the door closed upon the physician, the detective stretched his
hand to his visitor.

“Oh, how can I thank you?” he said, as Mignon placed her small, soft
hand in his. “Had you not come I would have drunk the poison, and now I
would be a corpse. You have, indeed, saved my life. But how was it that
you recognized the stuff?”

“At Vassar College I took the full medical course,” she replied, “and
besides, that is a poison easily recognizable.”

“Won’t you be seated?” Nick said, “and tell me what I can do for you.
First of all, tell me how you knew I was here.”

“The story of your stabbing is in the morning papers.”

“Those reporters seem to get hold of everything.”

“I was very glad to learn where I could find you,” said Mignon,
smiling sweetly, “because I wished to thank you.”

“Thank me,” ejaculated the detective; “for what?”

“Before answering your question,” she said, “I wish to put one to you.
It is this: Do you think it improper for a lady to visit a gentleman’s
sick chamber alone, when she has that to say which she does not care to
have overheard?”

She had not long to wait for an answer.

“Most assuredly not; but you talk in enigmas to me.”

“I am Hilton Field’s daughter.”

Nick Carter almost lost his breath in astonishment.

“Hilton Field’s daughter!” he muttered.

“Yes,” Mignon replied; “and I would not have anyone else come and thank
you for the message you sent to us yesterday afternoon but myself.”

“Message?” repeated Nick, amazed. “Why, I sent no message.”

“You forget, perhaps,” she said, and again that kind, sweet smile
overspread her features. “Don’t you remember you sent to say that
the body found in the river was not father’s, although it had on his
clothing?”

“I did not know myself yesterday afternoon,” said the detective, “of
the imposture. I only learned it last night, and I have not spoken of
the discovery to a living soul. There must be some other friend at work
for you. Was my name signed to the message?”

“No, it was a verbal one,” she replied; “the messenger said he was sent
by you.”

“What kind of looking person brought it?” Nick asked.

“One of the queerest little fellows I ever saw,” answered Mignon. “He
had a yellow dog with him, and when asked inside he insisted upon the
dog coming in, too.”

“Did he call the dog Crackers?”

“Yes, and he informed us that he was to be entered for a prize at the
dog show.”

Nick Carter burst into a fit of laughter, which he suddenly checked,
fearing his visitor might be offended at his unseemly mirth.

“I know the little fellow,” he said; “he is called Tambourine Jack.”

“He lifted a weight off our hearts, God bless him! I could have kissed
him in the excess of my joy, ugly as he is.”

The thought of this beautiful girl bestowing osculatory favors upon
Tambourine Jack almost upset the detective’s gravity.

“I have not seen the fellow in several days,” said the detective, “and,
indeed, I would like to see him, to discover how he learned of the
imposture tried by the villains who carried your father off.”

“How could he have known of it, then?” the girl asked.

“He is one of the gang,” answered Nick. “Oh! if I could but get out.”

“You know our address?”

“Yes.”

“Will you inform me from time to time of the progress you make in your
quest for father?” Mignon asked.

“I shall be delighted to do anything to please you,” answered the
detective.

“Then I will say good-by.”

Next day Nick went to headquarters and there found news which aroused
his ire.

Skip Brodie had found some means of communicating with a lawyer, and
the latter had sworn out a writ of _habeas corpus_, by means of
which Skip was released.

“I didn’t know what we were going to hold this fellow on,” said the
chief. “We could not prove that he had any hand in carrying off the
banker, although we are sure he did. When we were asked for proofs we
should have none to show.”

Nick said nothing, but left headquarters. He was disgusted, but he was
still determined to find the banker.

He sauntered up Sixth Avenue and saw a lady whom he thought he
recognized enter a dry-goods store on the corner of Fourteenth Street.

Nick followed.

She was for a moment lost sight of in the throng, but he again found
her.

It was the woman who had attempted his life, Louise Calhoun!




                              CHAPTER VI.

                          A DANGEROUS WOMAN.


Nick Carter kept Louise Calhoun in sight, and when she left the store
he followed.

She walked down Fourteenth Street to Eighth Avenue, and turned up that
thoroughfare.

At the corner of Twenty-eighth Street the detective heard some one call
him.

He turned, and saw that it was Tambourine Jack.

Crackers was with him.

“I want to tell you a hull lot, Mister Carter,” said Jack.

“I have no time to listen to you,” said the detective. “Do you see that
woman ahead, in the long sealskin coat and the red hat?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I want you to follow her and come back and tell me where she
stops,” commanded Nick. “She has looked back several times, and I am
afraid she recognizes me.”

“I know the lady; we have met before,” said Jack. “She is a friend of
Elmer Greer.”

The detective gave the little fellow money in case he should be obliged
to take the cars.

“Hurry after her, and don’t lose her,” the detective said. “I will wait
for you in that drug store on the corner.”

Tambourine Jack, after first turning Crackers over to Nick, hastened
after Louise Calhoun.

He was absent until very late in the afternoon, and Nick Carter became
impatient.

“Well?” the detective asked, when Jack returned.

“She led me a terrible chase,” said the little fellow.

“I don’t want to hear anything about that,” remarked Nick. “Where did
you leave her?”

“At No.--Madison Avenue,” replied Tambourine.

Nick Carter was thunderstruck.

“Are you sure you took the correct number of the house?” he asked.

“I am certain.”

Louise Calhoun was visiting the home of Hilton Field.

“Jack,” said the detective, “I will meet you here at nine in the
morning. You say you have something to tell me?”

This new turn of events puzzled Nick greatly. He returned to his home
to plan out his campaign.

It was an old colored man who emerged from the detective’s house hardly
three minutes after the latter had entered it.

The negro carried a pail half filled with newly slaked lime and a pair
of whitewash brushes.

He crossed over to Sixth Avenue and there took a can to Fifty-ninth
Street, where he got off and wended his way to Madison Avenue.

To the servant girl who answered the ring of the basement bell of
Hilton Field’s residence, the negro said:

“I wish to see the young lady of the house.”

“Go away; we don’t want any whitewashing done,” exclaimed the queen of
the kitchen.

“I don’t propose to do any,” answered the colored man. “I want to see
Miss Mignon Field; she sent for me.”

“She is engaged.”

“It does not matter. You go and tell her to step downstairs for a
minute.”

The domestic slammed the door in his face as she muttered:

“Sneak thief!”

It was soon reopened and Mignon stood in the doorway, and at her side
was the servant.

“What can I do for you, my good man?” said Miss Field. “The girl told
me you said I sent for you. There must be some mistake.”

“Send that minx away.”

“Mary, go into the kitchen,” commanded Mignon, much surprised at the
negro’s request.

Darting an angry look at the “nagur,” the cook retired to her domain.

“You have a visitor,” said the colored man; “her name is Louise
Calhoun; she used to be your younger sister’s music teacher.”

Miss Field was greatly astonished.

“Who are you? You are not what you seem,” said Mignon. “You do not talk
like a negro.”

“Nick Carter!”

The beautiful girl clapped her hands for joy.

“You bring me news of father!” she exclaimed. “But why do you come here
like a negro minstrel?”

The detective laughed.

“I will tell you at some other time,” he replied. “I want you to place
me somewhere, that I may hear the conversation between you and this
woman without being seen.”

“Why?”

The girl’s eyes opened to their fullest extent as she put the query.

“That also I will tell you another time,” the detective said. “I hope
you did not tell her that you heard your father was still alive.”

“I did.”

Nick Carter’s jaw dropped; he feared Mignon had told her more.

“And did you,” he continued, “tell her the sort of person who brought
you the intelligence?”

“No. But I was about to,” answered the girl. “I am forever thinking of
that comical little chap.”

“I am glad you did not tell her that,” Nick said.

“She is a particular friend of ours,” remarked the girl, “and I have no
secrets from her. Poor thing! she takes papa’s disappearance as hard as
any of us. Father he thought a great deal of her.”

“Hum!”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, nothing,” replied Nick. “I was but clearing my throat. I must have
swallowed some of the burnt cork when I blackened my face and hands.”

“Please satisfy a woman’s curiosity, and tell me why you wish to
overhear our conversation?” the girl asked.

“Not now,” said the detective, “at another time I may. When you go back
to the room talk as much as possible about your father.”

Mignon led the way upstairs, and ushered the officer into the back
parlor, the doors dividing the parlors being closed.

Louise Calhoun was in the front parlor, and when Miss Field returned to
her, she expressed surprise at the young lady’s long absence.

“One of the servants wished to see me,” was Mignon’s ready excuse.

Then, taking up the conversation where they had left off, she said:

“You think that if a larger amount of money was offered, my father
would be returned? We have already offered a reward of ten thousand
dollars, you know.”

“If he has been kidnaped, as the police think,” said Louise, “you may
depend upon it that the villains who have him will ask more than that.
How the poor dear gentleman must have suffered!”

The brazen creature applied a small handkerchief to her eyes and
pretended to weep, while between her bogus sobs she whispered, loud
enough for her companion to hear, however:

“Night after night I lie awake crying; oh, I hope they have not killed
him.”

Pretty Mignon Field mingled her tears with the base counterfeits of her
visitor.

After Louise had gone through her comedy part and the young girl had
dried her eyes, the latter said: “How large a reward should I offer?”

“I would not publish a reward,” was the advice of the other.

“Then how are the rascals to know what we are willing to pay?”

“Put it in the hands of a detective.”

“The money?”

“No,” replied Louise; “although I would give him a few thousands to
work on.”

“I have a detective.”

“You have?”

“That is--I mean to say,” replied Mignon, in some confusion, “I mean to
hire one, or a dozen for that matter.”

“I know one that would suit you,” remarked the visitor.

Nick Carter’s name was on the banker’s daughter’s lips, but she did not
mention it, and, indeed, its owner, on the other side of the parlor
door, feared that in an unguarded moment she would.

“I have talked with nearly all the detective sergeants at
headquarters,” said Mignon. “Does he belong to that squad?”

“Not he.” This was said with a slight show of indignation. “He is far
above those fellows; there is not a first-class detective among them.”

Again did the name of Nick Carter tremble on the girl’s lips.

“He was formerly a secret service officer,” continued Louise, “but he
retired long ago.”

“I don’t see why he could help to solve the mystery any better than any
other detective.”

“I do,” said the visitor; “there is not a low character in the city
that his long arm can’t reach, and I will guarantee, if you furnish
him with a few thousand dollars to work on, he will return your father
within forty-eight hours.”

“I would like to see this man,” said Mignon. “Will you bring him here?”

“No, I don’t think he would come,” replied Louise. “I talked with
him about the case; he is a particular friend of mine”--she made a
lamentable failure in an endeavor to call up a blush--“and he said to
me that he felt certain he knew the gang that did it. I implored him to
take a hand in the search for your poor dear father.”

“And he promised to do so?” interjected Miss Field.

“No,” answered Louise, “he said he had given up the business and did
not care to do any more detective work. I pleaded with him and finally
he said he would think the matter over.”

“But how am I to see him?”

“He visits me frequently,” replied the visitor. “He is to be at my
house to-night. You might drive there. Here is my card.”

The address on the card was No.--West Twenty-seventh Street.

“You have not told me this wonderful man’s name.”

Louise hesitated for a moment, and then she said:

“It is Elmer Greer.”

The mention of the arch rascal’s name was not a surprise to Nick Carter.

He saw through the game from the start, and he was greatly amused at
the woman’s tactics.

“Will you come?” Louise asked, rising to depart.

“I don’t know what to do,” replied Mignon. “I will first consult a
gentleman friend of mine.”

Louise laughingly said:

“Ah, you, too, have your little romance!”

Had she known the gentleman friend that the banker’s daughter intended
to consult, her mirth would not have been very exuberant.

“Bring him along, if you choose,” said she, kissing the girl and
bidding her good-by.

It was the kiss of a Judas.

When she had gone Mignon returned to the detective.

“You have heard all; what shall I do?” Miss Field asked.

“Go.”

“Do you know this man, Elmer Greer, whom she so highly praises?”

“I am quite well acquainted with the gentleman,” replied Nick. “Indeed,
I would like to know him better. I cannot describe how glad I am that I
came here.”

“Is he a good detective?” inquired Mignon.

“He is not a detective.”

“Who or what is he, then?”

“He is the man who had your father carried off,” replied Nick Carter.

The girl screamed and the servants rushed in, but she ordered them out.

“And does this woman know he did it?” asked Mignon.

“Yes,” replied the detective, “and she had a very large hand in the
affair herself, or I am greatly mistaken.”

“Heavenly powers! can such things be?” cried the banker’s daughter,
“and the traitress dares pollute his grief-stricken home with her
presence!”

“She is capable of doing anything--that is, anything that this Elmer
Greer, who is really her husband, tells her to do.”

“And you would advise me to go to her house?”

“I most certainly would,” answered the detective.

“I don’t think I could bear the ordeal of standing face to face
with the wretches and talking to them,” said Mignon. “Why, I looked
upon that woman as a friend--nay, as more than a friend; I stepped
across the social gulf that divides us and made her my companion and
confidante. Oh, I cannot go!”

“Remember, it is for your father. That thought alone will give you both
courage and strength.”

“But they may treat me as they did poor papa.”

“There is no danger.”

“But I fear there may be.”

“You need have no fear. I shall accompany you.”

“But they know you,” said the girl. “Even having you with me, I feel a
dread. I can’t describe it, but a nameless fear seems to weigh me down
since you told me who those persons were.”

“You will shake that off,” said the detective. “I will return in about
an hour and a half.”

Nick Carter was punctual to his appointment, and he was so cleverly
disguised that Mignon, although expecting him, did not recognize him.

He was got up as one of those angelic young men who are to be met with
on the uptown streets and about hotel corridors and the clubs.

His light mustache was twisted up at the ends, and his plaid suit and
overcoat would attract attention anywhere, and its owner be set down
for an imitator of the English snob.

Entering the carriage which was in waiting, they were rapidly driven to
the address given by Louise Calhoun.

Before they went into the house, Nick told his companion to agree
to anything that might be proposed, and she promised to follow his
instructions.

“Remember,” he whispered, as they went upstairs to the flat occupied by
Louise Calhoun, “that what you are doing is for your father, and have
courage.”

Louise was alone, her friend had not yet arrived--he was at that moment
in the back room, puffing away at a cigarette.

Nick was introduced as Mr. Deming, and the hostess was most gracious to
him.

“You are English, I should judge from your accent, Mr. Deming?” she
said, and he answered in the affirmative.

She had been in England, traveled on the Continent, in fact, nearly all
over the globe, and if she had not been born an American she would have
liked to be English, and in such style she rattled on for some time.

“I think I hear Mr. Greer’s step on the stairs.”

Louise opened the door, crying:

“Why, here you are now! I ought to scold you for being so late!”

She presented her visitors to the newcomers, and Nick saw at a glance
that the cunning fox was not suspicious of him.

“This is the young lady whose father has been kidnaped; oh, do
something for her, Elmer, for my sake!” said Louise.

Greer seemed in doubt; he was taken so much by surprise, as it were.

He found his tongue, however, and retained control of it long enough to
say: “It’s a bad business, a very bad business.”

“Indeed, that it is, and no mistake,” put in Mr. Deming.

“Oh, but for my sake”--Louise placed her hand lightly upon his
shoulder--“you will break your resolution never to do any more
detective work for just this once.”

Nick Carter would have given five dollars for an opportunity to laugh.

He winked at Mignon, and she, taking her cue, said:

“I will pay you handsomely for your time, whether you are successful or
not. Have you any idea where the rascals have carried my father?”

“Yes, madam.”

“You will tell me?”

“I beg your pardon,” Elmer said, “that is my secret.”

“I will pay you for the secret, if its knowledge helps the police
any--that is, providing you will not take the case yourself.”

“Oh, do take it, Elmer; both this young lady and her father have been
very good to me,” said Louise.

Mignon was utterly disgusted with the shameless woman’s acting.

“Well, I suppose I must take it or you will torment the life out of
me,” replied Greer.

“You must know, young lady,” the fellow continued, turning to the
banker’s daughter, “that I shall require a good heap of money at the
start. There is but one way to reach your father, and that is by
bribing some member of the gang who carried him off.”

“Here is a check for two thousand dollars; will that be enough for the
present?”

“I don’t like checks.”

“It is made payable to bearer.”

“I will cash it for you, Elmer Greer, with these.”

The false whiskers were plucked off, and Nick Carter, a pair of
handcuffs in his hand, confronted the villain.

“A thousand furies!” yelled the rascal, springing into the other room
and closing the door after him.

The detective drew his pistol and ran into the hall.

There was no one going downstairs; Greer must be in the rear room.

“Open the door.”

Nick Carter drove his foot through one of the panels.

Greer fired through the door at the detective.

The bullet went wide of its mark, but it found a lodging place in
Mignon Field’s bosom.

With a cry of pain the wounded girl slipped off her chair to the floor.

The sight transformed Nick Carter into a madman.

He threw his whole weight against the door and tore it from its hinges.

The room was empty and the bird had flown.

The detective heard the front door close after him, and he rushed
downstairs and into the street, but he could not see the fugitive.

“I will arrest this demon of a woman, at any rate.”

Another surprise awaited him.

Louise Calhoun had also disappeared, and he searched the house from top
to bottom without finding a trace of her.

Nick was beside himself with rage.

He had the two birds caged, as he thought, and now what had he to show
for his work?--nothing!

He returned to the room where the interview had taken place.

Pretty Mignon Field lay upon the floor bathed in her own blood.

The banker’s daughter’s presentiment that harm would befall her had
proved true.




                             CHAPTER VII.

                              BLACKMAIL.


Mignon Field, fortunately, was not badly injured. It was only a flesh
wound, after all, the doctor said, and she would soon be herself again.

Nick Carter was rejoiced to hear this at the Field’s residence, to
which he had taken Mignon, for he felt a sincere interest in the
beautiful young girl.

When Nick Carter left the banker’s mansion he did not notice a nice,
gentlemanly-looking fellow who followed him.

For many blocks he dodged the detective’s footsteps, and when the
latter took a car he also boarded it.

Nick went to his home, and the other still kept at his heels.

The detective had but reached his room when his servant announced a
visitor.

He supposed that it was some one from headquarters, and he was
surprised when the gentleman, who had been following him, was ushered
in.

“You will pardon the intrusion of a stranger, I am sure,” said the
visitor, giving the detective his card, “when you have heard what I
have to say.”

“Go ahead, Mr. Furman,” said Nick, glancing at his visitor’s card.

“I will take my own way, and I hope I may not give offense.”

Nick Carter surveyed the cheeky fellow from head to foot, and were
he to express his thoughts the gentleman would have heard little
complimentary.

Furman sat down on a lounge and threw one leg over the other.

The fellow was cool, decidedly cool.

“You would like to be rich?” he said. “But that is a foolish question;
we all want money, and the more we get the better appetite we have for
more. It never surfeits a fellow.”

“Come to the point at once,” said Nick, who seriously contemplated
throwing his visitor downstairs. “What do you want? I have no time to
listen to your impertinence.”

“Do you want to make a cool hundred thousand dollars?” asked Mr. Furman.

“No,” was the reply; “I certainly could not make it honestly.”

“That is a matter of choice, whether what I propose is honest or not,”
said the visitor. “I should say it was not dishonest.”

“What is it that you propose?” asked the detective.

“That you will give up the search for Hilton Field.”

“Oh, that’s your little game, is it?” said Nick. “It is evident that
you don’t know me, or you would not have made such a proposition. Who
do you represent in this matter?”

“It does not signify.”

“Elmer Greer has no such sum of money to pay,” remarked the detective.

“I am quite aware of that,” said Mr. Furman.

“Then, it is Thomas Smith, the curbstone broker,” remarked Nick.

“Well, we’ll suppose it is Tom Smith,” said the visitor. “It will make
no difference to you who puts up the stuff, if you get it.”

“I told you I would have nothing to do with you.”

“Better think it over,” suggested Furman.

Nick did think for a moment, and his visitor eagerly watched his
features the while, but he could see nothing there.

“I will accept your offer,” said the detective, hastily, “but when am I
to receive this money?”

“You will be paid twenty thousand dollars to-day and the rest in thirty
days’ time,” replied Mr. Furman, smiling at his success. “I knew you
would come around, after a bit.”

“What man wouldn’t?” said Nick, with great earnestness. “Why, you offer
me a fortune. But suppose some other detective finds the old banker,
what then?”

“We have no fear of the others,” answered the visitor. “You are the
only one we are afraid of. Of course you will not give any of them a
clew to work on?”

“Not I.”

“Then we will go down to Wall Street and get your first installment.”

In a dark room, in the rear of the fourth story of a Pine Street
building, into which Nick was ushered, sat the broker friend of Elmer
Greer.

“You have succeeded, Sam, I see,” said Tom Smith to Mr. Furman.

Turning to the detective, Smith put out his hand, saying:

“I guess we can come to terms. I felt very sorry for that affair at the
hotel the other night.”

“I have no doubt you did, sir,” remarked Nick.

“Sam has explained my proposition, I trust,” said the smiling broker.

“Oh, yes. I understand the matter thoroughly,” replied the detective.
“I am to receive twenty thousand to-day.”

“Just so, and at the end of a month, eighty thousand more.”

“It is a heap of money,” said Nick, evidently carried away by the
magnitude of the sum.

“Oh, I can afford it; and--let me whisper--perhaps you may get more
than you bargain for,” remarked the broker. “The disappearance of this
old fossil, Field, has been a great thing for me, and you may be sure I
am feathering my nest.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” said the detective.

Smith went to a large safe and took from it a package of bills.

They were all of large denominations, and the twenty thousand dollars
he handed his visitor did not make a very thick bundle.

Nick Carter shoved the money into an inside pocket and buttoned his
coat.

“Mr. Smith,” he said, “you must give me your note for the balance, and
state on its face what service the money is paid for.”

The broker hemmed and hawed; this proposition was not at all to his
liking.

“If you do not,” continued Nick, “our bargain is off.”

There was no resisting this threat, and Smith hastened to satisfy the
officer’s demand.

Nick placed the note with the bills and rebuttoned his coat.

“Of course,” said Smith, “you will forget about that business at the
hotel. I mean, you won’t ‘pinch’ Greer and the girl?”

The detective smiled in spite of his efforts to refrain from doing so.

“I suppose you have business to attend to?” said the broker, extending
his hand.

He had accomplished what he wished and was anxious to bring the
interview to an end.

“Y-e-s,” drawled Nick. “I have some business to attend to.”

“Then don’t let me detain you,” said Tom Smith.

The pair of handcuffs that the detective drew from his pocket were
neat ones, and the pistol that he brought to light with them was
gold-mounted, but their beauty did not strike the broker.

“What do you mean?” he cried, aghast, as he retreated to the furthest
end of the room.

“That you will accompany me to police headquarters,” said Nick Carter.
“You won’t be lonesome; our friend, Mr. Furman, here, will go along.”

“Will he?” Sam cried, discharging a pistol full at the officer.

The bullet whistled past Nick’s ear and imbedded itself in the wall.

Before Furman could again fire, the detective snatched the weapon from
his hand.

Then Nick Carter locked the door and put the key in his pocket.

“Give me back my money,” said Smith.

The detective laughed at the trembling culprit, whom he had so easily
taken in.

The broker was very pale, and his knees were so weak that it was with
difficulty he managed to stand.

Furman, on the other hand, seemed cool.

“Come, give me your hand.” Nick opened the iron cuff as he approached
Tom.

At that moment Furman, who was behind him, sprang forward.

The detective was prepared for this, and turning around, he dealt Sam
a blow between the eyes with his pistol Butt, that stretched that
gentleman upon the floor.

Nick Carter placed the iron bracelet upon the broker’s wrist without
much difficulty, although Smith struggled with all his strength to
prevent him from doing so.

Furman arose to his feet, and, before he had time to look around him,
the other handcuff was slipped on him.

“Well, you are a lovely pair, ain’t you?” said Nick, surveying his
captives.

“Let me go,” said Smith, “and I will give you all that is in the
safe--nearly a quarter of a million in government bonds. Give me enough
to take me out of the country, and you can have the rest.”

Nick Carter laughed at him.

The safe door was open, and the broker asked permission to close it.

“I will attend to that,” said the detective; “you chaps can amuse
yourselves in any manner you choose, while I am at work.”

With an ordinary penknife Nick removed the screws holding the
compartment containing the tumblers in place.

It took him but a few minutes to set the lock on a new combination and
replace it; then he closed the safe.

Tom Smith was a most interested spectator.

The broker felt that all was up with him.

Had he reasoned, Tom would have known that his money could not be taken
away from him.

He had not stolen it, and, although he had made it by dishonest means,
it was nevertheless his.

When they reached the street a crowd gathered around the detective and
his prisoners.

Nick hailed a passing hack, and the party were driven to police
headquarters.

The detective explained fully to his chief the details of the case,
and handed over to him the twenty thousand dollars; also the note he
had received from Smith.

The precious pair were brought before a police magistrate, and by him
committed to the Tombs for attempted bribery.




                             CHAPTER VIII.

                          A DAY OF RECKONING.


Hilton Field was first taken to Sands Point, but on a message from
Elmer Greer, brought by the Jew, Moses, he was suddenly removed.

The men in charge threw their captive into a small sailboat and headed
for the Connecticut shore.

The night was fine, but large cakes of ice were met with, which they
had difficulty in avoiding.

The rascals gave their captive an old suit of clothes and a heavy
overcoat, and Mr. Field was quite comfortable, as concerned warmth.

It was many hours before they made the shore, but finally, after
several hours of groping along the coast, they reached the point at
which they tried to disembark.

They ran the boat ashore in a sheltered cove a few miles from Norwalk.

It was broad daylight now, and the rascals feared that their movements
might be observed and themselves stopped and questioned.

They had taken so many risks that it would have been most galling to
lose their prize now.

“Moses,” said Mackrell, “are you sure we are at the right place?”

“Of course I am,” replied the Jew. “Do you see that house yonder, among
the trees--the yellow house with the green blinds?”

“Yes.”

“Well, Sophie lives there,” said Moses.

It was a neat cottage to which Hilton Field was conducted, and so
innocent were its exterior and surroundings that the passer-by would
most certainly scoff at the suspicion that it was anything else but
what it looked--a gentleman’s country residence.

Romping on the lawn were three fine-looking children, and they did not
even discontinue their play when the party walked down the broad avenue
to the house.

Seated in the parlor, a lady, in the prime of life, but still
beautiful, listlessly turned over the leaves of a classical work, while
at a piano opposite her was a young lady, evidently her daughter,
drumming the keys in a careless fashion.

The bell was rung in a peculiar manner, and at its sound the young
woman left the room.

The lady tossed her book upon a table, just as the parlor door opened,
and Mackrell and the others were ushered in.

“So, this is our banker friend,” said the woman, who was addressed by
her visitors as Sophie, inclining her head toward Mr. Field.

“Oh, lady,” said the wretched captive, “you are a woman; you will have
pity on me and save me from these ruffians.”

“Ruffians! What ruffians? you surely do not mean those gentlemen who
are with you?” remarked Sophie. “You are tired; I will excuse you this
time for speaking so disrespectfully of my friends.”

She touched a silver gong that stood on the piano, and told the
servant, an ill-looking colored man, to bring some brandy and wine.

“You will have wine, I know,” Sophie said, filling out a large glass of
the liquor and handing it to the banker.

Hilton Field was chilled, and the wine was most acceptable.

He had hardly swallowed it when a sleepy feeling came over him, and he
knew that the liquor was drugged.

Dick Denton took the banker’s arms within his own, and, leading him to
a lounge, told him to rest himself.

Leaving Denton and the woman alone, Mackrell and Moses went downstairs,
not forgetting to take the bottle of brandy with them.

“Where is Wilbur?” Dick asked, when the door closed behind his friends.

“Over in Norwalk; he will be here inside of an hour,” replied Sophie.
“But why do you ask?”

“I was thinking, perhaps, he might upset our plans.”

“Not he; why he was tickled to death when he heard of Greer’s success.
Don’t you know, it was Wilbur who first broached the scheme to Elmer
Greer?”

“No; I didn’t know it,” answered Denton. “There is one thing I do know,
and that is, heaps of money are being made by Greer, and some others on
the outside, while me and my pals are doing the work and taking all the
risks.”

“Haven’t you received anything?”

“Yes, a paltry five hundred dollars, and the promise of more,” replied
Dick.

“Greer dare not go back on you. Brodie will soon make him come to
terms,” remarked Sophie.

“Yes, but Brodie is in jail, worse luck,” said Denton.

“You are in error. Skip got away yesterday; so the morning paper
states.”

“Now, things will work smoothly, or I’ll eat my head,” said Denton,
joyfully. “I must go downstairs and tell that to Mackrell and Moses. I
suppose the old gent won’t wake up for an hour or two?”

“I will call you if he does.”

Sophie was left alone with the banker.

She bent over him, until her face was close to his, and she could count
every wrinkle in his pale face, had she so desired.

There was not a spark of pity in her breast for him.

Instead, she was exultant.

“Hilton Field,” she said, “you turned me from your door, but you did
not recognize in the richly dressed woman the poor ballet girl when you
came here this morning. For every heartache you caused me, you shall
suffer a hundred. Your milk-and-water daughter weeps for you, and it
will be long until she dries her eyes.”

The banker slept on, and his breathing was as regular as that of a
tired child.

Sophie heaped threat after threat upon the sleeper.

Had she had her way, the woman would have him killed--indeed, she would
not hesitate committing the deed herself.

This beautiful woman possessed the heart of a demon.

Black-hearted and unforgiving, there was no crime so dark that she
would not engage in, if the commission of it served her purpose or
brought with it revenge.

She still bent over the banker, when a hand was placed upon her
shoulder.

“Oh, it’s you, Wilbur!”

“They have brought him here, I see,” remarked the newcomer. “He looks
badly shaken up. I guess the boys must have given the old fellow rough
treatment.”

“And are you sorry for that?” she asked, bringing her face close to his
and looking him straight in the eyes.

He hesitated a moment and then answered: “It won’t do for him to die.”

Wilbur walked into the adjoining room, where there was a desk, and,
seating himself at it, he began to figure on a sheet of paper.

Sophie followed, and, while he was at work, leaned over him.

“You have heard from the city to-day, or you would not be figuring,”
she said.

“Yes,” he replied, “Smith telegraphed me. He has put out every cent
he could get hold of, and has invested all ours, too. We shall clear
an immense sum. The stock is a drug on the market, and can be got for
almost nothing.”

“What does he advise?” Sophie asked.

“He telegraphed that Greer would bring things to a climax.”

“What did he mean by that?”

“Why, stupid, to return the old man,” answered Wilbur, “and then
unload. He don’t know but what Greer still has him.”

“And----”

“I don’t know what to do, Sophie. What would you advise?”

“Keep the old man; remove him to some other place, sell this house, and
invest the money in the bonds of the railroad. And, above all things,
cut Greer.”

“You are a trump, Sophie,” said Wilbur. “You don’t suppose I intend to
share with Elmer? Smith engaged him and let Smith pay him. I will have
nothing to do with him.”

“Perhaps it might be as well,” suggested the woman, “that you led him
to believe he was to receive a share of the profits.”

“What’s that?”

“The old man has awakened,” replied Sophie, going to the door. “You do
not wish to see him, I suppose?”

“Why not?”

“I thought----”

“Never mind what you thought,” said Wilbur, “leave me alone with him.”

Sophie went downstairs, and Wilbur walked into the parlor.

At sight of him the banker was greatly startled.

“My son!” he gasped, rubbing his hand across his eyes, as if to dispel
a dream.

“You make a mistake, sir,” replied the other, “you have no son.”

“Wilbur!”

The gray-haired banker fell on his knees and lifted his hands
imploringly.

“You had a son and how did you treat him? Answer me that, old man?”

Hilton Field did not speak; his lips moved, but no sound came from them.

“Because,” continued Wilbur, “he married the woman he loved, you
drove him from your house, and made a villain of him. Your blue blood
revolted against receiving a ballet girl as your daughter.”

“You forged my name for large amounts,” said the banker, rising to his
feet; “had you not done so, I might have forgiven you.”

“Was I to starve while you rolled in plenty?” asked the son. “You
publicly announced that I was no longer a son of yours. Look at
your work and be proud of it, if you can”--he stretched forth his
hands--“they are dyed in blood. The son of Hilton Field, banker, is a
murderer and a thief. Tremble, old man, for it is you, not I, who will
have to answer one day for me.”

Wilbur had worked himself up to a high pitch of excitement, and his
father quailed beneath his eye.

“I will atone for the past,” said Hilton Field.

“It is too late, old man!” exclaimed the son. “I can never be other
than I am, a thief, the friend of thieves, a counterfeiter, a forger
and a murderer.”

“Think of your mother!”

“Did you think of her, or did you pay any heed to her appeals when you
turned me from your door?” cried Wilbur. “Did you not threaten her,
that if she extended any aid to me that you would cast her off? Do I
not speak the truth, old man? What do your millions and that blue blood
that has always been your boast avail you now? Downstairs are men that
at a word from me would take your life.”

“I repeat,” said the father, “that I will atone for the past. I will
recognize your wife and children--I believe you are a father--and take
you back. Think of your sister, how she suffers because of me.”

“Bah! you taught her to hate me long ago,” said Wilbur.

“Give up this life,” pleaded the banker. “I will give you half of what
I possess.”

“I want it not,” was the rejoinder; “all your millions could not make
white my blood-stained soul. Some day I may reach the gallows, and it
will read nicely in fashionable society that the son of the banker,
Hilton Field, was hanged for murder.”

Once more the gray-haired old men knelt at his son’s feet.

“Have you no pity?” he cried. “I always loved you until----”

Wilbur did not allow him to finish the sentence.

“Until,” said the son, “you turned him adrift. I could throttle you.”

Hilton Field, the stern, hard, money-getter, bowed his head and wept.




                              CHAPTER IX.

                          A PLOT WELL FOILED.


The next day Tambourine Jack came to Nick with a budget full of news.

He had been shadowing Elmer Greer and had seen him with Louise.

“Good!” said Nick Carter. “Where did the fellow lead you?”

“Well, me and the bloke put in yesterday in Wall Street,” answered
Tambourine Jack; “the night before we were at the Fifth Avenue Hotel,
he was inside and I was outside. Last night we visited a chap that is
a friend of mine. He keeps a crib down near the Thirty-fourth Street
ferry.”

“Jack Shea?”

“You’ve hit it the first jump,” said Jack. “This morning he and I, and
the gal, took a run down to Flatbush. I got a job from him helping to
carry furniture into their house.”

“You are certain you can find this house in Flatbush?” remarked Nick
Carter.

“Oh, that’s easy, it’s No. --, Bay Street,” replied the youth.

“Did you see anyone at the house but the man and woman?”

“Yes; there were four or five plug-uglies there. One chap’s name is
Luke--leastways, that’s what my gentleman called him.”

It was now late in the afternoon, and when Nick Carter and Tambourine
Jack reached Flatbush it was dark.

They turned up Bay Street, but Nick had not gone above a hundred yards
when he saw three men approaching, one of whom he recognized by his
voice.

That one was Elmer Greer.

The detective’s first impulse was to seize his prey, but he thought
better of it.

“There is something new afoot,” he muttered, “and I will discover what
it is before I land my fish.”

“Mr. Carter,” whispered Jack, “that chap on the outside is Jack Shea.”

“I tell you everything is easy,” the detective heard Greer say; “there
will not be the slightest hitch.”

“We had better bring tools along,” suggested Jack Shea.

“It is unnecessary,” said Elmer, “I know the combination; it is
10-50-75.”

“There may be some slip up,” persisted Shea; “I don’t go unless we have
tools.”

“Have it your own way,” said Greer; “where are we to get tools?”

“Don’t worry about that,” replied Jack, “I have a fine set at my place.”

“I will meet you then at the corner of Broad and Wall Streets at ten.”

“No, you won’t, Greer,” said the fellow, who up to this time had not
spoken, “you will go with us.”

Nick Carter crept from tree to tree of the large elms that lined the
avenue, and not a word uttered by the rascals escaped him.

He knew what they contemplated--the robbery of Tom Smith’s safe.

The two took a car, and Nick Carter boarded the next one.

“You are out rather late, mother,” said Elmer Greer to an old Irish
woman, who presided over an apple stand on the corner of Broad and Wall
Streets.

“I’m not your mother, I’m a decent woman,” replied the fruit vendor.

“You will get your death out in this cold.”

“Begorra, then, I’ll give you an invitation, now, to me funeral.”

“How much is your stock worth?” Greer asked, ramming his hands in his
pockets and rattling some silver.

The old woman was all smiles as she bustled around the stand and took
an account of stock.

“I suppose you don’t want to buy the stand itself?”

“Well, no; only the fruit.”

“Let me see,” resting an elbow on one hand while she began to
fondle her chin with the other, lost in the mazes of a mathematical
calculation.

“I should say twelve shillings.”

“Will you go home when you’re sold out?” Greer asked.

“Where else?”

Elmer threw a dollar and a half on the stand, saying:

“You may have your stock to begin business with in the morning; I don’t
want it.”

The old woman was considerably surprised at the gentleman’s generosity,
but she managed to mumble loud enough for him to hear:

“God bless your honor.”

“Go home now,” said Greer, as he walked toward Pine Street.

He had not gone far when the apple woman dumped her goods, stand and
all, into the gutter.

“You are becoming generous, Elmer Greer,” she said, flinging the money
he had given her also into the street. “Some poor devil, I hope, may
find that.”

The apple woman, keeping in the shade of the buildings which lined
Broad Street, closely followed Greer.

At Pine Street the rascal was met by Jack Shea and two others.

The building in which Smith had an office was but a few steps away.

To open the main door was but the work of a few moments for such an
experienced cracksman as Jack Shea.

The door of Smith’s office was forced with still greater ease.

The building was an old one; it did not contain many offices, and the
janitor did not reside on the premises.

All this was well known to Elmer Greer.

The old apple woman had taken off her shoes and followed the villains
upstairs.

She stood behind the door where she could conveniently see all that
took place without herself being seen.

The old apple woman was Nick Carter.

He had Elmer Greer now with no chance of escape.

Villain as the fellow was, there was one thing about him that won even
the detective’s admiration, and that was his courage.

Surrounded by dangers, as Elmer Greer knew himself to be, he had the
hardihood to remain in the metropolis, when ninety-nine men out of a
hundred, if placed in a similar position, would seek safety in flight.

He was no common criminal, but a cool and unscrupulous villain, and he
cared not for the quicksands that environed him.

Nick Carter, when he thought of poor, wounded Mignon Field, felt like
shooting the rascal down, and he certainly would have done so had he
not promised the girl not to injure Elmer until her father had been
found.

Two of the party had dark lanterns, and the rays of both were directed
against the safe knob, while Greer worked at the combination.

“I am sure,” he said, “that the lock is set on the numbers 10-50-75. I
saw Smith open it the other day, and, of course, he did not know I got
onto it.”

“Perhaps he changes it daily,” remarked Shea. “I’ve heard of chaps
doing that, and I should say that it must be a good idea, where there
are many fellows coming into an office.”

Nick Carter smiled at the futile attempts of Elmer to open the safe.

“Luke, the drills,” said Shea; and the party addressed produced half a
dozen fine steel drills and a small sledge hammer.

It was but a few moments before a hole large enough to insert a small
saw was made.

Next, a large sectional jimmy was brought into use.

The safe was of old-fashioned make, and the cracksmen ripped through
the top of it as easily as if it was made of cheese.

There was an iron money box inside, and this was broken into.

It was filled with bonds and money, which the thieves drew out in
handfuls until it was empty.

“I should say this was a rake!” remarked Shea. “It is the biggest haul
I have seen since that bank up in Vermont. The shares will be larger
here, because there were fifteen in that mob.”

The rascals began to stuff the money into their pockets, when Nick
Carter sprang into their midst, revolver in hand.

He placed a small whistle to his mouth and blew a shrill blast,
whereupon footsteps were heard coming up the stairs.

“The apple woman! Nick Carter!” exclaimed Elmer.

“Gentlemen,” said the detective, “escape is impossible. A dozen
policemen are now coming up the stairs.”

Greer edged toward the window, and, suddenly raising it, he sprang out.

The fall was a fearful one.

“That man is dead,” said Nick; “if either of you choose to follow his
example and commit suicide, I shall not prevent you.”

They were trapped; but neither of them felt inclined to run the risk of
having their brains dashed out on the flags many stories below.

“There are your prisoners,” said Nick Carter, addressing the sergeant
in command of the squad of police that the detective had kept in
waiting outside.

When Shea and his two pals were handcuffed, Nick went to the window; he
could see on the flags below the motionless form of Elmer Greer.

“Well, he has gone to his last account,” muttered the detective.
“Perhaps it is better so; his blood is not upon my hands.”




                              CHAPTER X.

                          CAUGHT AND ESCAPED.


After the policemen had departed with their prisoners, Nick Carter tore
off his disguise and left the building.

He found Tambourine Jack waiting for him, and, telling the youth
to follow, the detective went through an alleyway that led to the
courtyard, into which Elmer Greer had leaped.

There he was, stretched on the cold stones, his pale face upturned.

He was not dead--far from it.

“You have got me at last,” he moaned, when Nick Carter bent over him.

“I thought you were killed.”

“I would have been, only I struck on some telegraph wires,” replied the
fellow; “they broke my fall.”

Nick raised him to his feet and Elmer uttered an exclamation of pain.

“Any bones broken?”

“Every one in my body, I think,” replied the arch rogue. “Take me to
some hospital; I must have cut myself. I feel the blood trickling down
my leg.”

Tambourine Jack was sent to the nearest station house for an ambulance,
and it soon arrived.

Carter accompanied his prisoner.

They went to the station house first, and then to the Hudson Street
Hospital.

An officer was detailed to watch the injured prisoner.

Upon examining the patient, the surgeon on duty said that no bones had
been broken.

Elmer Greer kept moaning all the while, and this led the physician to
believe the man was injured internally.

Nick Carter was not to be taken in by shamming.

He really believed that his prisoner had suffered nothing worse than a
bad shaking up, but he was humane enough to give Greer the benefit of
the doubt.

The policeman who was to watch Elmer took a seat near the fellow’s cot.

Before leaving, Nick handcuffed Greer to the iron bedstead.

The detective left the prisoner’s bedside, and, as Greer thought, left
the hospital.

Nick Carter seated himself in a chair, at the rear of Elmer, who could
not see him; although no motion of his escaped the detective.

Soon a nun entered.

It was not an unusual sight.

She spoke kindly to several patients, and then seated herself at the
side of Greer’s bed.

The fellow seemed to start when she partly threw back her veil; and
Nick drew his chair nearer his prisoner.

The nun, who was dressed in the garb of a Sister of Charity, seemed to
take more than usual interest in Elmer.

She drew from her pocket a package of fruit, and gave him a
suspicious-looking bundle, which he hid under the bedclothes.

Nick smiled quietly to himself at this, and he laughed aloud when the
nun leaned over the rascal’s couch.

The detective was at her side in a second, and tore the veil and bonnet
away.

Louise Calhoun stood revealed.

“So! my fine lady,” he said, “you have taken holy orders, I see.”

“You fiend!” she exclaimed.

Nick Carter darted around to the other side of the bed, and drew from
its hiding place the package Greer had concealed.

It contained two small files and a revolver.

Louise attempted to leave the hospital ward, but was prevented by the
detective.

“I want you,” Nick said, as he caught her by the sleeve.

“Let me pass,” she cried, “I have done nothing.”

“No, not you!” he quietly remarked. “You did not stab me, and you
did not attempt to obtain money by false pretenses from the banker’s
daughter. You are an abused saint, you are.”

“I hate! I hate you!” she exclaimed, vehemently.

She called to the hospital attendants to save her from being kidnaped.

Nick Carter laughed at this.

He was more than reasonably sure of success; she, he felt certain,
would talk rather than remain in prison any length of time.

Not wishing to walk through the streets with a prisoner dressed in
woman’s attire, the detective engaged a coach and was driven to
headquarters.

The chief was delighted at the capture; like his subordinate, he
believed the woman could be made to talk.

She was taken away and locked in a cell, neither of the officers
questioning her.

“After the woman is there an hour,” said the chief, “she will be
willing to do almost anything to get out.”

In this Nick agreed with him.

Nick remained at headquarters for an hour or more, until he was
summoned into the chief’s private office.

Louise Calhoun was there, and Nick’s superior was engaged in
questioning her.

No tears dimmed her eyes.

Brazen and defiant, she refused to utter a single word.

While they were thus engaged, coaxing and threatening at the time, one
of the _attachés_ of the detective’s office entered the room in
great haste.

“Why do you come in here without knocking?” demanded the chief, angrily.

“Excuse me, sir, but I was told to come to you right away,” said the
fellow; “a telegram has just come in, saying an important prisoner has
made his escape.”

“What!” cried the chief and Nick in a single breath.

“Elmer Greer, sir.”

“Thank God for that!” exclaimed Louise Calhoun, her face instantly
becoming wreathed with smiles.

“Where was the policeman who was detailed to watch him?” asked the
chief, while Nick gave birth to a series of expressions more forcible
than polite.

“He left the room,” said the _attaché_, “and when he returned he
found that the prisoner had slipped his handcuffs and got away.”

“Tell the operator on duty to send a telegram to the First Precinct
Station, ordering the policeman to report to me,” said the chief; then,
turning to Nick, he continued: “Mr. Carter, this is too bad.”

“I’d like to have the policeman in a room with the door locked, and a
supply of horsewhips,” was the sentiment expressed by the detective.

Louise was taken back to the cells, and the chief and Nick Carter had a
long conference.




                              CHAPTER XI.

                            WITHIN AN ACE.


Two days later Nick Carter received a telegram.

The message was signed by an assumed name, but Nick knew from whom it
came.

That afternoon the great detective arrived in Norwalk, Conn., and
within an hour was closeted in a room in a hotel with Tambourine Jack.

Crackers, of course, was also present.

The little fellow had done splendid work, and, incidentally, so had
Crackers.

Jack related to Nick a long story, which, stripped of its details, was
as follows:

No one of the gang had the slightest suspicion that Jack was not with
them, heart and soul.

In company with a man named Rusty Owens, he had gone to Norwalk and to
the very house where the banker was confined.

“Have you seen Mr. Field?” Nick asked, when the little fellow had
concluded his narrative.

“No,” said Jack, “but Crackers had an interview with him, it seems.”

“Don’t joke; this is a serious matter.”

“I am serious.” Tambourine fished up a dirty piece of paper from his
pocket and handed it to his friend. “I found that tied to Crackers’
collar this morning.”

Scribbled on the paper, with a lead pencil, were the words:

   “I am confined in a house near Norwalk, known as Sophie’s; she
   is my son Wilbur’s wife. My life is in danger. To the person
   who gives this to a police officer I will pay ten thousand
   dollars.
                                               “HILTON FIELD,
                                          “Banker, New York City.”

“His son!” exclaimed Nick; “I never knew he had a son.”

“Nor me either, until I got that; although I have long known Wilbur,”
remarked Jack. “He is a promising bird, and if I was his guvnor, I’d be
proud of him.”

“And is he one of this infernal gang?”

“Well, he is and he isn’t,” replied Tambourine. “You can bet it was him
that put up the job to have the old duck eloped with.”

“Poor Mignon!” thought Nick; “if she but knew who was her father’s
jailer it would break her heart.”

“I know where the old gent is,” continued Jack, “even if I didn’t see
him. They have him in a room in the garret that has no windows to it. I
don’t know how Crackers got to him, but he did, that’s certain.”

“How many men are there?” the detective asked.

“Too many for you,” replied Tambourine. “There were only four there
until up to midnight last night, and then two others came along. They
were strangers to me, but Wilbur and Rusty Owens seemed to know them.
Talking about Rusty--there seems to be bad blood ’twixt him and Skip,
and I shouldn’t wonder if they would have it out before morning. They
have been growling all day.”

“What about?” Nick asked, evincing a great deal of interest.

“Owens did not want Brodie to kill Moses.”

“Kill Moses!” ejaculated Nick.

“Yes. Brodie found out that Moses was the traitor and not Dell Ladley,
and he killed the Jew last night.

“It seems that Rusty did not believe the Jew guilty.”

“I hope they do fight,” said the detective, as he and his little friend
left the hotel and made for the house.

They hid themselves in an out-building and remained there for several
hours, waiting for the villains to leave the field clear.

Wilbur and his friends were in the kitchen, and they talked so loud
that Nick could hear them, although he could not make out what they
were talking about.

Then came the sound of a heavy body falling on the floor, followed by a
pistol shot, quickly succeeded by several more.

“I was right,” said Tambourine Jack; “I knew it would come to that.
Hurry around to the front door; I will let you in.”

When Jack opened the door for him, he gave Nick a key, saying:

“Go right up to the top of the house; there is but one room in the
garret, I believe; that’s the key.”

Removing his boots, the detective ran upstairs, while Tambourine
slipped out the front door and entered the kitchen by the back.

His passage through the room had not been noticed, so deeply engrossed
were the others in the general fight which was going on.

Nick had no difficulty in reaching the banker’s place of confinement;
and giving Mr. Field his arm to lean upon, he hurried him downstairs.

The old gentleman was free!

Not waiting to put on his boots, the detective hurried his prize as
fast as was possible across the frozen fields toward Norwalk.

The village lights shone clear, and no storm-beaten mariner ever saw
a haven with more delight than did Hilton Field view those flickering
lights.

They had all but reached the town when Nick heard the sound of hurrying
footsteps behind, and knew they were pursued.

Their pursuers overtook them, and the detective determined to make a
fight for it, although there were five against him.

The first of them he shot dead in his tracks, but before he could fire
again the brave detective was knocked down by the blow of a club from
behind.

“Finish him!”

It was Mackrell who spoke, and he raised his pistol to fire.

Another one cracked in some bushes close by, and the ruffian rolled
over, a corpse.

The villains were frightened, but they did not leave Hilton Field
behind them when they fled.

Rusty Owens threw the banker over his shoulder as if he was a bag of
oats, and managed to keep up with his comrades.

Tambourine Jack had saved Nick Carter’s life.

       *       *       *       *       *

Nick Carter’s wounded head caused him terrible suffering, and it was
not until the gray morning light crept in at the window of his room, in
the Norwalk Hotel, that he fell asleep.

It was yet early in the day when he was disturbed by a knock.

The door was not locked, and, without leaving the bed, Nick told the
person to enter.

The visitor was Tambourine Jack, and the detective brightened at the
sight of him.

Jack rammed his hands into his pockets and emitted a long whistle.

“What does that mean?” Nick asked.

“I just did that to relieve myself,” he answered; “the fat is in the
fire.”

“Explain.”

“Well, seeing it is you and you are not dead, I will,” said Tambourine.
“Above all things don’t forget you are dead.”

“Dead!” exclaimed Nick.

“That was what I said,” answered the little fellow, “and I’ve come to
town to put a notice in the paper. Friends and relatives invited to
attend the funeral, no flowers, and all that. I told my friends that
you had lit out for another world and, as I was never known to tell a
lie--why, of course, it must be so. Do you catch on?”

The detective laughingly said:

“It was not a bad idea, Jack, but I trust you won’t carry the matter so
far as to bury me. What do you mean by saying the fat is in the fire?”

“Well, boss, we just stand in the same place we did the day after the
old gent was carried off,” answered Tambourine.

“Oh, no,” remarked Nick, “we know where to look for him, and I will
have the banker before night. I intend to raid the house, if the local
authorities will give me help, this afternoon.”

“You won’t find Hilton Field there,” returned the little fellow.

“They have removed him?”

“Well, rather,” replied Jack.

“We can go to the place, no matter if it was on the other side of the
Atlantic,” said the detective.

“Of course we can,” remarked Tambourine. “I’ve thought that myself,
but first we shall have to find out the place.”

“What, you were there and did not learn where they intended taking the
banker?” said Carter.

“No. I tried to find out, but could not,” answered the little fellow.
“I asked Skip, and he said when they wanted me I would be sent for. I
am to take Dell Ladley to New York this afternoon.”

“Which direction did they take?” Nick asked, very much chagrined at the
removal of Mr. Field.

“Dick, Skip and the old fellow went off in a boat about two o’clock
this morning,” replied Tambourine, “but I could not make out which way
they headed. I know they did not return to Sands Point. They did think
about doing so, but changed their mind.”

“Elmer Greer is not with them, then?”

“No, he took the first train for New York this morning,” said Jack. “I
hardly knew him when he came downstairs. The whiskers, mustache and
goatee are gone.”

“What train do you go on?” Nick asked.

“The two-forty.”

“Well, if you see an Englishman, wearing a red necktie and a loud suit,
aboard, that’s I.”

Tambourine Jack, Dell Ladley and a man Nick Carter did not know, drove
up to the depot just in time to take the train.

The man went into the smoking car, leaving his companions to shift for
themselves.

When they reached the city, Tambourine Jack put his female companion
into a street car and rejoined the detective.

“Did you get the slip of paper I dropped?” Jack asked.

“No, where did you drop it?”

“Just as we got on the cars,” he said; “it only had the name Wilbur on
it.”

“I didn’t see it,” Nick remarked. “So that chap with you was the
banker’s son?”

“That’s the sprig,” replied Tambourine. “Don’t look much like a thief,
does he? He made quite a time when Skip took the old fellow away. I
thought there would be bloodshed, but Wilbur weakened. Skip seemed to
be possessed of a million fiends last night.”

“Does he know where the new hiding place is?” Nick asked.

“You can gamble he don’t, and, between me and you, I don’t think Greer
does,” answered the little fellow. “They told him of a certain place,
I guess, but my private opinion is, they will dump him unless he soon
puts up some more money. They asked for some last night, but he had
none to give them.”

“I don’t see where he can get any,” reflected the detective.

“Dick Denton,” said Jack, “spoke to Skip last night, about returning
the old man. Field has offered them large sums, several times, to do
so. They would have done it long ago, I am thinking, only for the oath
that binds them to Greer. I am certain that if Rusty Owens got the old
bloke away from them, that he would have given him for the reward,
unless the other side paid more.”

“Well, now to work again!” cried Nick. “We must find the new hiding
place!”




                             CHAPTER XII.

                             TWO VICTIMS.


Through a politician, with whom he was acquainted, Wilbur Field--he
called himself John Wilbur--obtained a pass to the Tombs, and, upon
presenting it, was readily admitted.

One of the officers on duty within the prison pointed out the cell
occupied by Smith.

It was situated at the end of an upper tier, and the visitor found the
door open.

Smith had plenty of money, and, of course, favor was shown him.

He dined on the best that a neighboring restaurant could furnish, while
less wealthy malefactors were forced to content themselves with meager
prison fare.

“Why, Wilbur,” said Tom, throwing down the paper he had been reading
and rising from his cot.

The visitor did not press the extended hand very warmly.

“You don’t appear glad to see me,” the broker ventured.

“I came from Norwalk to see you,” was the reply. “Where are my money
and bonds?”

“There are ten thousand dollars deposited in your name in the Bank of
North America,” answered Smith.

“Ten thousand! why, I gave you more than that to invest. Then there are
the profits; they must amount to ten times that sum.”

“Did you not hear about it?” the broker asked.

“About what?”

“The robbery of my safe by Elmer Greer and some of his friends.”

“Elmer Greer!” exclaimed Wilbur; “did that vagabond rob you? I heard of
an attempted robbery in your office.”

“Oh, yes. Greer and the others were caught,” said Smith; “there are
three of them on the tier below this. The police took the money from
them and it is now at headquarters.”

“I know all that,” remarked Wilbur, “but I did not know Greer was in
the job. The rascal passed last night at my house. When I again meet
him there will be a circus, and I’ll be the leading performer.”

“Indeed, I would be glad if you killed him,” was the pious wish
expressed by the broker. “Were it not for him, I wouldn’t be here. Like
a fool I allowed him to draw me into the thing.”

“I have all the sympathy in the world for you, Tom, but I haven’t got
time to express it,” said the visitor. “I came here to talk business. I
must have my money, that is the long and short of it.”

“But I have none,” answered the prisoner. “The police have it all,
except the ten thousand dollars, which I deposited subject to your
order.”

“You lie!” cried Wilbur, seating himself on the cot beside the broker.

“What I say is the truth.”

“I am not a fool quite,” remarked the visitor, “nor am I a child to
be taken in and done for by your gammon. Do you think that I, for a
moment, believe that you had everything in an office safe? No, that
won’t do.”

“I was going to use the money that afternoon,” said Smith, “but did
not. I intended to deposit it and would have done so, but I was
arrested. I’ll tell you what I will do.”

“What’s that?” interrupted Wilbur.

“I’ll give you an order for all that is coming to you on the police
property clerk,” continued the broker. “I can do no more.”

Smith’s visitor laughed at the proposition, and the prisoner lost his
temper.

Under ordinary circumstances he would have feared Wilbur, but he did
not now.

“You will not get the money the police have,” Wilbur said, “until you
leave prison, and that may be some months or many years. I can’t afford
to wait, and I know you must have money stowed away other than this.”

“And I have,” cried the broker. “Heaps on heaps of it.”

“Then everything is all right,” said the visitor, appearing satisfied
for the first time since entering the cell. “You are not such a fool
after all, Tom. Fill me out a check for fifty thousand on your broker;
we can have a final settlement when you get out.”

“Fifty thousand!” muttered Smith; “you are quite reasonable in your
demands. Very reasonable, indeed.”

“I am not going to wait here all day,” said the visitor, angrily.

“You can go when you choose.”

“But the money?”

“You will get none from me, neither you nor the other rascal,” cried
Smith. “My lawyer tells me the money is mine, and I shall keep it; not
one penny shall either of you have. I offered you ten thousand dollars;
I take them back.”

“But I gave you over thirteen thousand in cash,” exclaimed the other,
becoming greatly excited.

“And, of course, you have my receipt to show?” sneered the broker.

“No, I have not; no!”

Wilbur was furious; up and down the confined limits of the cell he
paced, muttering to himself.

Smith, although very nervous, laughed at his visitor’s agitation.

The other saw him, and, standing in front of Tom, looked him in the
face.

The broker shrank back from the maddened man.

“Once for all,” said Wilbur, and his voice was hoarse with passion, “am
I to have the money?”

“No,” faintly ejaculated Smith. “It is mine--all mine.”

Wilbur sprang upon the prisoner, and the latter attempted to cry out
for help, but the other’s clutch on his neck was too tight.

With a strength born of madness, the visitor raised Smith in his grasp,
and dashed his head against the stone wall of the cell.

Leaving his victim upon the cot, and drawing the bedclothes over the
body, Wilbur stepped unconcernedly out into the corridor.

After leaving the Tombs, the murderer took a Bleecker Street car, and,
drawing a newspaper from his pocket, seemed to read it with the utmost
unconcern.

Not in the slightest degree did he regret his bloody crime. He did not
forget it; it was too fresh in his mind for that; nor did he strive to.

Wilbur was the incarnation of villainy, and at that moment he looked
upon himself as a most abused person.

He had lost his money; by killing the man who could have returned it to
him, he satisfied his revenge; but still that was not the money.

Wilbur left the car at Sixth Avenue, and, after walking a few blocks,
entered a place called “The Cat and Kittens.”

He knew this to be a favorite resort of Greer, and, having a drink, he
went into a rear room to wait for him.

Wilbur did not inquire for Elmer at the bar, fearing that when the
latter entered and was told a man was waiting for him in the back room,
he might take fright and go away again.

For many hours did the banker’s son await the coming of Greer, and at
least every fifteen minutes he called for a drink, which resulted in
his becoming quite tipsy.

It was near midnight when he heard Elmer’s voice in the barroom, and he
went to him.

Greer was surprised to see him, but when Wilbur beckoned, he followed
him to the back room.

As soon as they were seated, Elmer said: “Did you see the evening
papers?”

“No.”

“Then you haven’t heard about our late friend?”

“What friend?” asked Wilbur, pettishly.

“Tom Smith.”

“What has he been doing?”

“He was murdered in his cell to-day,” replied Greer, expecting that his
friend would be carried away with surprise.

“Good for him,” muttered Wilbur. “Have they got the murderer?”

“Not yet,” answered Elmer, “but the paper says the police have an
important clew.”

Wilbur became deadly pale, and his heart felt as if made of lead.

“Does it say what the clew is?” he asked.

“No,” replied Greer, a light flashing upon him.

“Why do you look at me so?” inquired Wilbur.

“Oh, nothing.” Greer said this carelessly, but the other could see that
his easy manner was forced.

“I am not afraid of you; you dare not inform against me.”

“I thought you knew a little about it,” said Elmer. “You have made a
terrible mistake.”

“I could not help it; he goaded me on,” replied Wilbur. “But what do I
care? He is not the first that has been removed. What bothers me is the
clew you speak of.”

“Smith was my friend,” remarked Greer, drawing his chair back from the
table at which the pair were seated.

“Yes, you were quite a good friend of his, too; you tried to rob him,
I believe, just to show your friendship. You are a nice gentleman, you
are.”

“I am not a murderer.”

“You admit that you are a thief?” said Wilbur. “Cowards like you fear
the hangman too much to commit murder. When I die, I hope it is on the
gallows that I may spite and disgrace everyone belonging to me. Still,
I trust it may be long before my turn comes.”

Greer got up as if to leave, but at the other’s look he again seated
himself.

“Did you know that the money at police headquarters, I mean our share
of it, is lost to us forever?” asked Elmer.

“You need not worry over that,” said Wilbur. “He has probably provided
for you in his will. You were such a good friend of his. The foul fiend
preserve me from such friends.”

The banker’s son swallowed a glass of liquor and continued:

“You have also robbed me; that is why I waited to see you.”

“Robbed you? You lie!” exclaimed Greer, becoming angry.

“Had you not broken into the safe, nearly a hundred thousand dollars,
which was mine, would now be in my possession and Tom Smith would be
alive. You it was who really brought about this murder.”

Greer winced, but he soon recovered his usual coolness.

“What do I care for you or your money?” he said.

Wilbur arose from the table, and, pointing his hand back to his hip
pocket, said:

“One murder, more or less, won’t count.”

Elmer was too quick for him.

He had taken out his pistol some minutes before, unperceived, and held
it under the table.

“Oh, I’ll block that game!” Greer cried, as he pulled the trigger of
his self-cocking revolver.

The murderer of the broker fell to the floor a corpse; even in death,
his hand still grasping his pistol butt.




                             CHAPTER XIII.

                                 GONE.


Between Little Neck and Great Neck, Long Island, is a small settlement
of negroes, who make a living by fishing and doing occasional work for
neighboring farmers.

At this point Long Island Sound is widest.

This was the place where Skip Brodie and Dick Denton took their captive.

Dick was well acquainted in this section, having been raised on the
north side of the island.

“I am afraid to trust those niggers,” said Brodie, when they reached
their boat.

“The fellow I intend to go to is all right,” replied Dick; “and there
is no danger of others seeing us, because he lives in the woods, half a
mile back of the settlement. I will go and bring him here.”

Denton had not been gone long when he returned with a gigantic colored
man, whom he introduced to his pal as Sam Cole.

It was dark, and Skip could not make out the fellow’s features.

Sam led them, by a roundabout way, to his hut, a miserable affair, not
suitable for cattle, much less for human beings.

Hilton Field followed in silence; indeed, he had not once opened his
mouth to speak since leaving the house of his inhuman son.

“You are hungry, I suppose?” the negro said, stirring up the fire. “I
can give you some eels; how will they do?”

“Anything will do, Sam,” replied Denton. “Got anything to drink?”

Cole answered by placing a large, black bottle and several glasses on a
rickety table that occupied nearly half the cabin.

Dick filled out a glass for the prisoner, and Mr. Field, who was
chilled to the marrow, drank the stuff, although it was of the vilest.

After supper Denton and the negro went outside, and when they returned
Sam carried a small ladder, which he placed at an opening in the
ceiling.

“Climb up, old man,” said Dick, pushing the banker toward the ladder.

Hilton Field did not resist; he was as obedient as a child now that his
courage had forsaken him.

When the captive reached the garret, Sam removed the ladder.

“You know,” remarked Skip, “or, at least, I suppose Dick has told you,
that this business must be kept secret.”

“This coon don’t blab when he is treated right. Mister Denton knows
what I am. It wasn’t to-day or yesterday that we became acquainted.”

“You may depend upon him, Skip!” said Denton, as he took a five-dollar
bill from his pocket and threw it upon the table; “Sam, go and get a
couple of bottles of whisky.”

When the negro had left, the precious pair had a long conference, which
ended in the adoption of a plan.

Dick Denton was to go to New York the next day and see Elmer, and if
he did not give the money he had promised, they determined to open
negotiations with the banker’s family.

They felt sure the reward would be paid, but it would be dangerous for
them to make approaches openly.

The negro brought nearly a gallon of liquor, and, when the three men
retired, they were intoxicated. Dick was up at daybreak, and, after
awakening his pal, started for New York.

In the morning paper, which he purchased on the cars, he read of the
murder of Smith in the Tombs and of the killing of Wilbur at the “Cat
and Kittens.”

It was to that place he intended to go to look for Greer, but he was
afraid to go near the saloon now, knowing that detectives would be
watching it.

He knew of another place where Elmer frequently visited, in Commerce
Street, and he made his way thither, going zigzag across town through
quiet streets.

Dick was in luck.

He met Greer going into the place, and they went in together.

“I suppose you know what I want?” said Denton.

“Money, I should say.”

“Yes, you have hit the mark,” remarked Dick. “Skip told me not to come
back without it.”

“Nice fellow, Skip!”

“What do you mean?”

“That you and he may get out for all I care,” replied Greer; “I have no
money for you.”

“Skip told me to say,” added Denton, “that if you didn’t pony up we
would do a little business with the banker’s family.”

“Better go and see that member of it who is lying dead at the ‘Cat and
Kittens.’ Perhaps you could make an arrangement with him.”

“This is not a joke, Skip, and I mean it.”

“I am very sorry, deuced sorry; I am also sorry that I won’t have the
pleasure of your charming society for some little while.”

“Are you going away?” Denton asked.

“Yes; for the good of my health.”

Elmer made a significant gesture, that of slipping a noose about his
neck.

“Then it was you that finished Wilbur?”

“He would have ended me if I didn’t,” replied Greer, “and as one of us
had to die, I preferred it should be him.”

“Well, you leave us in a nice hole.”

“Climb out of it. I can’t help you; everything has gone to smash, but
not through any fault of mine.”

“I wish I never had had anything to do with the business,” said Denton.
“Look what we have gone through and for what, five hundred dollars a
piece--Skip without getting anything. I would advise you to keep out of
his way.”

Greer laughed and said:

“We won’t meet in a hurry. Do anything you like with Hilton Field;
kill him if you choose, I don’t care. If Smith had not been a fool and
literally given himself to Nick Carter, all hands would be rolling in
wealth. Good-day; tell Skip I was asking for him.”

Elmer turned on his heel and left the place.

“Well, if that ain’t rather cool,” muttered Dick. “If Skip was here he
would serve him as he did Rusty Owens. What a herd of asses we were to
be taken in by that fellow.”

Mr. Denton’s feelings quite overcame him, and as a means of soothing
them he had recourse to the bottle.

He was in a state of blind intoxication when he reached the ferry at
Thirty-fourth Street of the Long Island Railroad.

Dick had an hour and a half to wait for a train to Little Neck--few
trains running to that point in the winter--and he strolled into a den
kept by Jack Shea.

After condoling with the barmaid over the unhappy fate that had
overtaken the proprietor, Denton settled himself in a chair for a nap.

       *       *       *       *       *

“Mr. Carter!”

The detective was standing in front of police headquarters, and turning
around, he saw Tambourine Jack at his elbow.

The little fellow was puffing and blowing like a steam engine; it was a
cold day, but the perspiration rolled down Jack’s checks.

When he caught his breath, Tambourine said:

“Come--Dick Denton.”

“What do you mean?” asked Nick Carter, catching Tambourine by the arm,
he having started to run off.

“Dick Denton is down in Shea’s place,” Tambourine replied. “I went in
there and saw him asleep in a chair, and the barmaid told me he was
going down on the island.”

“Sands Point, I suppose?”

“No; he told her Little Neck.”

Nick was still gotten up as a loud Englishman, and, not fearing that
his disguise would be penetrated, he went boldly into Shea’s den while
Tambourine Jack waited for him outside.

Denton was still there, sleeping off the effects of the liquor he had
consumed.

After having a drink, and treating the barmaid, the detective went to
the station and got a time-table.

Dick had missed the train he intended to take and there was but one
more that day, which left at eleven o’clock in the night.

Leaving Tambourine behind him, Nick Carter crossed over to Long Island
City and loafed about until it was time to take the train.

He saw Dick Denton get aboard, and he was somewhat surprised to see him
accompanied by Tambourine Jack and the wonderful Crackers.

When the pair alighted at Little Neck, they took to the woods, but the
detective never lost sight of them until they entered Sam Cole’s cabin.

Nick crept close to the hut, and through a chink in the side he was
able to see anything that might take place inside.

Upon the floor lay Skip Brodie, tied hand and foot, cursing and roaring
like a madman.

His pal cut the bonds, and, springing to his feet, Brodie dashed out
of the cabin and ran through the woods like a deer, closely pressed by
Denton.

What could it all mean?

Nick Carter called on them to stop, at the same time sending several
bullets after them, none of which seemed to take effect.

He tried to follow, but before going a hundred yards, the detective’s
head began to pain him, and he was obliged to give up the chase.

Returning to the cabin, Nick boldly entered, but he found no one there
but Tambourine Jack, and the little fellow seemed to be almost as much
bewildered as himself.

“This beats Banhager, and Banhager beats all,” said Jack. “If this
isn’t a pretty go, call me a liar.”

“I don’t understand it,” exclaimed the detective. “Where can Hilton
Field be? Surely they have not killed him?”

“He’s missing,” responded Tambourine. “Gone off with a coon.”

“Do you know anything about it?” Nick asked.

“A little, very little,” answered Jack. “This here ranch belongs to
a fellow who struggles along under the name of Sam Cole; Dick told me
that coming up in the cars.”

“Come down to the present; where is the banker?”

“How should I know?” said the little fellow; “one thing certain, our
two friends that took themselves off in such a hurry don’t know either.”

“He certainly has not made his escape.”

“Well, I rather think not.”

“And Brodie was tied hand and foot. Did he say who did it?”

“Yes, didn’t I tell you that before?” inquired Jack; “this culled
person got Skip drunk, and when he awoke, he found himself tied up like
a parcel of dry goods; Mr. Cole was standing in the door, arm in arm
with the ole bloke. I should have liked to be here, just to listen to
Skip saying his prayers at that time. Look, there is some one at the
window; ’tis a coon.”

Tambourine Jack pointed excitedly at the only window the cabin
possessed.

Nick Carter saw the man’s eyes, and, drawing his pistol, he left the
hut, followed by the little fellow.

They searched the clearing surrounding the cabin without catching a
glimpse of the negro.

The ground seemed to have opened and swallowed him.




                             CHAPTER XIV.

                            IN THE FLAMES.


Nick Carter and his little friend remained in the cabin of Sam Cole
until daybreak.

Then they sought Skip Brodie and Dick Denton, but, although they
searched the country for miles around and questioned everyone they met,
not a trace of the fleeing villains could they find.

Tired and hungry, they returned to the negro’s cabin, and, after a
short rest, Nick Carter left for New York.

Tambourine Jack had informed him that Denton said Wilbur was killed by
Elmer Greer, and the latter intended leaving the country.

It would never do to let the arch rogue escape, and Nick determined
that he should not.

The little fellow, when the detective left him alone with his
companion, Crackers, felt lonesome.

Jack could not explain satisfactorily to his own mind the depression of
spirits.

He found some liquor in the cupboard, and, although he imbibed quite
freely, the feeling of heaviness and melancholy did not leave him.

The sun was sinking behind the wood surrounding the hut, when the door
was thrown open and Dell Ladley entered.

Before going to Shea’s place, after leaving Elmer Greer, Dick
Denton had called upon the girl and given her instructions to open
negotiations with the banker’s family for his return.

He had informed her of the location of their hiding place, and,
without much difficulty, Dell was able to find it.

“Hello, Jack, you here?”

“Well, I seem to be,” replied that individual, “but I can’t say as how
I like it.”

“Where are Skip and Dick?” the girl inquired.

“I don’t know; wish I did.”

The door was flung open and Brodie and Denton entered.

Skip was in a towering passion, as was also his pal.

“Everything is all right,” said Dell, “I saw his daughter, a sweet
girl, and she promised to pay the reward and will not prosecute. She
will bring the money here or send it.”

Brodie broke into a flood of profanity.

“We can’t return the banker, worse luck,” remarked Denton.

“Why?”

“Because we have lost him, you jade,” cried Skip, “and the chances are
we will not find him again. It is all your fault, Dick.”

“I don’t see how you make that out,” said Denton. “I am sure I did not
tell the fellow to run away with him.”

“No, but you said the negro would act straight,” replied Brodie. “I did
not like the fellow’s looks from the first.”

“Admitting that I was wrong in my estimate of Sam Cole,” said Dick,
“you should have watched him more closely if you were suspicious of
him. The banker must have reached his car in some way. He did not learn
from us who or what our captive was, and you may be sure he had a
knowledge of Field’s importance before running off with him. You, and
you alone, are to blame; did I not know you so well I should think
that you and Sam had combined to dump me.”

“Dick, I was drunk,” said Skip.

“Well, it is no time for recriminations,” remarked Denton, “but I would
just like to set my eyes on Cole. You can bet the gates of the nigger
heaven would open to receive a permanent boarder.”

“Suppose we were to enlist some of the coons down at the shore in the
search?” suggested Brodie. “They would be more likely to get track of
Sam than I.”

“You couldn’t get one of them to stir or give you any information,”
answered Dick, “the fellow has so terrorized them. He knows these woods
thoroughly, and at the present moment he may be hid not a thousand
yards away.”

Sam Cole was not ten yards away.

With his eye glued to the chink before used by Nick Carter, the negro
took in all that was passing between the inmates of his cabin.

Cole grinned when Denton spoke of killing him on sight, and, indeed, he
was tempted to enter and confront the pair.

Sam was heavily armed, and, besides, he was a very daring fellow.

“I will go in,” he muttered, and he did so.

Skip’s pistol was out in a jiffy.

“You!” he roared.

“Hold on, mister.”

Cole also drew a pistol.

“Where is the old man?” Denton asked. “Speak quick, or it will go hard
with you.”

“You mean the old gent that occupied the garret?”

“Who else?” cried Dick.

“Well, he ain’t up there any more,” replied Sam. “In fact, he has
changed his residence.”

“You carried him off, you black hound!” exclaimed Brodie, toying
nervously with his weapon; “I saw you.”

“Oh, yes, I accompanied him to his new quarters.”

“You must give him up,” said Denton.

“Must?”

“Yes, must.”

“I’ll think about it,” remarked the negro; “in fact, I have been
thinking something about it, but I have not as yet made up my mind to
do so.”

“The sooner you do the better.”

Brodie took deliberate aim at Sam’s head as he spoke.

“How much will I get if I bring him back?” asked Cole.

“You’ll be killed if you don’t conduct us to where he is,” yelled Skip.

“I will see that you get at least a thousand dollars, Sam,” said Dick.
“When we first came here, I told you that you would be well taken care
of, and here you go to work and play this dirty trick upon my pal and
me.”

“It was only a joke,” muttered the negro, “only a joke, Mr. Denton.”

“Confound such jokes,” cried Brodie, “I suppose tying me up was another
joke?”

Sam laughed at this, and, had Denton not knocked the pistol out of his
hand, Skip would have shot the fellow.

“I came here to take you to the place where the old man is,” said Cole,
not in the least upset by Brodie’s effort to kill him. “I would not go
back on you, Mr. Denton, but I would advise your friend to be a little
more careful with that shooter of his, or I may be compelled to hurt
him.”

Sam led the way into the wood, and the pair followed, leaving
Tambourine Jack and Dell behind in the cabin.

They had not penetrated far into the woods when, with a loud laugh, the
negro sprang away.

He dodged about the trees, and none of the bullets directed at him
reached the mark; neither were Dick nor Skip able to overtake the
fleet-footed fellow.

It was late when the chagrined pair returned to the hut and found Dell
Ladley alone.

Tambourine Jack was absent, but he could not have gone far, because
Crackers was left behind.

“What luck?” the girl asked.

“None,” replied Denton; “the black fiend was conning us. I’ll come
across him yet.”

Skip Brodie was beside himself with rage, and he paced the floor,
growling like a wild beast.

After all his work he found himself without a cent and in danger of his
life for the murders he had committed.

“Elmer Greer first,” Brodie said, “then the negro, and I shall feel
somewhat resigned when the hangman eventually places the noose about my
neck.”

Both he and Denton had agreed to go to the city on the following night
and make an effort to find Greer.

A light was made and supper prepared by Dell Ladley.

The turbulence of their passions did not prevent the pair from making a
hearty meal of the rough food which the cabin afforded.

Dick Denton made a smoking bowl of punch, and he was about to fill out
glasses for himself and his pal, when the door was thrown violently
open.

Rusty Owens and five companions entered the room.

At the advent of the newcomers, Skip was on his feet in an instant.

“Don’t let me disturb you,” remarked Rusty; “finish your supper; I can
wait.”

“How did you find us out?” Denton asked, greatly surprised.

“You chaps talked pretty loud when you got into your boat over on our
side, and a friend of mine overheard you say you were coming here.”

“And what the devil do you want?” asked Brodie.

“Well, in the first place, I wish to introduce my friends here to the
old gent,” replied Rusty; “they wants to make his acquaintance.”

“I hope you may find him,” remarked Denton; “he is not here.”

“That’s gammon,” said Rusty Owens.

He sent two of his friends to search the premises, but, of course, they
were not successful in discovering Hilton Field.

“Where have you stowed his nibs?” asked Owens.

“He has been stolen from us,” answered Denton. “I don’t know why I
should tell you even that much; it is none of your business where he
is.”

“You are wrong there, my friend,” remarked Owens; “we have as much
right in this business as you have.”

“Put up that pistol!” yelled one of Rusty’s companions.

Denton had drawn his weapon, but when he saw that each of the newcomers
covered him with revolvers, he replaced it in his pocket.

Brodie was standing at the table, and the girl was seated at his side.

“I want you and your mob to leave here,” he said angrily, addressing
Owens.

“Not quite yet,” Rusty replied. “I have a little matter to settle with
you before I go.”

The speaker walked to where Skip was standing, and, catching that
gentleman by the ears, spat in his face.

With an infuriated cry, Brodie threw himself upon the other, and the
pair fell to the floor.

Rusty seemed to be possessed of prodigious strength.

Very easily did he shake himself free of his powerful antagonist and
rise to his feet.

“I guess there is really only one way to settle such carrion as you.”

Saying this, Owens drew a pistol and cocked it.

He emptied the revolver into the body of the prostrate man.

The others threw themselves upon Dick Denton and bound him with a rope
they found upon the floor--the one Sam Cole had bound Skip Brodie with.

A cry of agony escaped Dell Ladley when Owens fired upon her husband.

Skip’s pistol lay upon the table; grasping it, she rushed upon Rusty,
and when but a few feet from him, fired.

The fellow rolled over upon the body of his victim, dead.

One of the ruffians picked up a chair, and brought it down with such
crushing force upon Dell Ladley’s head that she sank to the floor
insensible.

Dick Denton raved and swore, struggling the while to free himself, but
unsuccessfully.

The ruffians examined their leader and found that he was dead.

“Shoot that fellow,” suggested one, pointing to Dick Denton.

“Yes, kill him,” added another, who was about to do so.

“Let him stay where he is; we’ll burn the house,” cried a third.

This was agreed to by the fellow’s companion demons.

They dragged several straw mattresses outside, and, closing the door,
set fire to them.

The hut was old and as dry as a chip.

With fearful rapidity the fire grew until in a few minutes Sam’s cabin
was wrapped in a shroud of flame.

No Indian ever died at the stake with more courage than did
Denton--not a cry escaped him, even when the flames reached him.

A little figure dashed into the clearing and rushed toward the burning
hut.

Strong arms grasped him and prevented him from entering.

“Poor Crackers!” and the creature threw himself on the ground and began
to cry.




                              CHAPTER XV.

                           RESTORED AT LAST.


Nick Carter went at once, upon arriving in the city, to the place
uptown where Tambourine Jack told him Dick Denton had met Elmer Greer.

The murderer was not there, and, leaving the saloon, the detective took
a position near at hand, where he could see everyone that entered.

He had been at his post but an hour when a man, wearing heavy, black
whiskers and beard, brushed past him.

The man entered the saloon and Nick Carter quickly followed.

“That disguise don’t baffle me,” the detective thought. “I think I
should recognize Elmer Greer if I were to see nothing of him but his
eyes.”

Walking up to the bearded gentleman, Nick tapped him on the shoulder,
saying:

“I would like to have a few minutes’ conversation with you.”

“I don’t know you, sir,” replied the other; “though I am a stranger in
town, I am not to be taken in by any confidence man.”

The detective began to laugh at this, and there was something so
familiar in this laugh that the bearded fellow became very nervous.

“I guess you and I have met before,” Nick said, playing with his mouse.
“What might your name be at present?”

“None of your infernal business, you bloody cockney!”

“Elmer Greer, you are my prisoner.”

Greer reached for his pistol, but before he could draw it, Nick Carter
struck him between the eyes, knocking him down.

In an instant the detective had securely handcuffed his prisoner.

“This is an outrage,” cried Elmer. “What have I done? Are all strangers
who come to New York treated like this?”

“Well, no.”

The detective removed his wig and whiskers, saying:

“I guess you will remember seeing me before?”

“Nick Carter!” involuntarily exclaimed Greer.

“Or his ghost,” added Nick. “You thought I was dead.”

Elmer saw that it would be absurd to deny his identity any longer, and
he removed the beard that disguised his features.

“I suppose I am good for twenty years?” he said, making a sickly
attempt to smile.

“Not quite,” replied Nick; “they hang murderers in this State.”

“Murder!” ejaculated the prisoner. “I do not understand.”

“How about shooting Wilbur Field night before last? If you had but a
white robe and a golden harp you might pose as an angel.”

“There is no hope for me,” muttered Greer. “But tell me, how in the
name of all things infernal have you learned all this?”

“That you shall never know,” answered Nick; “but I can inform you of
one thing, and that is, nothing that you have done since carrying off
the banker has escaped me. I charge you with murder, and I have the
proof to convict you.”

“I have money--heaps of money.”

“You lie, but if you were to make me a millionaire if I would unlock
these handcuffs, they would not be unlocked until you reached a prison
cell.”

“I will put you on the track of Hilton Field.”

Nick would have laughed had he not had a little compassion for the now
abject and trembling wretch.

He begged, prayed and cursed by turns, but his appeals had no effect.

“Send me to prison for my other crimes,” the rascal cried,
beseechingly, “but do not make the charge of murder against me. It is
horrible to die.”

“No more so to you than to your victims,” said the detective. “No, I
will bring you to the gallows.”

When he left the Tombs, whither he had taken Greer, Nick visited a
friend of his, who had a saloon in Center Street, and from him borrowed
a bloodhound that had been brought from Cuba, where it had been used in
hunting down runaway slaves.

The detective had often fondled the dog, and they were very good
friends.

Taking the brute with him, Nick went to Long Island City, and learned
that the last train for Little Neck had left, but that he could get one
to Flushing, which is about halfway.

At Flushing the detective engaged a horse and carriage, and, taking the
dog in the wagon, he drove to the negro settlement near Little Neck.

He awoke the occupant of one of the cottages, and engaged him to care
for the horse, since he might be absent until late the next day.

Nick Carter found Sam Cole’s cabin a smoking ruin, and by the small
tongues of flame that sprang up only to die away in a second, he saw a
figure sitting near the edge of the burning hut.

There was no mistaking the person.

“Tambourine!” the detective cried.

The figure leaped to its feet, and the little fellow was at his side in
a moment.

“Who set it on fire?”

“Skip’s bones are in the ruins somewhere; he was dead, but poor Dell
Ladley and Dick Denton were burned alive.”

“This is horrible!” exclaimed Nick Carter. “How was it you escaped?”

“I was out of the hut at the time,” answered Tambourine, “or I would
have been served like the rest.”

Jack went on to tell him all he had learned of the affair from the
incendiaries.

“What did you bring the dog for?” Jack asked, when he had finished his
narrative.

“To track the negro, of course,” replied Nick. “Where did you see him
last?”

The little fellow led the way into the wood where Dick Denton and Skip
Brodie had lost sight of Sam Cole.

At first the bloodhound was puzzled and seemed to have several false
scents before, with a deep bay, he rushed away through a part of the
forest thickly grown with brush.

It was with difficulty that Nick Carter and his friend made their way
through the undergrowth.

The dog was lost sight of, but they were guided by his cries.

Suddenly they ceased and Nick knew the hound had reached the end of the
trail.

At a clearing on the side of a steep hill they came face to face with a
gigantic negro.

“That’s him,” whispered Jack.

The colored man was bleeding at the throat, where the dog had sunk his
fangs, and at his feet lay the brute, dead.

“Was that your dog?” Sam Cole angrily asked, approaching the pair with
a large, wooden stake in his hand.

“Yes,” replied Nick Carter, drawing his pistol; “it was.”

Sam saw the weapon glitter in the moonlight and advanced no further.

“He had like to kill me,” the negro said, “and I was obliged to kill
him; I am sorry, gentlemen.”

“Look out for him,” whispered Tambourine, “he is a bad one.”

“Are you Sam Cole?”

The detective drew near the fellow as he spoke.

“That’s what they call me hereabouts,” was the answer. “Is there
anything I can do for you?”

“Yes; show me where you have hid the old gentleman you carried away
from your cabin,” said Nick.

“Guess you have struck the wrong party, mister. I don’t know what you
are talking about.”

“Come, now, none of that, if you wish to save yourself from going to
prison,” remarked the detective; “I am Nick Carter, of New York, and I
know you have this man I am in search of.”

With the hand that held the pistol, the officer threw back his coat to
exhibit his badge.

As he did so, Sam Cole threw the stake with unerring aim at him.

It struck Nick full in the breast, keeling him over.

Cole was upon him, and bearing him to the ground, the giant said:

“The police officer has not yet been born who could take me.”

Nick’s pistol fell from his hand when the negro attacked him;
Tambourine saw its silver mounting shining in the grass and soon
possessed himself of it.

There was a pistol shot; the negro’s grasp relaxed and he rolled over,
dead.

For the second time had Tambourine Jack saved his friend’s life.

“See!” cried the little fellow, when the detective arose to his feet,
“there is a light yonder.”

The detective saw the light, but before going to it he caught Jack’s
hand in his own, saying:

“I hope some day to square accounts as near as possible with you.”

They found that the light came from a fire built in a small cave.

Taking the revolver from Tambourine, the detective entered.

“I tell you, negro, I will pay you well.”

It was Hilton Field’s voice, and Nick Carter instantly recognized it.

In a corner of the cave, tied to a stake driven into the ground, was
the banker.

Nick cut the bond and led Mr. Field into the open air.

“Nick Carter!” he exclaimed.

“Yes,” replied the detective, “I have come to take you home.”

That home-coming was joyful, indeed.

The banker clasped his daughter in his arms, weeping from pure
happiness.

Still, much remained to be done to break up the gang and punish those
already captured.

The work was full of difficulties and entailed many adventures, but
eventually Nick succeeded in his task.

The Calhoun woman served a long term in the penitentiary.

Greer was prosecuted on the charge of murdering Wilbur Field, but the
jury disagreed. On another indictment he received a long sentence.

Shortly after his return, Hilton Field settled up his affairs and, with
his daughters, went to Europe.

While sailing in the Mediterranean one day, a sudden storm arose, and
the yacht in which were Field and his children, was capsized. Field
alone was saved.

This catastrophe seemed to have dried up the milk of human kindness
in Field’s heart. He returned to America, plunged into the vortex of
Wall Street, and became known as one of the shrewdest, richest and most
unscrupulous operators the “Street” had ever known.

In a few years time he had become one of the richest men in America.
He built a palace on Riverside Drive, one of the most beautiful
neighborhoods in New York City, retired from active business, and lived
in his magnificent home a life of solitary grandeur.

Of the few men who knew him as friends, Nick Carter was one, and
although they saw each other infrequently, the feeling of mutual esteem
increased with years.

At first, Nick believed that when the scattered members of the gang
that had kidnaped him learned of the banker’s return to New York, they
would annoy him.

But many years passed without a sign of revenge, and Nick’s anxiety was
lulled to sleep.




                             CHAPTER XVI.

                           WHOSE THE BRAIN?


It was destined to be rudely awakened.

One morning, twenty-four years after the kidnaping of Hilton Field,
Nick Carter was sitting in his office examining some important papers
when one of his assistants placed a telegram before him.

Opening it, Nick read this message:

   “Come at once to Mr. Hilton Field’s house on Riverside Drive. A
   murder. (Signed),
                                              “FREDERIC BARNES.”

Nick thrust the message into his pocket.

“Humph!” he muttered. “And Edmund Greer was released from Sing Sing
only a month ago!”

Hurrying from his office, Nick boarded a Subway train and, leaving it
at the station nearest his destination, jumped into a cab.

According to the dispatch a murder had been committed.

As the cab bowled along Nick wondered who it was who had been suddenly
deprived of life.

Perhaps it was Mr. Field himself.

His nearest neighbor was all of five hundred feet distant, and the
house was one to tempt the cupidity of the professional burglar.

In due season the cab pulled up before Mr. Field’s house and the
detective sprang out.

To the driver he said:

“Just stay here until I send you word. I may want you.”

The detective went up the steps and rang the bell.

He was kept waiting only the fraction of a minute.

“Is Mr. Barnes here?” he inquired of the servant who opened the door.

“Yes, sir. Are you the man he is expecting?”

“I am.”

“Then you are to walk into the parlor. Mr. Barnes is waiting for you
there.”

Nick stepped into the room mentioned.

As he did so a man came forward from the rear of the room, saying
gravely:

“I am more glad to see you than I can express. A fearful murder has
been committed here.”

“Who is the victim?”

“Mr. Field.”

“I had suspected as much. When did it happen?”

“Some time during the night.”

“How did you learn of it?”

“One of the servants came over to my house and gave the alarm.”

“You came over here at once?”

“I did.”

“What did the servant who told you of it have to say?”

“At the time he simply told me that Mr. Field had been murdered. It was
not until after I had arrived at the house that I learned any of the
particulars.”

“What were they?”

“I will tell you if such is your wish, but as the case promises to be
filled with mystery, perhaps it would be better to gain your first
impression of it direct from the servant.”

“Well suggested. Where is the body?”

Mr. Barnes was silent.

He acted like a man who is uncertain what answer to make to best aid
the course of justice.

The detective did not wait long for an answer, but went on:

“In what room was the deed committed?”

“In his own room.”

“Where is that?”

“On the next floor.”

“The murder is supposed to have taken place during the night?”

“It is known that such was the case.”

“Did anybody see it done?”

“No, although it is known when it was done.”

“Let us go to his room.”

“Very well.”

“As you are familiar with the house, suppose you lead the way.”

With an assenting nod Mr. Barnes did so.

He led the way upstairs and to a room in the front of the house.

As he crossed the threshold of this room he said:

“This room was used by him as a sort of library. His sleeping room is
just back of this.”

The detective gave one keen glance around him and then said:

“The murder was not committed in this room?”

“It was not.”

“Then lead the way into the sleeping room.”

Mr. Barnes did so in silence.

Again the detective looked around him.

In this room were numerous evidences of a struggle.

With his gaze fastened on the bed, which was empty, the detective said:

“I do not see anything of the body.”

Waiting for an answer, but not getting any, he went on:

“Has the body been removed to another room?”

“It has not.”

“Then where is it?”

“I don’t know.”

In a surprised tone the detective echoed:

“Don’t know?”

“No.”

“How is that?”

“When I got here I could find nothing of any body.”

“Then it is not certain that he was murdered?”

“Yes, it is.”

“How do you make it out?”

“He was seen after he had been murdered.”

“Ha! By whom?”

“One of the servants.”

“And then, subsequent to that time, the body disappeared.”

“That is the case.”

“There is nothing back of this? Is the servant trustworthy?”

“Perfectly so, I believe. I am sure that Mr. Field had the most
unbounded confidence in the man.”

“I must see this man presently. What opinion have you arrived at in
regard to the matter?”

“I have none. I cannot see daylight at all. The case puzzles me beyond
anything ever presented to my mind before.”

“Do you think that robbery had anything to do with it?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because so far as I can determine nothing has been taken. Nor do the
servants find anything missing.”

Nick began pacing the floor.

Little as he had learned of the case, it had already developed some
strange things.

Crimes usually run in channels somewhat similar, but here had one been
committed that was entirely outside of anything embraced in his own
experience or heard of in that of a brother professional. At least this
was promised, which fact was rather calculated than otherwise to give
the case a deep interest for him.

That a crime had been committed there was no question, for on every
side could be found evidences of a struggle. But had that crime been of
the grave one of murder? Without the presence of a dead body this was
impossible to say.

Finally Nick shook his head and growled something under his breath.

To one who knew him well this would have implied that he was not at all
pleased with the train of his thoughts.

At last he said:

“Let me see this man.”

The servant alluded to was called.

He was a man past middle life, with an honest, open face and iron gray
hair.

Looking at this man, Nick was impressed in his favor. Yet he questioned
him as sharply as though he was suspected of being the murderer.

He said, sharply:

“Well, what do you know about this murder?”

“Very little.”

“So? You are inclined to be brief.”

“I am naturally so.”

“What is your name?”

“Joe Timon.”

“In what capacity did you serve Mr. Field?”

“I was almost anything, from valet to private secretary.”

“Ah! Then in all probability you were the last person who saw Mr. Field
alive?”

“I may have been, though I am not certain about it. Ordinarily I would
have been of a certainty.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I usually was the last one to enter his room at night. But last
evening I had a headache and went to my own room earlier than usual.”

“What was the hour?”

“A few minutes past ten.”

“You usually went to bed later, then?”

“I did.”

“At what hour?”

“Between eleven and twelve generally.”

“Well, you went to bed at ten last night. Now, then, how did you learn
that a murder had been committed?”

“It came about in this way. About two o’clock I was awakened by hearing
the steps of a man in the hall outside of my room. As was natural, I
lay as still as possible and listened, trying to catch what was said.”

“Did you hear anything?”

“Yes.”

“What was it?”

“I could not hear every word that was said, but what I did hear was to
the effect that it was unfortunate that they had not been able to get
out undetected.”

“Which you understood as meaning--what?”

“That some of the servants had seen them.”

“Was this view verified by what followed?”

“I think so.”

“Well, you heard words spoken to the effect stated. What followed that?”

“The men paused at my door to listen. They were, I thought, trying to
determine if the room was occupied, so I held my breath as long as I
could and then breathed as quietly as possible. Yet they heard me and
entered my room. Then they proceeded to tie me.”

“You pretended to wake up?”

“Yes.”

“What was said to you?”

“I was ordered to make no noise on penalty of losing my life.”

“What kind of looking men were they?”

“I could not see.”

“How was that? Didn’t they have a light?”

“Yes, but they were masked.”

“Well, what followed of which you have any knowledge?”

“I lay still for some time after they had left my room, and then I
began trying to force myself loose from my bonds.”

“You succeeded at last?”

“I did. It took me all of a couple of hours to get my hands free, and
as they had tied me to the bed and I had nothing in the shape of a
knife at hand, I was then compelled to undo those other knots, which
took me the best part of another hour. When I was free at last I went
down to the floor below and entered the master’s room.”

“And saw what?”

“Mr. Field lying on the floor.”

“Dead?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How can you be sure of that?”

“Because I went to his side, and kneeling down put my hand over his
heart.”

“You could not feel any pulsation?”

“I could not.”

“What then?”

“I thought of going to Mr. Barnes here, who was one of Mr. Field’s
warmest friends.”

“What o’clock was it at this time?”

“About five, just before daylight.”

“Mr. Barnes is your next neighbor?”

“He is.”

“How does it come, then, that he did not see you until after seven?”

“The reason of that was, that in my haste I was careless, and in going
down the stairs I tripped and fell, as a result of which I landed at
the foot in a senseless condition.”

“What stairs were these?”

“Those at the front of the house.”

“There is a stair at the rear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How did it happen that you did not first untie your fellow servants?”

“I cannot explain that, sir, even to myself. I merely knew that my
master was murdered, and was anxious to get his friend here as soon as
possible.”

“How long did you lie at the foot of the stairs in that insensible
condition?”

“Until about five minutes before I rang the bell of Mr. Barnes’ house.”

“After recovering consciousness did you go upstairs again before going
to Mr. Barnes?”

“I did not.”

“Mr. Barnes came over with you at once?”

“No, sir. Having been told by him that he would soon be over I
returned.”

“What did you do first?”

“Unbound the servants.”

“You didn’t go first into Mr. Field’s room?”

“No, sir.”

“I should have thought you would.”

“I did not wish to again see that horrid sight alone. I am not a coward
by any means, but it is not pleasant to go in and look at a man now
dead who has been to you a warm friend in the past.”

“But, having released the other servants, you made up a party and
entered Mr. Field’s room?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Who first discovered that the body was missing?”

“I did. Having seen it where it was lying, I naturally looked in the
right direction at once, and when I found it was not there I could
hardly believe my senses. At first I thought that he had not, after
all, been killed, but had recovered his consciousness and had crawled
to his bed, but on looking toward it I saw it was empty.”

“What next?”

“Why, we had not recovered from our astonishment when Mr. Barnes came
in.”

“What was done after the arrival of this gentleman?”

“He wanted to know if robbery had been the motive of the deed, and so a
search was made.”

“With what result?”

“We did not find anything missing.”

“Can you be sure that nothing is gone?”

“I would not be willing to swear to it, although I am morally convinced
that not a thing has been taken.”

“That will do. You can go now, but do not say a word to the other
servants of the line of questions put to you.”

“I will not, sir.”

Joe Timon having departed, Mr. Barnes inquired:

“What do you make of it?”

“As yet--nothing.”

“His story does not give you any clew?”

“Decidedly not. It only serves to make the case more mysterious. You
are certain that this man had the full confidence of Mr. Field?”

“I am. I have often heard him speak of the faithfulness of this man in
particular.”

Nick did not at all like the appearance of things.

The story that Joe Timon had to tell had an air of truthfulness, and
yet it was far from satisfactory to the detective. There were not a few
points about it that appeared to him as unnatural.

In the first place it was rather peculiar that the assassins should
have taken the trouble to go around and bind the servants if their
purpose here was only to take the life of Mr. Field, something which
could be accomplished in the fraction of a minute.

Their binding of the servants would, on the face of it, argue that they
had need of time, as would be the case only if they were intending to
take the time to systematically select the plunder they wanted.

Secondly, while the story of falling downstairs and rendering himself
insensible might be true, still it had about it a something that to the
detective was “fishy.”

Thirdly, it did not seem to him as being natural that Timon could
forget that his fellow servants were bound and in need of assistance.
In his opinion the natural course under the circumstances would have
been for Timon to have unbound them before seeking Mr. Barnes.

A fact in connection with Timon’s failure to do this stood out before
the detective’s mental vision very prominently--and this fact was that,
in his interim when, according to his story, he was unconscious, the
body of Mr. Field disappeared.

And he asked himself this question:

“If it was necessary to offset some testimony that could be advanced by
the other servants, would not some such story as this be concocted to
cover the time necessary for the taking away of the body?”

And he quickly gave himself the answer:

“The story is admirably suited to just such a series of circumstances,
and if the stories told by the others show a necessity for this tale, I
shall at once set Joe Timon down as an accessory, no matter how great
the trust Mr. Field may have had in him.”

He now had in his possession practically all that could be told of the
main features of the case, and he wanted now to use his eyes a little
more before questioning the other servants.

Speaking to Barnes, he said:

“It must have been here that the body lay.”

“It was. That is the spot that Timon pointed out to me.”

From here there was a depression of the nap of the carpet, in two long,
straight lines, toward the door.

They were such marks as would be left by the heels of a person being
dragged along by the shoulders.

The detective now stepped toward the door to which these marks led,
Barnes following him closely and saying:

“I was wondering if you were going to take notice of those marks and
follow them.”

Nick Carter dryly said:

“I saw them some time ago, in fact the very instant I stepped into this
room. I did not care at the moment to trace them, as I had something
else in my mind.”

“I suppose that in your business, as in most others, each man has his
own way of working.”

“Certainly.”

The door was by this time reached. It was closed. The detective opened
it and saw that the marks were continued across the sill and upon the
carpet of the hall.

The hall being dark, he said to Barnes:

“Will you be kind enough to open that window at the end?”

“Assuredly.”

Barnes proceeded to open it, letting in a flood of light.

It was now very bright in the hall, and everything was shown up as
clearly as daylight could do it.

One thing was revealed that was very unpleasant to the eyes of Mr.
Barnes.

This was a pool of blood.

Shuddering, he said to the detective:

“That is a terrible sight. This pool is larger than that in his own
room. They must have stopped here a minute or so when they were
dragging him out.”

As Nick made no rejoinder to this, Barnes said:

“Don’t you think that is the case?”

Remarkably brief was the reply:

“No!”

“What do you think, then?”

“I am not prepared to state that, but--I have made a discovery!”




                             CHAPTER XVII.

                            A THEORY FOUND.


The discovery Nick Carter made was this:

Where the body had been lying in the room, it had been surrounded
by a pool of blood. But, when being dragged across the floor toward
the door there had been no dropping of the sanguineous fluid. Then,
after crossing the sill, the blood drops became visible and continued
irregularly until this spot was reached, where there was quite a
good-sized pool!

About this there was certainly something crooked. Blood would not
flow plentifully one minute, cease the next, and flow again in that
following.

What did he deduce from this?

The deduction was that these blood spots were not the result of the
wound that had been inflicted on Mr. Field.

In other words they were placed there.

The purpose for doing so remained for Nick to discover.

The detective followed the tracks in the carpet along the hall. They
were not once missing, in fact it seemed as though they had purposely
been made very noticeable so that they might be readily followed.

Co-existing with the depressions in the carpet were the spots of blood.

Without once turning aside they led to the top of the back stairs and
down those to the floor below. Through the lower hall they went to the
rear door and out of this into the grounds.

From the back door was a straight path that led away in the direction
of the river.

Down this path the traces were to be seen.

Pausing in the doorway, the detective said:

“I want you to answer me a few questions.”

Barnes returned:

“Go ahead. Call on me for any information that I can give.”

“Has anybody yet followed these tracks here?”

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“I did.”

“Ah! How far did you go?”

“Halfway down the grounds.”

“I suppose, then, that you succeeded in mixing up your tracks with
those of the men who had Mr. Field with them?”

“I did not do that. I fancy that even though I am not a detective I am
not wanting in common sense.”

“How did you avoid doing so?”

“By walking outside of the path. I thought that in all probability that
you would want to examine the tracks, and so did all I could to see
that they were kept distinct. I have kept the servants from coming here
when they were desirous of doing so.”

“You did well. Few people show as much sense, but usually appear to do
all they can to make it difficult, if not impossible, for a detective
to get hold of a clew.”

As he said this Nick Carter was moving slowly down the path, taking
care not to step upon or in any way obliterate whatever marks may have
been there.

The grounds extended toward the river a distance of six or seven
hundred feet, in fact nearly to the railroad tracks.

For half this distance the blood drops were visible and then they
ceased.

The reason for their so doing was suggested by the marks left by the
wheels of a garden barrow, one of those two-wheeled affairs seen in the
grounds of the wealthy who employ professional gardeners.

Without a word Nick followed the tracks of the wheels until the limit
of Mr. Field’s grounds was reached.

Here the barrow was found.

As might be expected, the inside of it was smeared with blood.

Barnes was a man of a great deal of good, sound, common sense, and he
quickly reached and expressed a conclusion.

“From the point where the wheel tracks were seen the body was brought
in this barrow to this point.”

“That certainly is what would appear to have been the case. In short,
it is as plain as the nose on your face.”

But did this express his own private views?

Let the sequel show.

Barnes said:

“Now, then, it is left to ascertain what disposition was made of the
body after this place was reached.”

Passing through the gate that was at the end of the path, they looked
around them.

Here ran the ordinary wagon road, and some distance away were the rails
of the New York Central.

Nick Carter had eyes for everything.

It was still early in the morning, and not a great many wagons had
passed along the road.

Every wheelmark was scrutinized closely, although it was done so
quickly that his companion did not think that he had more than glanced
up and down the road.

Together they crossed the road, and over the fence, on the opposite
side, again saw the blood marks.

The detective, without any show of excitement, said:

“There they are again!”

“Shall we follow them?”

“It is not very material.”

In astonishment, Barnes cried:

“Surely it is material to follow such sure evidence of the body of a
man who has been murdered?”

“Who says that Mr. Field has been murdered?”

“I do--the evidence does.”

“Not to me.”

“Do you mean it?”

“Yes.”

“How can you explain it?”

“I can’t do so yet; but if he was dead, and all the villains desired
was his death, why on earth do they remove his body? If you can answer
me that, I shall become a convert to your idea.”

“I cannot answer it, and yet he must be dead! Did not Timon say that he
could not feel his master’s heart beat?”

“I believe he did say something to that effect, but that does not prove
that he is dead.”

“Yet it appears to me to be quite sufficient, when taken in connection
with other things.”

“That may be; but, as I said, where is the body? If they merely wanted
him dead, their work was done when they accomplished the bloody deed,
and they are not going to take the risk of getting away with a dead
body unless there is some necessity for it.”

“Perhaps.”

“What is it?”

“He may have recognized them, and they have thought it necessary, he
not having been killed by their blows, to take him away.”

The detective smiled.

“Barnes, you are a smart fellow in your line of business, but you are
not at home in what belongs to detective work. Had their first blow
been ineffective, and they had been recognized by Mr. Field, it would
have been far easier for them to have finished their work than taken
him with them. Remember, you are then presupposing that they came back
with the express purpose of killing your friend.”

“I see it now. Yes, it was a foolish idea on my part.”

Nick laughed and said:

“Come along, and we will see where these tracks lead to.”

Barnes was somewhat abashed by having made such a blunder, and he was
silent for some minutes.

He then said:

“How is it about these tracks?”

“How about them in what respect?”

“Did these drops of blood come from Field?”

Without hesitation came the reply:

“They did not.”

“Will you tell me why you can be so positive?”

“You can keep a still tongue in your head?”

“I think so.”

“Then I will show why it is positively true that the blood you see did
not come from any wound inflicted on your friend. See that spot of
blood?”

“I do.”

“Where is the next one?”

“Right there.”

“How far would you judge it to be removed from the one pointed out?”

“About two feet.”

“Look for the next spot. Do you see it?”

“I do.”

“How far is that removed from the second?”

“About two feet.”

“What is the distance to the next spot?”

“Within a fraction of the distance between each of the others, I should
judge.”

“And the one beyond that, and the next, and the next, are they not at
nearly equal distances?”

“They are.”

“Well, what does that say to you?”

“Nothing.”

“Is it possible? Does it not strike you that Mr. Field, if he shed this
blood, bled with remarkable regularity?”

“I see it now!”

And he added:

“If blood drops had come from his wound as they carried him along
they would have dropped with less regularity. There would have been
considerable space where no drop would have been visible.”

“Exactly.”

“Then his body was not carried along here?”

“That does not follow at all.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“No.”

“You puzzle me.”

“There is no reason for your being puzzled, and you would not be if you
had brought to bear the same amount of practical common sense that you
take to your business.”

“Explain.”

“Why, as I said, these blood drops do not prove that Mr. Field was
carried along here. Yet neither do they disprove it.”

“But, if the villains went so far--no matter what their purpose--to
create the belief that he had been carried along here, is it not fair
to presume that they did not carry him along here at all?”

“Yes, it is fair to presume so. In fact, to think of the possibility of
this does honor to your shrewdness. And yet the presumption would be a
bad one to act upon.”

“Why so?”

“Because it is evident to me already that the persons who are engaged
in this affair are not common criminals, but men keen, shrewd and with
any quantity of brains.”

“Then you think Mr. Field was carried along this way?”

“I do not.”

An annoyed expression came into the face of Mr. Barnes.

He had understood from what the other had said that he really thought
that Mr. Field had been brought along here.

“You don’t?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“For good and sufficient reasons.”

Barnes saw that the detective did not feel inclined to talk further,
and although he would have liked to have the other’s confidence in full
he would not risk offending him by asking too many questions or prying
into his conclusions and conduct of the case.

The blood spots were followed across a park, and up to a fence that
divided it from the grounds belonging to the railroad and covered by
their tracks.

Beyond this fence the spots of blood were again found, and continued
until the edge of the river was reached.

Every fact and circumstance, however trivial, connected with the trip
from the Field house to this point, tended to confirm the detective in
an idea that his brain had given birth to.

On the beach he carefully scrutinized the sandy shore in search of some
evidence of a small boat having been at this spot.

There was no evidence.

Barnes, however, said:

“It is doubtful if any tracks would be left, for the tide has risen
since they have been here.”

The detective nodded.

“Nevertheless, I am sure that no small boat was here. If one had been
some track would have survived the effacing action of the tide. But
there is a stronger reason than that for being so sure.”

“What is it?”

“Have you used your eyes?”

“I think so.”

“Then you should know as well as I and require no telling.”

“Which proves that my eyes are not as good as yours.”

“Not at all. It would only show that they had not been as intelligently
used. Now, then, I believe we traced the course of the villains at
first by means of the heel tracks left by Mr. Field.”

“And the blood spots as well.”

“Hang the blood spots! They have nothing to do with it. The marks of
his heels were visible up to the point where the barrow was brought
into use, were they not?”

“Yes.”

“His body being placed in the barrow these dragging tracks were no
longer visible?”

“Right.”

“The barrow was only used until the fence was reached?”

“Yes.”

“Well, if the men were not strong enough to carry Mr. Field before
reaching the barrow, but must let his heels drag, why is it that after
crossing the fence the heel marks are no longer seen?”

Barnes looked for a minute at the detective in utter silence. Then he
slowly said:

“You are certainly a wonderful man!”

“Why so?”

“Because you are able to so quickly see and take a meaning from facts
so apparently unimportant that they would escape the attention of an
ordinary man.”

“Not if he used the brains which God has given him. If people would
only use their wits there would be scant need for lawyers, doctors or
detectives.”

As they were going back toward the house, Barnes asked:

“Have you discovered anything which throws light on the mystery?”

“Yes.”

“Can you take me into your confidence?”

“I do not think it would be wise. As the case now stands it will be
better for me to keep my own counsel, for you might say something that
would tend to divert my mind from the plan already forming in it, which
is something I never like to have done.”

“You believe in first impressions?”

“Largely so, for I have very often found them right ones.”

At the fence where the body had been taken out of the barrow the
detective and Barnes parted.

The latter returned to the house, while the former remained beside the
fence.

One thing that he had noticed here that Barnes had not was that there
was a wheel track showing that a wagon had not so very long ago been
driven close up alongside of the fence.

After examining this wheel track closely he muttered to himself:

“Here are the tracks made by the wagon in driving up. They show that
the wagon contained less weight than when it drove away, for the wheels
have not cut as deeply as in departing. This means that Mr. Field’s
body, living or dead as the case may be, was transferred to the wagon.
Now then, how was this done? Why was it considered necessary to take
his body away?”

And he continued:

“As yet that is a mystery. But it can and must be solved. The first
thing to do is to find a motive for the assault on Mr. Field. That
robbery was not the reason is shown by the fact that nothing was taken.
Yet, on the contrary, it would appear that his life was not sought,
for if it had been the murderers would merely have made sure of that
and left. The taking of his body gives to the case a deeper meaning.
He was not killed, is the only conclusion that I can reach under the
circumstances, and yet----”

Nick Carter paused.

Never in all his career as a detective had he met with a case in which
he had so little foundation on which to base a possible reason for the
crime.

Suddenly he uttered a low exclamation.

A new idea had come to him.

It would solve some of the seeming mysteries of the case.

Argumentatively he said to himself:

“Now, then, somebody, for some reason as yet unknown, desires the
death of Mr. Field. He or they came here for the purpose of ending his
existence. He or they believe it has been accomplished and go away. He
or they may have been in league with this Joe Timon--as to which more
anon. Contrary: Somebody else turns up and discovers the body of Mr.
Field, who may be alive or dead. This second he or they have reason to
wish the existence of Mr. Field, to insure which or make his death an
uncertainty, he or they carry away his body. Two parties of rascals,
with different aims, are concerned in producing this apparently
inexplicable state of affairs. I must now see those who are acquainted
with the private life of Mr. Field during these last ten years, and
ferret out such truths as may tend to prove or disprove this idea.”

Good or bad, right or wrong, he had at last got hold of an idea on
which to work, had formed a theory to prove or discover to be worthless.

In taking hold of a case it is positively necessary, if a man is going
to do good work, to have a theory or outline in mind on which to work.

This Nick Carter now had.

On reaching the house he called for the servants to question them.

We shall not attempt to follow his questions and their answers,
inasmuch as nothing was developed that in any way changed the views he
had adopted.

It may, however, be said that the answers he received to his questions
left him in doubt as to the part that Timon had taken in the matter.
He was not proved innocent, neither was he shown to have had guilty
knowledge of the murder or other crime, whatever it was.

Nick now retired to an inner room with Barnes.

“Can you give me some information in regard to the private life of Mr.
Field?” he asked that gentleman.

“What do you wish to know?”

“Everything.”

“That is to say, everything that could possibly have any bearing on the
case.”

“I mean what I say--everything. In a case like this it is impossible
to say what may or may not have bearing on the case. First of all, Mr.
Field lived here alone?”

“He did.”

“Was he a bachelor?”

“Practically so for nearly the past two decades.”

“Practically so? What do you mean by such an answer? Was he a married
man?”

“Yes. He married seventeen years ago, two or three years after
returning to America. Few knew of this marriage.”

“But parted from his wife?”

“Yes.”

“What were the circumstances of that parting?”

“I can answer that only in a general way.”

“Give me the best answer you can.”

“I will do so. As nearly as I can understand it Mr. Field was of a
jealous disposition, and thinking he had reason to be jealous of his
wife he revealed his feeling to her. She had borne much from him
without complaining, but when he spoke to her in this way she quietly
informed him that she would no longer remain under his roof unless he
asked her pardon. This he refused to do until she had disproved his
suspicion. She then said:

“I see that it is best I should go. A woman has no business living
with a man who has no confidence in her.” He angrily returned:

“I don’t know but that it is best you should go,” Without another word
she turned from him, and a couple of hours later left the house.

“Were they never reconciled after that?”

“No. In fact, they never met.”

“Is the wife dead?”

“I do not know.”

“Did he have any knowledge bearing on the matter?”

“I think not, for it has been his aim for years past to find his wife
and her little girl and try to make reparation for his cruelty toward
them.”

“He afterward became convinced, then, that he had seriously misjudged
his wife?”

“He did.”

“What is your opinion of the matter?”

“That Mrs. Field was a sadly abused woman.”

“And yet you could make a friend of such a man?”

“I did not become acquainted with him until long afterward. I have
known him only about six years, and as you can see he was a man much
older than myself, and the friendship that existed between us was much
like that of father and son. I could not hold any ill will against him
for his treatment of his wife, no matter how bad it was, for I knew him
only as one thoroughly repentant and desirous of repairing the damage
he had done.”

“He was alone in the world?”

“Entirely so for all that I know to the contrary.”

“Who would benefit by his death? In other words, who would become the
owner of this property on his decease?”

“I don’t know, unless his wife and child.”

“He had, then, made a will in their favor?”

“I am not sure of that, although I think such is the case.”

At that moment there came a ring at the doorbell.

Both men paused to listen.

They heard the butler go to the door, and they stepped to the head of
the stairs.

The door opened and the butler’s voice was heard inquiring:

“What do you wish?”

The reply came in a woman’s voice:

“I want to see Mr. Field.”

In an astonished tone the butler echoed:

“Mr. Field?”

“Yes.”

“That is impossible.”

“Not so, if he is at home, for I am here by his own appointment. He
will surely see me. Go and tell him that his daughter is here!”




                            CHAPTER XVIII.

                          A PUZZLE TO SOLVE.


The reply given by the girl was as complete a surprise as anything the
detective had listened to.

Only a minute before he had been told that it was not known whether
this daughter was in existence, and now she was here claiming
relationship.

While Nick did not say anything aloud, he did so mentally. And what he
said was:

“The presence of this girl is another of the threads of this mystery!”

Meanwhile he was not losing a word of what passed between the butler
and the girl.

The former gasped:

“His daughter, you said?”

“Yes.”

“He had no daughter!”

“In that you are mistaken.”

“I am sure he had not.”

“I fancy he knew best, and I have a letter here from him to prove the
relationship.”

“Will you let me see it?”

“No. Why should I? Please inform Mr. Field of my arrival; he is the one
to determine whether I am or am not his daughter.”

“Don’t you know that----”

“Know what?”

“That Mr. Field is dead?”

“Dead!”

They could hear the rustle of a dress, as though the girl had shrunk
back at the announcement.

“Yes, dead.”

“It cannot be.”

“It is true, nevertheless.”

“When did he die?”

“Last night.”

The girl was silent a moment, and then she was heard to exclaim:

“Oh! my poor father--lost as soon as found!”

Mentally, the detective said:

“She is playing her part most beautifully!”

The girl was in the act of leaving when the detective descended the
stairs, saying:

“Please wait a minute, I would like a few words with this lady.”

Barnes would have gone down with him but Nick Carter waved him back.

The detective saw before him a beautiful young girl, not more than
sixteen, dressed very plainly, but neatly, and looking every inch the
lady.

So far as appearance went it was in her favor, but the detective had
learned in a hard school not to trust in the slightest degree to
appearances, and from the fact of this girl’s coming here to claim
relationship on the morning following the murder of Mr. Field, he set
her down as being one of the conspirators against that gentleman, and
would continue so to look upon her until the contrary was proved.

Bowing to her very politely and thoroughly masking his real feelings,
he said:

“Will you please step into the parlor, miss?”

Inclining her head she moved in the direction of the room indicated.

The detective followed her in.

When they were seated he purposely remained silent for some time. Were
she guilty in the way he thought, the chances were greatly in favor of
this silence embarrassing her and making her uneasy to a degree that
would show.

In the course of a few minutes she did begin to show restiveness, but
it was not of the kind to indicate any guilty knowledge, such as the
detective was determined she would give evidence of.

She appeared to wait with all the patience possible until she became
convinced that he would not open the conversation; and then she did so
herself. She said:

“I believe you asked me to step into this room?”

“I did.”

“Will you please explain the nature of your business?”

“Do not be in a hurry. I heard you say to the butler that you were a
daughter of Mr. Field?”

“I did say so.”

“On what do you base the claim?”

“A letter received from him.”

“You did not know of it before?”

“I did not.”

“Will you let me see this letter?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because, if Mr. Field is dead, the matter is settled so far as I am
concerned. Even though his letter tells me I am his daughter, I shall
not try to prove it so, now that he is not here.”

“Why not?”

“I do not choose to go into court and stand the fire of a lot of brutal
ruffians who masquerade under the title of lawyers.”

Mentally, the detective said:

“That answer goes a good way toward proving her not innocent, since it
shows that she has some familiarity with the interior of a courtroom.”

Aloud, he said:

“But, if you are his daughter, you have rights to maintain which you
should not desert under any circumstances.”

“I am the best judge of that. I understand that Mr. Field was very
wealthy, but if I choose to sacrifice that wealth it is my own concern.”

Nick was eying her keenly.

He did not know what to make of her.

It certainly did look suspicious to the last degree that she should put
in an appearance with the claim of being the murdered man’s daughter on
the morning following his death. But if she did not intend, and did not
take advantage of the claim and endeavor to get the fortune, what was
he to think?

The impulse of his heart was that the girl did not have any guilty
knowledge of the singular crime, but he would not listen to its
promptings when they were opposed to his reason.

He finally said to himself:

“Does she not speak this way for a purpose? Let me see. If she was
really concerned in the affair would she not come here this morning so
early to put in her claim? Of course. Pretending surprise at hearing of
Mr. Field’s death, would it not be a good card for her to play to say,
that under the circumstances she would not make any effort to prove her
claim? Of course, again, for she would be aware that as the gentleman
had no other heirs, one must be found, or let the property go to the
State; at which juncture she would come forward again and step into
possession with little if any opposition. According to this showing her
purpose here this morning is only to show herself and put in a claim
in due season, that she may have witnesses afterward.”

And thus concluding, his lips set themselves tightly together. Come
what might, he no longer had any sympathy for the girl who was, and
would continue in his eyes to be, an impostor endeavoring to profit by
the crime committed against Mr. Field.

To further plans of his own, he thought it best to try to make the girl
look upon him as a friend, and he kindly said:

“My dear, you are very young and perhaps not so well qualified to judge
what is for your best interests as one who has upon him the weight of
a greater number of years. If I can give you any advice you are at
liberty to call upon me for it.”

“I thank you, but I do not believe that I am in need of advice. I have
for so long been compelled to depend upon myself that I have grown
accustomed to thinking and acting on my own judgment.”

“Very well. I do not wish to press my advice upon you and will say no
more. Still, I think that you would be doing yourself a service to show
the letter you say you received from Mr. Field.”

“Why so?”

“There are a number of reasons.”

“Name one.”

“Mr. Field having been murdered, the singular circumstance of your
appearing here to claim relationship the next morning, may tend to
throw suspicion on yourself as having had a part in it or having guilty
knowledge of it.”

The girl’s face paled slightly.

In a voice that was a trifle unsteady, she said:

“That is absurd.”

“That may be, but facts are facts, and appearances are sometimes so
strong that men have been hung on them.”

“I know nothing of his murder.”

“I do not suppose for a minute that you do; still, others may think
differently.”

“Grant that they do, it does not concern me. They could not prove that
I knew anything about the murder.”

“You cannot be so sure of that. Why, if you only knew it, I could offer
evidence, based on this interview, that would be most damaging.”

“How so?”

“I might for one thing say that you displayed very little emotion on
learning of Mr. Field’s death. It is natural to expect that a daughter
would show some emotion on learning of a father’s death.”

“Yes, under ordinary circumstances. But it occurs to me that it would
be very unnatural for me to grieve much over the death of a person of
whom I have no recollection, and who stands confessed as having treated
my mother with cruelty and injustice.”

The detective thought:

“She evidently knows something of the truth in regard to the parting
between Mr. Field and his wife.”

Aloud, he said:

“You speak of your mother. Where is she now?”

“Alas! I do not know.”

“Do not know?”

“No.”

“Is she alive?”

“I cannot tell that. Yet I think she must be.”

“And in this city?”

“Yes.”

“When did you see her last?”

“Ten years ago.”

“What were the circumstances of your last seeing her?”

“She had been taken suddenly ill and was taken to a hospital.”

“Did you ever go there to see her?”

“Only once.”

“You saw her?”

“No.”

“How was that?”

“I was denied admission.”

“Did she die there?”

“No.”

“How did you learn this?”

“I paid a second visit to the place after a long lapse of time, and was
told she had become well and been discharged.”

“She did not seek you out after being discharged?”

“She must have sought me, although she failed to find me, as I had for
some time been away from the tenement in which we lived at the time she
was taken ill.”

“You have never seen her, then, since the day she was taken to the
hospital?”

“I have not.”

“Nor heard of her?”

“No.”

“Did she ever tell you anything about the fact of her marriage and
parting from her husband?”

“No. The only thing that she ever said to me was one day when we were
in Central Park and a handsome carriage went past. She said to me: ‘If
you were enjoying your rights, my dear, you would be riding in that
very carriage.’”

“She said nothing further?”

“She did not.”

“Did you question her?”

“I did, but she answered to the effect, that some day when I was old
enough to appreciate the circumstances, she would tell me the story.”

The girl had answered every question without hesitation, and if she
were lying, then she had concocted a clever story to cover every point
and had committed it thoroughly to memory.

He now began to ask her some other questions, putting them to her in
the most wily manner, and taking care to leave pitfalls for her to
stumble into.

But she did not trip once.

And he afterward said to himself:

“Either this girl is innocent, or else she is the smartest woman I ever
came across in all my life.”

If she was deceiving him she was doing it with an assumption of
truthfulness that was artistic in the highest degree.

He could not but acknowledge that he had made nothing of her, and was
about to give up the task of trying to do so when there was the sound
of a step at the door.

Looking up he saw that it was Barnes.

He had barely noted the fact when he observed something else.

This was that both the girl and Barnes gave a start of recognition.

“Ha! They knew each other!” he exclaimed. “Now, then, what does this
mean? Can it be that he has any part in this game?”

It may seem to the reader a little singular that the detective should
even for a moment doubt a man whom he was supposed to know as well as
Barnes.

But the detective’s experience had been such to make him suspicious of
anyone, no matter whom, if the finger of dumb evidence pointed him out.
He was a firm believer in evidence of this character, although he did
not permit the belief to lead him into injustice.

Coming forward with a smile, Barnes said:

“How are you this morning, Miss Doane?”

At the same time he offered his hand.

Rising to meet him, she gracefully accepted the hand he proffered, and
replied:

“I am very well, thank you. I had not expected to see you here.”

“Nor I you.”

Seating herself again, she said:

“Were you a friend of Mr. Field’s?”

“I was.”

“I am informed that last night he was murdered.”

“Such is the truth as near as we can judge.”

Barnes then uttered a low cry of surprise. It had just occurred to him
that this was the girl who had claimed to be Mr. Field’s daughter.

The detective guessed what was in his mind, and he was silent while he
watched these two closely.

After a brief space, Barnes said:

“It was you who rang a short while ago?”

“It was.”

“I was at the head of the stairs and heard what you said to the butler.
You received a letter from Mr. Field?”

“I did.”

“Saying that you were his daughter?”

“Yes.”

“Will you not let me see that letter?”

“For what reason?”

“It may have a bearing, that we do not now see, on this case.”

The girl hesitated.

Barnes urged her:

“Surely, Miss Doane, you can have no doubt of my friendship?”

“None.”

As she gave this reply her head drooped and a flush came into her face.

“Then let me see it.”

“I will do so.”

Saying this, she took a letter from her pocket and handed it to him.

Thanking her for her confidence in him, Barnes took the letter and
opened it.

When he read it the detective came forward, and quietly said:

“Well, what do you make of it?”

The reply was:

“It is exactly like every communication made by Mr. Field--clear,
concise and businesslike, going directly to the point.”

“Did Mr. Field write it?”

“He did.”

“You recognize the writing?”

“I do.”

“Would you swear to it?”

“I would willingly do so.”

“You have had some knowledge of his writing?”

“I have. I have received many communications from him, know his writing
well and am sure that he wrote this.”

“What does the letter say?”

“You can read it for yourself.”

Barnes handed him the letter.

It read:

   “MY DEAR CHILD: A few hours ago I learned of your
   existence, and in seeking to make reparation for the wrong done
   you years ago do not waste any time in cold formality, but at
   once sit down to make my confession, ask your forgiveness, and
   offer you the home that should have been yours these many years
   past.

   “That your mother is not with you I know, but whether because
   she is dead is knowledge not in my possession. If she has told
   you the history of her past, then you will understand and be
   able to read between the lines of the few words that I shall
   transmit to paper; if she has not told you of it, then I will
   do so fully when we meet. I would come to you personally, only
   I feel that I have so deeply wronged you that I have not the
   right to come into your presence until you shall know all the
   circumstances and accord me that privilege.

   “In a fit of jealous rage, without foundation in reason, I drove
   your mother from me, and she took you with her. I wronged her
   cruelly, I confess, and I would not blame either you or her
   if I am denied forgiveness, and yet I cannot but feel that I
   am entitled to it, for if ever man repented an action I have
   repented that one, and have for years been searching for you
   both that I might be able to repair in part the harm I brought
   on you.

   “If you feel that you can forgive me, come to me at my house and
   permit me to devote the remainder of my life to you.
                            “Your distressed father,
                                                   “HILTON FIELD.”

When the detective had read it through, he said:

“Have you any other letter written by Mr. Field?”

“I have.”

“With you?”

“Yes.”

“Will you let me see it?”

“Certainly.”

Barnes felt in his pocket and presently produced a letter that had
been written him to make inquiry in regard to some matter that he had
been attending to for Mr. Field.

Nick Carter scrutinized this closely.

“You know positively that Mr. Field wrote this?”

“I do.”

“Was Mr. Field a methodical man?”

“He was.”

“Where did he usually do his writing?”

“In his library upstairs.”

“At the desk there?”

“Yes.”

“I should imagine that he was very particular in regard to the kind of
a pen he used.”

Barnes turned on the detective a look of astonishment.

“Heavens! to hear you speak one would think you had known the man. If
I had not seen this day some very remarkable things done and proved
by you, I should certainly believe that you were helped by some
supernatural agency.”

Nick smiled, and said:

“All of which I may take as verifying what I said about his being a
very particular man about his pens.”

“You may so take it. Nothing would make him so cranky as to find that
anybody had made use of his pens.”

“He used a quill pen, I take it?”

“He did.”

“Did you ever know of his using a steel one?”

“No. He would not have one around.”

“You don’t think, then, that a search would show one in his desk?”

“I would be willing to stake my life on it. I am so sure in the matter
because one night not long since I wanted to do a little writing at his
direction, and asked him if he had a steel pen, as I could not make
out very well with his quills.”

“He said he did not have any?”

“Precisely. He said further that he had not had one in his possession
in over ten years.”

The detective then quietly said:

“That puts me in possession of a good point.”

“How so?”

“I am not prepared to say just now. As to this young lady, you appear
to know her?”

“I do.”

“You know where she lives so that she may be found in case she is
wanted at any time?”

“I do.”

“That is well.”

Barnes hesitated a minute, and then said:

“Might it not be as well for you also to know her future address?”

“It would do no harm.”

“Then it will be here!”

The detective turned quietly, and softly ejaculated:

“Ah!”

“Certainly. In the face of such evidence as this letter of Mr.
Field’s she must remain here. I will attend to it and see that she is
introduced to the servants as their new mistress.”

“Well, as you please about that,” returned Nick, “it is none of my
business.”

The girl interposed:

“Mr. Barnes, I do not wish to remain here. The money is nothing to
me; I have so long taken care of myself that I should be positively
unhappy, I believe, if I should make the attempt of playing lady.”

“But you have a duty in the matter. You must remain here and occupy
the position to which you are entitled.”

“I will think of it.”

“Think of it? Good heavens, does it require a minute’s reflection to
settle the matter in your mind?”

“It does.”

“I will not listen to your going away from here now.”

The girl said:

“Mr. Barnes, I would take your advice in preference to that of anybody
else, but I cannot fail to see that, no matter how strong the evidence,
in the absence of a living recognition by Mr. Field, I should be
thought to be an impostor.”

“Nonsense! That letter is as good proof as human being could ask for.”

And then, turning to the detective, he asked:

“Doesn’t that letter settle the matter?”

For reply, the detective simply said:

“Yes.”

Mentally, he added:

“Yes, it does settle the matter, although not in the way that Barnes
thinks it does. I must make some excuse for retaining possession of
this forged letter.”




                             CHAPTER XIX.

                          PROVING THE LETTER.


Satisfied that the urging of Barnes would result in Miss Doane’s
remaining in the house, the detective went upstairs and into the
library.

The two left behind were too much engrossed to remember that the
detective had possession of the letter.

Arrived in the library he at once went to the desk and opening it,
began to look around.

He first took out the ink bottle and carried it to the better light
near the window. It was a jet-black ink of heavy consistency, showing
that a considerable quantity of gum arabic had been used in its
manufacture.

Finding a piece of paper on which Mr. Field had begun a letter, only to
afterward cast it aside, the detective wet the writing with a drop or
two of water.

At the same time he put a couple of drops on the writing of the letter
received by the girl downstairs.

The ink known to have been used by Mr. Field soon began to spread, as
the water softened up the portion of the gum that had dried. But, on
the ink of this other letter, it had no effect whatever, showing the
absence of gum.

To himself he said:

“This little test shows absolutely that these two inks are not the
same. Now, then, this letter to Barnes was written only two days ago
and this one to the girl is supposed to have been penned yesterday.
It is hardly likely that in this interim of a day Mr. Field changed
his ink. Still, as it is possible, I must inquire into the matter. It
is about what I expected, and if I fail to find steel pens around his
desk, I will have a clear bill.”

The most careful search of the desk failed to bring to light anything
in the shape of a steel pen.

When thoroughly satisfied that there were none, the detective smiled
grimly, and said:

“This proves the letter absolutely to be a forgery. It is in the
writing of Mr. Field, or at least his penmanship has been so cleverly
imitated as to deceive the best experts, so far as the strokes are
concerned, but the villain who is so deft with the pen did not know
that Mr. Field never used anything save a quill. If he had known it he
would not have written this letter with a steel pen!”

This was an absolute fact.

The letter brought by the girl had been written with a steel pen, an
article that, as shown by the evidence, Mr. Field never used and had a
great antipathy for.

Further, the ink in Mr. Field’s bottle was a black ink containing a
great deal of “body,” or gum, while this ink with which the letter was
written was a thin black ink made by an acid process.

Hence, it stood proved that the letter was a forgery.

And, if the letter was a forgery, what about the girl?

Nick Carter’s opinion, an offhand one, without any evidence either
one way or the other, was that she was an impostor, and in some way
connected with the crime.

Yet he hated very much to think of the girl in this way, for she
certainly looked, and spoke, and acted like an honest, upright young
woman.

Still, up to the present moment hard, stern, cruel facts pointed at her
with unwavering finger.

One thing that he decided on before descending the stairs was that he
could not any longer take Barnes into his confidence, and especially
where the girl was concerned, for it was evident with half an eye that
he had some great interest in her.

On going downstairs he found them together in the parlor, and Barnes
had so far prevailed on the girl that she had taken off her hat and
wraps.

Looking up, and giving the detective a bright glance, Barnes said:

“After a great deal of hard persuasion, I have induced Miss Doane, as
I have known her, to remain. She is very much afraid she is not doing
right.”

Smiling, the detective rejoined, aloud:

“She is doing perfectly right. So far as I am concerned, I am pleased
to see her remain here.”

Under his breath, he added:

“It’s the truth I utter when I say I am glad to see her remain here,
for I want to know exactly where to find her should I want to put my
hand on her.”

The girl’s face brightened as she listened to the words uttered by the
detective. She at once left her seat, and coming forward, laid one hand
on his arm, looked up into his face, and said:

“I am glad to hear you commend my doing so, after hearing me say that I
would not do this very thing, as indeed I would not had not I met Mr.
Barnes so unexpectedly.”

“You should not be surprised that anyone commended a resolution to
stand up for your rights. As you are aware, I suggested the same thing
to Mr. Barnes.”

“Yes, I remember.”

She gave him a bright smile as she said this, and then added:

“Mr. Barnes has told me about you!”

“Has he?”

“Yes.”

“Did he paint me very black?”

“On the contrary, he painted you in glowing colors, as a man of great
ability.”

“Did he?”

“Yes. And he said that you were a detective come here to try and solve
the mystery surrounding the death or disappearance of Mr. Field--my
father. It comes very hard,” in an apologetic tone, “to think of him as
being such.”

“Yes, I am here for that purpose.”

“I hope you will find the murderers; from the bottom of my heart I hope
so.”

To this Nick answered:

“Your earnest desire to have them captured is creditable to both your
heart and your head.”

These words appeared to please the girl, who said:

“Thank you for saying so. I had feared you might have considered me
something of a barbarian, from the way I answered you a while ago. And
yet, I spoke the truth, as you must know.”

“So I do. As a matter of fact, it would be a little singular if you
showed much grief over the death of a man you never saw.”

“Besides which, you must remember that I have always in my mind’s eye
the fact that mother was forced to suffer through the insane jealousy
of my father.”

“True again.”

“Had I come in contact with him for a time, that feeling might have
eventually been changed, but at the present I cannot think of him
without coupling my mother’s wrong with it.”

The detective bowed.

Presently remarking something to the effect that he did not have any
time to waste, he asked Barnes to step aside with him for a minute.

They went into another room.

Being here, Barnes at once said:

“From your manner I am convinced that you have found some clew to the
mystery. Am I not right?”

“In part only.”

“But you have found something in the nature of a clew?”

“Yes.”

“What does it point to?”

“I am not prepared to say just now. What I want to see you about is to
ask some questions in regard to the girl in yonder room.”

“Ah!”

A reserve at once became noticeable in Barnes’ tone.

“What about her?”

The detective pretended not to notice anything unusual in the other’s
tone, and quietly said:

“I want to know what you can tell me about her in a general way.”

“Is this because you would in any way try to connect her with this
case?”

“Let future events determine that. At present I do not specifically
suspect anybody. For instance, I would like to know how it is that you
chance to be acquainted with her.”

“I cannot help saying to you that I consider this as a trifle personal.”

“Just as you please,” in a calm tone. “You can answer or not as you
think best. The information I want can easily be obtained from other
sources.”

“Tell me frankly if you have any idea that she is in anywise connected
with this mystery.”

“I am not saying anything about it just now.”

“Your answer is almost equivalent to saying that you do suspect
her, which, being the case, I wish to say that I will stake my very
existence on it that she is all that a good, pure and honest woman
should be.”

“Ah!”

Nick Carter opened his eyes a trifle.

Barnes colored under the scrutiny to which he found himself subjected.

“You are a very warm friend of this girl?”

“I am.”

“You might even be said to be her champion.”

“Yes. I should be proud to bear the title.”

“Will you answer my question?”

“I will do so since you make a point of it, until you reach a certain
limit.”

“Name it.”

“It will be when your questions tend to an attempt to say that she has
any knowledge of this horrible affair.”

“Very well, I accept the conditions. You met her when and where?”

“I met her in a store two years ago.”

“How frequently have you seen her in the meantime?”

“At first very often, but latterly only once in a great while.”

“You ceased, then, to be as good friends as formerly?”

“No.”

“How do you explain not seeing her as much, if that be so?”

Barnes hesitated a minute before replying, and then he slowly said:

“While I do not see how my private affairs can in anywise be mixed
up in the death of Mr. Field, nor see how telling the same to you is
going to help elucidate the mystery, still I have seen so much of your
astuteness to-day that I will throw aside all reserve in the matter
and tell you the whole truth. My acquaintance with Miss Doane was of
so agreeable a nature that I fell in love with her, although she was
ignorant of the character of my visits until I openly declared them.
She then promptly, but kindly, refused me, while at the same time
assuring me that she valued me highly as a friend, and trusted that she
might not lose my friendship through her refusal of my hand.”

“I begin to understand. After that time you did not feel like going to
see her so often?”

“No.”

“Still, you occasionally called on her?”

“Yes.”

“For what reason did she refuse you?”

“That is a hard question to answer, seeing that I do not know all the
lady’s thoughts.”

Taking another tack, the detective said:

“There might have been another lover in the case of whom she thought
more of than yourself.”

Barnes shook his head.

“It may have been the case, although I am inclined to doubt it. I never
saw a man call on her, and never heard her speak of any save one.”

“Who was he?”

“I don’t know, as I never saw him.”

“But did she not mention his name?”

“Yes, I believe she did.”

“Do you remember what it was?”

After a moment’s reflection Barnes said:

“If I recall it correctly it was Demas Lorton.”

The detective’s lips compressed.

“You are pretty positive that this was the name?”

“Quite so.”

“You say you never saw this man?”

“I have not.”

“Perhaps she may have had a picture of him in her abode?”

“She did not.”

“You know this for a certainty?”

“I do.”

“How is it?”

“Why, it so chanced that one day when she was speaking of him I
inquired if she did not have a picture of him. She said that she had
not, and that he would never have one taken.”

“Do you know how it came about that she knew him?”

“Yes.”

“Will you repeat what she told you?”

“There is not much to tell. He met her at a time when she was in
difficulty, and was very kind to her. She always thought a great deal
of him.”

“What was the nature of the feeling she entertained for him--gratitude
or love?”

At that Barnes gave a start.

He was not in the slightest degree of a jealous character, and when
refused by Miss Doane he had not in any wise attributed his rejection
to a love entertained by her for this man. But, now that the idea was
suggested by the detective’s words, he recalled many things that she
had said of him, recalled that when speaking of him her eyes had grown
luminous, recalled and looked upon in a new light a thousand things
that at the time had produced on him little, if any, impression.

In a lowered voice, he said:

“To answer that question with any degree of accuracy would be
impossible. At the time I certainly thought she entertained for him no
stronger feeling than gratitude, although at this minute I cannot be so
sure of it.”

“The chances are, however, that she does entertain for him the
stronger feeling of the two. Does not your common sense tell you this
is true?”

“It does--and Heaven knows how much against my will.”

The detective paused on the point of saying something to Barnes.

“I guess it will be as well not to say anything, for nine chances out
of ten he would give the thing away in his manner, and defeat the
object I have in view. It will be as well to let him go on for a couple
of days longer thinking of her as a good, true, pure woman, instead of
being in all probability the wife of one of the worst scoundrels now
unhung,” Nick soliloquized.

The name of Demas Lorton meant something more to the detective than it
did to Barnes.

He was on the point of departing when Barnes said something to him
about the letters.

“With your permission I should like to retain possession of them
temporarily. But first, I would like you to put on them some private
mark so that you would be able to swear to them in case it becomes
necessary.”

“You will be very careful of the letter to Miss Doane?”

“Certainly.”

“I should hate to have it lost.”

In pursuance of the detective’s desire, he put a private mark on each
of the letters, and then they were carefully placed in the detective’s
pocket.

Thanking him, Nick Carter left the house.

He went by the back way, and having got downstairs he began looking
about him as he went. Finally he appeared to see what he wanted and
took possession of it.

It was a scrap of paper, and on it were some drops of blood.

There was a peculiar smile on his face as he put this in his pocket,
and through his mind this thought was running:

“I would like to be as sure of getting ten thousand dollars as I am
that the verdict of the microscope will be--not human blood!”




                              CHAPTER XX.

                           AT THE CHEMIST’S.


Nick Carter went downtown.

He turned his steps toward the East Side after leaving the cars, and
finally ran up the steps of a house.

In response to his ring a servant came to the door, of whom he inquired:

“Is the professor in?”

“I don’t know, sir. If you will step into the hall, and give me your
name, I will go and see.”

The detective entered the hall, then said:

“Now, please be kind enough to tell me positively if the professor is
in?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I say I don’t.”

“And I know better. If he is in I promise you he will see me, while if
he is out I will not waste my time waiting for your red tape.”

The servant was rather taken aback by this plain talk, and for a moment
hardly knew what to say.

Then the half-laughing reply was made:

“While I cannot say positively, I think he is.”

“Are you not quite sure that he is?”

“Yes.”

“Very well. Now, go ahead and don’t waste any time, for I have none to
spare.”

The servant departed, and soon returning, escorted Nick into the
professor’s office.

The person alluded to as the professor was one of New York’s most
celebrated chemists.

He came forward, with a smile, to meet Nick Carter, explaining heartily:

“Glad to see you, Carter. It is all of two months since I have set eyes
on you.”

“So am I glad to see you! Yet I would not be here if it were not that
business made it necessary.”

“Business, eh?”

“Yes.”

“You are the greatest fellow to have your hands full of business I ever
saw. Well, what is it this time?”

“I’ve got something here that I want you to look at.”

“Let’s see it.”

Nick took out the paper that was spotted with blood.

This he quietly handed to the professor, saying:

“Take a look at that through the microscope.”

“Blood? What do you want to know?”

“I want to know if you can say positively what animal’s blood that is?”

“Animal’s blood?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t suspect it of being human blood?”

“I am not saying anything about that.”

“I see. Your idea is to set a trap for me. Well, let’s see if you can
catch me.”

Laughing softly as though he had heard a good joke the chemist took out
a microscope and put the blood-spotted paper under its powerful lens.

As he spent only a comparatively few minutes in scrutinizing the spots
of blood, it was fair to presume that their characteristics were so
distinctly defined as to give him little trouble in determining from
what animal they had come.

Nick Carter had watched him throughout, and a grim smile flickered
about his lips as he saw the look of certainty and satisfaction that
came over the professor’s face.

When the latter finally looked up, the detective inquiringly, said:

“Well?”

The professor laughed softly, then said:

“If your purpose here is to try me and see if you can trip me up, I’ll
tell you what I will do.”

“What?”

“I’ll make you a wager of a box of good cigars that I am able to tell
you the first time what blood this is.”

“I am not here to try you, but to ascertain through you what this blood
came from.”

“Is that true?”

“Yes.”

“And you do not know whence this blood came?”

To acknowledge entire ignorance would not be politic, so Nick said:

“I am not prepared to answer that question further than to say that I
may have well-founded suspicions.”

“Do you think that it is a goat’s blood?”

“You may as well tell me what your own opinion is, or you will not get
anything out of me.”

“Well, that blood came from--a chicken.”

“You are sure of that?”

“I am.”

“Would you swear to it?”

“With great willingness.”

“How can you be so positive?”

“Easily enough. The red corpuscles in the blood are different in
everything that lives and breathes, and as a rule this difference is
so great that there can be no mistake between corpuscles of man and
beast, or between any two beasts. As between human blood and that of
fowls the difference is very distinct, so in this case there can by
no possibility be a doubt. Singularly enough the closest approach to
similarity is between the red corpuscles of a human being and the hog.”

“Will you now kindly seal up that piece of paper and preserve it for
use in case of necessity?”

“I will.”

The blood-spotted paper was inclosed in a stout wrapper and then
fastened with sealing wax, the latter being impressed with a seal
belonging to the professor and another that the detective improvised on
the moment, but which he could swear to.

This last was necessary, as if it should ever get into court the paper
would have to be sworn to as being the one examined this day. Had it
borne only one seal, it is evident that the wrapper might be opened and
a substitution made.

A double seal, of which each possessed one, made it equally evident
that the wrapper could not be tampered with.

On leaving the professor’s, Nick Carter went to his office.

His assistant, Chick, was there. Nick knew his aide had recently been
doing some shadowing on the East Side, and, after greeting him, he said:

“Chick, you have been piping on the East Side of late?”

“I have.”

“Whom have you run across recently in the cracksman line?”

A number of names were mentioned, but not the one Nick wanted to hear.

He then questioned:

“Did you see Dick Maxwell on your rounds?”

“No.”

“Nor Sandy Pete?”

“No.”

“Nor Jim Noonan?”

“I did not.”

“How about Demas Lorton? Did you see him?”

“No. But it so chanced that I heard of him only last night.”

“What about him?”

“Nothing special. I only heard a couple of chaps speaking of him and
wondering what had become of him. It is said that he has not been seen
around the city for a month or more.”

“Did the men who said this know who you were?”

“No. Why?”

“I didn’t know but that they had known you and were saying it for a
blind.”

“I am sure that is not the case.”

“You are under the impression that they spoke what they believed to be
true?”

“Decidedly. Do you want to know anything special about Lorton?”

“Only whether he was in the city. I don’t even suspect the man, but I
wanted to learn who in his class are around. By the way, did you ever
know much about him?”

“Yes, considerable.”

“Was he married?”

“As to his being married I can’t say, but he used to live with a woman
who passed as his wife.”

“Lived with her?”

“Yes.”

“They had rooms together?”

“No, not exactly. That question brings up things more clearly in
my mind. The woman who passed as his wife was seen with him quite
frequently, although she did not live with him regularly, and I am
under the impression she was employed somewhere in a store.”

“You are not positive about that?”

“No. Yet I think it is so, for I made some investigation at the time,
thinking it possible that this woman was in the store for the purpose
of ‘laying the pipes’ for a job, and I wanted to be posted and ready
for a pounce on them in case there was a burglary.”

“I suppose you saw this girl?”

“I did.”

“Do you recall what she looked like?”

“Yes.”

“How old was she?”

“She was very young, not a day over sixteen, and very much of a lady in
appearance.”

“Innocent looking, eh?”

“Yes.”

“Handsome?”

“As a picture.”

“Dressed modestly?”

“She did, almost to shabbiness, although I thought that was due to
Demas being down on his luck.”

“Brown hair?”

“Yes.”

“Eyes to match?”

“Correct! You must have seen the girl yourself.”

Without paying any attention, Nick Carter went on:

“A small, slender figure?”

“Yes.”

“A ripe, full mouth?”

“That suits her!”

“A soft and winning way of looking up at you when she speaks?”

“Even so! She was as well calculated for the ‘siren’ business as any
woman I ever saw.”

“Do you remember what name she answered to?”

“Yes. She was called Helen by Lorton.”

Nick smiled, grimly.

This girl at Mr. Field’s house bore that name; Helen Doane she called
herself.

And the description of this other Helen, who had passed as the wife of
Demas Lorton, suited her in every particular!

From the detective’s standpoint the sequence was plain.

Helen Lorton and Helen Doane were apparently one and the same person.

The girl who played so innocent, and who had taken the stand of not
wishing to remain and claim her place as Mr. Field’s daughter, for fear
that somebody might think her claim a fraudulent one, was merely a very
clever actress, and a decidedly dangerous woman, who ought to be shut
up as speedily as possible for the welfare of the community at large.

Thanking Chick for his information, Nick left his office much pleased
with the result of his investigations thus far.

His reflections ran in this channel:

“It is a fortunate thing that Barnes happened to remember Lorton’s
name, as it gave me possession of a most valuable clew. As to Lorton’s
being out of the city I think it is all bosh! Of course, he would try
to keep shady if he was working a game, so it is rather to be expected
than otherwise that even his boon companions should not know that
he was here. I consider it dead sure that Lorton has a hand in this
mysterious affair, and I must try to-night to locate him in some of his
old haunts.”

On his way uptown to the house where this mystery had been evolved,
he went over what he had discovered, in doing which he was constantly
seeking for some new light in which to view what he had learned thus
far.

He mused thus:

“The part Miss Doane is playing in the game would appear to indicate
that somebody who is familiar with Mr. Field’s family history was
seeking to play upon it to gain possession of his property. Knowing
that he could not be deceived into accepting this girl as his daughter,
it was decided that he should die, leaving behind him the apparently
good evidence of this letter, which, under ordinary circumstances,
would have accomplished the result aimed at. In carrying out this
scheme Mr. Field would, however, have been killed, and his body left
behind to establish the fact of his death, for they must know that as
long as there is any uncertainty about the matter they would be kept
out of possession of the property. This feature of the case puzzles me
sadly, and the fact of the disappearance of the body almost upsets the
theory, since I cannot but know that villains never take any steps to
interfere with their plans.

“Yet no other reasonable conclusion is left me in face of the letter,
and the girl’s turning up so promptly the morning after he is no longer
able to deny her claim to kinship.

“Another puzzling thing is why they should seek to give the impression
that Mr. Field’s body was taken away by water, sufficient blood being
dropped on the way with the evident purpose of creating the belief
that he was dead or bleeding to death rapidly. If it were not so wild
I should be inclined to believe that there are two schemes on foot in
relation to Mr. Field, the crossing and conflicting of which has caused
this mixed-up condition of affairs.

“Yet this may prove to be the true solution of the matter. One thing is
certain--I shall not be in as deep ignorance in regard to the case in
a week from now as I am to-day. And here is the house. Now to see if
there have been any new developments since I left.”




                             CHAPTER XXI.

                           NEW DEVELOPMENTS.


Entering the house Nick Carter found Barnes still there.

The latter greeted him with:

“Well, did you learn anything in your trip downtown?”

“Something that may ultimately prove to have bearing on the matter. How
has it been here?”

“In what respect?”

“Anything new?”

“There has been a new development.”

“Ah! What is it?”

“It seems that, after all, the motive was primarily robbery.”

“So?”

“Yes.”

“Something has been missing, then?”

“There has.”

“What is it?”

“A portion of the silver.”

“But not all of it?”

“No, only the most portable pieces of it.”

“Who made the discovery?”

“The housekeeper.”

“She takes charge of the silver, then?”

“Yes, or rather that portion of it in ordinary use. The remainder of it
was under the care of Mr. Field personally, who retained the key to
the safe in which it is kept.”

“Where is the key of that safe now?”

“I don’t know.”

“Has it been searched for?”

“It has, within the last half an hour.”

“Then it is not known if that safe has been robbed?”

“It is not.”

“Where is this safe?”

“In a small room back of the dining room.”

Barnes led the way thither.

Reaching the room the detective inquired:

“Who has recently been in this room?”

“Nobody but myself and the housekeeper.”

Looking sharply and swiftly about him the detective was only the
fraction of a minute in arriving at a conclusion.

He said:

“That safe has not been tampered with.”

Giving him a surprised look, Barnes exclaimed:

“This is wonderful!”

“What is wonderful?”

“Why, that you can come into this room and after one glance can say
positively that this safe has not been tampered with.”

“There is nothing wonderful about it.”

“It appears so to me.”

“That is because you do not look below the surface. Can you see any
evidence of tools being used on the safe?”

“No.”

“But, had it been forced, such marks would inevitably be seen?”

“Yes.”

“Then it was not forced?”

“Of course not. However, it was not my idea that it had been entered
that way. I took it that they might have found the key on Mr. Field and
helped themselves.”

The detective quietly said:

“They were not even in this room, so they could not well have opened
the safe.”

“How can you know that?”

“Easy enough. The feet of the persons were muddy, as was shown by the
marks and dirt left upon the carpet of the rooms upstairs. In this room
is no trace of anything of the kind.”

Barnes exclaimed:

“Now that you bring it to mind, it is as clear as day! Do you know one
thing?”

“No.”

“I should hate to have committed a crime and know that you were on my
track.”

Nick smiled.

“You are not the only person who entertains that idea! More than one
criminal would prefer to hear that the Evil One himself was pursuing
him than that I was. But where is the housekeeper?”

“Downstairs.”

“I want to see her.”

A few minutes later he had an interview with the woman.

Whatever his suspicions as regarded other members of Mr. Field’s
household, this woman he believed to be perfectly innocent. That she
had been devoted to her master’s service he felt no particle of doubt.

He had seen her before, when he questioned all the servants.

She it was who had been the one to discover that there were strangers
in the house, which incident had made it necessary in the estimation of
the criminals that all the servants should be bound.

She had been in the service of Mr. Field ever since he and his bride
had returned from their wedding tour, now more than eighteen years ago.

She had been in his service when the little daughter was born to them,
and had also been here when the outraged wife had resented the cruel
insinuations of her husband and had left him, taking their child with
her.

She explained how it had chanced that she had discovered the taking of
the silver so long after making what had been thought to be a thorough
search.

Feeling that he could trust her, the detective inquired:

“Do you consider all the servants as being above suspicion?”

“I do.”

“Without exception?”

“Yes.”

“How about Timon?”

“He is not for an instant to be suspected of doing anything that would
lead to the hurting of a hair of Mr. Field’s head. He was just devoted
to him.”

While the detective was at heart glad to thus have the character of
a fellow-being sustained, he yet was greatly dissatisfied on hearing
so positive a reply, for it tended anew to upset theories built up as
being the only ones tenable.

Masking his real feelings in the case, he took another tack, and said:

“Mr. Field was married, they tell me?”

“He was.”

“You knew his wife?”

“I did.”

“She was a lady?”

“In every sense of the word, sir.”

“Mr. Field used her badly?”

“He did, sir, in a way. But he never struck her or did anything bad in
that way.”

“They had a child?”

“Yes, sir. It was a little girl, and they called her Helen, after Mr.
Field’s mother, who died only a little while before, and of whom he
thought a sight.”

“Whatever became of the mother and child?”

“That is what Mr. Field would have given all he was worth afterward to
have found out. He had detectives at work, but they could never seem to
find anything of them.”

Watching her very sharply, although his eyes were to all appearance
buried under their lashes, the detective said:

“There is a girl in the house, I believe?”

“There is.”

“Have you seen her?”

“I have.”

“Did you ever see her before?”

“No, sir; unless----”

“Unless what?”

“Why, sir, I have been wondering who the girl is, and why Mr. Barnes
didn’t tell us something about her, for she is the living image of Mrs.
Field!”

Nick Carter gave a start.

Had everybody combined in a league against him?

It almost seemed so. Here was the housekeeper testifying to a
remarkable resemblance between this girl and Mrs. Field, just as he was
firmly settled in the conclusion that she was a rank impostor.

He said, sharply:

“You must be mistaken!”

“I am not. I never saw a resemblance more strongly marked than this
girl bears to Mrs. Field as I remember her.”

“What has been said to you about this girl?”

“Nothing.”

“You are sure?”

“I am.”

“Not even one word?”

With a different inflection, she repeated:

“Not even one word!”

“Has it not been suggested to your mind that this girl is the child who
went away with Mrs. Field?”

“It has not, even by a look.”

Nick bit his lip.

As fast as he built one thing it was knocked down by something else.

But, come what might, the letter purporting to come from Mr. Field, and
shown by this girl, was a forgery!

This fact there was no gainsaying.

The points of difference were too distinctly defined to admit of the
slightest question.

It was written with different ink!

A steel pen had been used!

The test applied to the ink proved that part of it. And while a quill
pen always leaves a soft and wavy edge to the lines it produces, a
steel one makes a line that is clear-cut, distinct and sharply defined.
The difference between the two was so great that it was not possible to
make a mistake.

Leaving the housekeeper, he sought Barnes again, and taking him so
suddenly as to give him no time for preparation, he said:

“I understand that you have introduced Miss Doane as the daughter of
Mr. Field!”

Without a particle of hesitation, Barnes rejoined:

“It is not the case, for I have not said a word to anybody, and, I may
say, have not so much as implied it by a look.”

“Not even to the housekeeper?”

“Not even to her. A funny circumstance, though, is that the minute she
saw Miss Doane she gave a start and for a second or two I thought she
was going to take her into her arms and hug her.”

Nick turned away.

He was far from being in good humor.

Each individual whom he questioned appeared to corroborate everything
said by any other that was in opposition to the theories he had formed.

After a moment’s thought he decided to see Miss Doane, and he sent for
her to come to the parlor.

When she had arrived he greeted her pleasantly.

“Miss Doane, I would like to ask you a few questions.”

“You are at liberty to do so.”

“I would like to know a little something further in regard to your past
life.”

“Very well. I will answer anything that is not too personal in its
character.”

“I will try to keep within the line. Where have you recently been
residing?”

She unhesitatingly gave the address.

“How long have you been in this house?”

“Nearly two years.”

“Where did you live before that?”

As in the former instance, she gave the address without hesitation.

“Did you have any particular friends in either of these houses?”

“I did not. In all my life I never had half a dozen friends.”

“Were these mostly ladies?”

“Yes.”

“But were there not one or two gentlemen?”

“Only two whom I could call friends.”

“Who were these two?”

“One was Mr. Barnes.”

“And the other?”

“A gentleman by the name of Lorton.”

“What was his other name?”

“Demas.”

“Did you know him well?”

“Quite so.”

“How frequently did you see him?”

“Sometimes every month, but generally not oftener than once in two or
three months.”

The prompt and apparently truthful way in which the girl was answering
puzzled the detective anew.

If this was acting, then it was the finest that he had ever seen.

And were not the proof so strong the other way, he would have cast all
suspicion to the winds, and said:

“This girl is what she seems, an honest, upright, high-principled girl!

“But the letter?

“What could be better than dumb evidence?”

The girl must be lying. But as long as she appeared willing to answer
it might be as well to go on questioning her, using his judgment to
sift out what was truth and what untruth.

So he asked:

“When did you last see this Mr. Lorton?”

“Just a month ago.”

“Did he say then when you might expect to see him again?”

“Yes.”

“Ah! When was it?”

“He said he was going away, to be gone a couple of months, and that he
would come to see me as soon as he came back.”

“Do you know what business this Mr. Lorton was in?”

“Not exactly. He told me once that it was traveling, I think in
connection with some patent right.”

“You said something this morning that induced the belief in my mind
that you had been inside of a courtroom. Am I right?”

“You are.”

“What business could you have had to take you into a court of law?”

“There was a poor woman living in the house where I one time had a
room, whose husband took part in a street fight. He was passing when a
couple of men began to fight. He tried to separate them, and they set
upon him for interfering, and then while he was defending himself a
policeman came up, and arresting him, took him to the station house.
The poor woman heard of it and was beside herself with grief, and as
she was on a sick bed at the time, I lost a day to go to the court and
try to get his freedom. And, sir, it made my blood boil, the way the
judge mocked and laughed and jeered the poor wretches who were brought
before him.”

As she said this her checks glowed with natural indignation.

Nick Carter could not say it was affected!

He left her presently, convinced against his reason that she was not
the guilty thing he had painted her in his mind.

Cold-blooded judgment was against her! Dumb evidence pointed directly
at her! But some finer sense told him it could not possibly be that
this girl was guilty.

Leaving the house for the second time that day and going downtown, his
ears were assailed by the cries of the newsboys, who were selling extra
editions based on the strange crime--murder or abduction.

He went to the last place of residence given him by the girl.

Ringing the bell, he inquired for the landlady.

It was a cheap but respectable boarding house, suited to the means of a
girl who was compelled to make her living standing behind the counter
of a large dry-goods store.

The landlady presently entered, beaming all over.

Seeing in the stranger a prospective new boarder she greeted him with
her very sweetest smile of welcome.

Nick Carter did not mean to leave her under the impression that he was
seeking board.

Quickly disabusing her mind of this idea, he said:

“I came to see Miss Doane on a matter of business, but am informed that
she is not in.”

This was the case, although not so reported by the servant.

He went on:

“I asked to see you, judging that perhaps you could tell me what I want
to know and thus save me a second visit here.”

Like most landladies, this one had a weakness for talking, and the
detective had taken her on a weak point. To be able to give some
information, and be of importance in somebody’s eyes, if even for
a few minutes, was sufficient to mollify the woman in face of the
disappearance of prospective profits and less troublesome butchers and
bakers.

She complacently arranged the folds of her dress and settled herself to
be interrogated.

“Miss Doane has been with you some time?”

“She has.”

“How long?”

“Nearly or quite two years.”

“She is a very estimable young lady, I take it?”

“She is, indeed. I never want a nicer lady in my house, and I never
before had one.”

“She is very circumspect in her relations with gentlemen?”

“She couldn’t be more so.”

“Did she ever have any gentlemen visitors?”

“Once in a very great while. There was one gentleman who came
occasionally that I liked very much. He was tall and dark-complexioned,
with a pair of excruciating side whiskers.”

The detective smiled to himself, as he recognized in this description
Mr. Barnes.

“But he was not the only one?”

“No, there was another, and a very nice man he seemed to be. He never
came as much as the first one I spoke about.”

“Can you describe him?”

“Yes. A tallish man, too, rather chunkily built, with a mustache and a
goatee.”

That suited Demas Lorton, all but the goatee. This, however, might very
easily have been false.

Returning to the charge, the detective inquired:

“Did Miss Doane often go out in the evening?”

“Seldom or never.”

“Do you remember an instance?”

“Only one, and then she went out with the side-whiskered chap.”

Nick was getting deeper into the mire.

The landlady certainly could have no interest in deceiving him, and if
she told the truth, then this Helen Doane could not be the Helen Lorton
who had so frequently been seen with Demas Lorton!

“But, perhaps this being seen with him so frequently had occurred prior
to the time of her coming here to live,” he thought.

That would soon be ascertained.

He was about to rise to take his leave when the landlady said:

“I--I--beg pardon, but has--has--Miss Doane met with any good fortune?”

Turning a piercing look on her, Nick Carter asked:

“Why do you make that inquiry?”

“Oh! I’ve always had the idea that she was a lady born and quite out
of her place in working in a store, and so I was not surprised when a
genuine lady came this morning and inquired about her.”

“A lady here this morning, you say, asking for Miss Doane?”

“Yes.”

“What did she look like?”

To this question the woman rejoined:

“Did you ever see Miss Doane?”

“Yes.”

“Well, the lady who called is as much like her, only older, as though
they were mother and daughter.”

Nick gave a start of surprise.

What did this mean?

To himself, Nick Carter said:

“I wonder if these complications will ever cease. Now, then, who can
this other woman be?”

Aloud, he asked:

“What did you tell this lady?”

“I told her that Miss Doane was out.”

“What did she say?”

“She asked when she would be in.”

“What reply did you make?”

“I told her that Miss Doane had this morning gone somewhere else
instead of to the store where she was employed, and that in consequence
I could not say when she would be back.”

“Well?”

“She seemed thoughtful for a minute, and then left.”

“Did she say anything about calling again?”

“Yes.”

“What was it?”

“She said to ask Miss Doane to remain home to-morrow and that she would
be here at noon to see her.”

“You said this lady was here this morning?”

“Yes.”

“What time was it?”

“I said this morning, but I suppose it was really in the afternoon, for
lunch had been cleared away.”

“Was it two o’clock?”

“Just about.”

Thanking the woman for the information given him, and telling himself
that he would be on hand to-morrow to meet this woman who had called on
Miss Doane, he took his leave.

He went direct to the other place of residence, the address of which
the girl had furnished him, but here as in the place he had just left
he heard nothing but the best of character given Miss Doane. She had
never gone out in the evening, was very circumspect and ladylike in all
her actions, and had never received half a dozen visits from gentlemen
during her stay there, and these had always been in the parlor and in
the presence of other boarders.

“This beats the Dutch!” muttered the detective, as he left this place.
“I don’t think it will pan out well to spend any further time in
looking up the character of this girl. Everybody appears determined to
speak well of her, and for the life of me I can’t attribute it to any
gum game on her part, for each of these persons appears to speak from
honest conviction.”

Walking briskly along, his footsteps now turned in the direction of his
home, he mentally said:

“One of the next steps must be an attempt to find out something about
Lorton.”

By this time the day was well spent.




                             CHAPTER XXII.

                            THE BIRTHMARK.


High noon was striking when Nick Carter entered Mr. Field’s palatial
house the following day.

Stepping into the hall he met Barnes.

Offering him his hand, he said:

“Well, I left you here when I went away, and I find you here now. Have
you slept here?”

With a laugh, the other replied:

“Not quite so bad as that. I have been here the greater part of the
time, though.”

“Anything new turned up?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“A certain person has put in an appearance since last night.”

“Who is it?”

“A lady.”

“Her name?”

“Field.”

“Ha! What does your answer imply?”

“Can’t you guess?”

“Mrs. Field has returned?”

“She has!”

“Does she bring any substantial proof of her identity?”

“She brought no proof at all.”

“Ah! How do you know that it is she?”

“Because she was recognized.”

“By whom?”

“Several of the servants.”

“How did she come?”

“She came to the door and inquired for Miss Doane. She did not give her
name or attempt in anyway to explain who she was, but the woman who saw
her exclaimed: ‘You are my lady!’”

“What was her reply?”

“She said: ‘So you recognize me after all these years!’”

“What then?”

The other rejoined:

“Don’t you think it would be as well for you to see the lady yourself?”

And the detective said:

“I think it would. Suppose you send her to me.”

“Here?”

“Yes. Or no, let her come to the back parlor, which is more private.”

“Very; well.”

Nick Carter had been an inmate of the back parlor only a few minutes
when the rustling of a dress told him of the approach of a lady.

Rising as she entered, he found himself facing a lady of most striking
and graceful proportions, with queenly carriage. She was a person once
seen, seldom forgotten, which fact, trivial as it was, had weight for
him.

“Pray be seated!”

She uttered those words with the air and tone of one who had been
accustomed to receiving and speaking with strangers.

Her self-possession could never have been obtained save by familiarity
with the duties of a hostess.

As the detective accepted the invitation, she said:

“I believe you wished to see me?”

“I did and do.”

“Mr. Barnes informed me that you are the detective who is engaged in
trying to solve the mystery of my husband’s death or disappearance?”

“I am.”

“You think it possible that I may help you?”

“Yes. You are Mr. Field’s wife?”

“I am.”

“You were separated from him years ago?”

“I was.”

“You took your child with you?”

“I did.”

“What became of that child?”

“I was taken ill and removed to a hospital in an unconscious condition.
Hence I could give no directions as regarded my daughter.”

“Well?”

“When I recovered and was discharged from the hospital and went in
quest of my child I could find nothing of her. On returning to the
hospital afterward I learned that she had been there in search of me,
but I lost all trace there, and never was able to discover anything of
her until a couple of days ago.”

“Yet you were both in the city all the time?”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t it a trifle singular that you could not find her, and that you
never met?”

“I suppose it is. And yet New York is a large place, and a person might
live next door to a long lost friend and not know it.”

“True! But a detective might have solved the problem for you in a very
short time, if you had been anxious to find your child.”

“I employed a detective.”

“Did you?”

“Yes.”

“And he could not find any trace of your child?”

“Apparently not.”

“Well, I don’t think much of him as a detective. But to business! You
got on the track of your daughter a couple of days ago?”

“I did.”

“How?”

“I advertised for information in the personal columns of a daily paper,
offering a reward.”

“Somebody gave you the information you wanted?”

“Yes. A girl who worked in the same store with Helen saw the personal
and came and told me of her.”

“What did you do then?”

“I went yesterday to the place where I had learned she was boarding, to
see if by any possibility this Helen Doane was my child.”

“Well?”

“I found she was out.”

The detective rejoined:

“And left word that you would return to-day at noon?”

Giving him a surprised look, the lady said:

“You know, it seems, of my visit there?”

“I do.”

“You were there after I was?”

“Yes.”

He was looking sharply but covertly at her, and she knew it.

Quietly, he now said:

“You came here last night, I am told?”

“I did.”

“And asked for Miss Doane?”

“I did.”

“If, when you left her boarding house at one or two o’clock, you did
not know that she was here, how could you have come here and inquired
for her with such perfect confidence as to the result?”

Looking him fairly in the face, the lady returned:

“I can see, sir, that you suspect me, or if you do not, at least you
want every circumstance that seems at all strange explained to your
satisfaction.”

“That is the truth.”

“Well, the explanation is easy. Instead of waiting until to-day to go
back to her boarding house, I went there later in the afternoon. In
the meantime she had returned with Mr. Barnes and had left word for me
that she could be found here, on learning which I at once came to this
place.”

“Had you then heard of what had befallen your husband?”

“I learned it while on my way here, from the columns of an afternoon
paper that I bought in the car.”

“You found Miss Doane here?”

“I did.”

“And recognized her as your daughter?”

“Yes.”

“You would swear to her being your child?”

“I would.”

The woman spoke in the most decided way.

The detective said:

“There is no possibility that you could be mistaken?”

“None in the world.”

“Can this be proved in any way that you know of?”

“Yes, by a birthmark.”

“It was known to others besides yourself?”

“Yes.”

“To whom, then?”

“Mr. Field and all the servants who were at the tame in our service.”

All this was evidence of the most positive kind that Helen Doane was
really the child of Mr. Field, and not, as he had firmly believed, an
impostor. That this lady was Mrs. Field, the wife who had left her
husband because of his jealousy, he had no doubt whatever.

But, was she not mistaken about Helen Doane?

Come what might, that letter brought by the girl to prove her kinship
was a forgery!

That was a fact about which there could be no doubt.

And, as it was a forgery, did not her possession of it imply that she
was a party in the guilty transaction?

It certainly was strong evidence.

As he sat there he asked himself if it was not possible that Helen was
really the daughter and yet a schemer?

It was hardly reasonable that she should be, for as Mr. Field was only
too desirous of finding wife or child, or both, there was no need of
her doing anything underhanded if by coming to her father she could
prove her identity by so excellent testimony as a birthmark of which
he knew and with the appearance of which he could be presumed to be
familiar.

The more Nick twisted the case, the more inexplicable it became.

Having thanked the lady, he took the trouble to see and speak with one
of the servants, the same one with whom he had talked before and with
whom he had been favorably impressed.

On asking her about the birthmark that the little Helen Field
possessed, she said at once that she remembered it well.

“You know it so well that you could swear to it if you saw it again?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever seen it since the little Helen went away with her
mother?”

“Never until last night.”

“You saw it then?”

“I did.”

“Under what circumstances?”

“I was present at the meeting of Mrs. Field and her child. The
birthmark being spoken of, the young lady who came here as Miss Doane
removed such portion of her clothing as was necessary to show that she
possessed the mark.”

“There could be no mistake about this?”

“There could not be.”

“You would take an oath to it that Miss Helen Doane and Miss Helen
Field are the same?”

“I would!”

“That is all.”

Nick Carter left the house then and went slowly downtown, wrapped in
deep thought.

The clouds were growing thicker this morning, and this in spite of the
fact that he felt himself near the solution of the mystery.

That Helen Doane was the daughter of Mr. Field it would appear insane
to doubt in the face of a recognition by her mother and an old servant
who had been with her from the time of her birth until the mother left
with the child.

But the forged letter!

Could it be possible that she had received it as she said, and that she
was an innocent holder of it, no matter what scheme might be back of it?

The detective said to himself at last:

“That is the only way of accounting for the thing, and yet who was to
be benefited, and how, if the girl was proved to be Field’s daughter
and placed in possession of the property? It could not be done without
her sanction, hence she must have been a party in it.”




                            CHAPTER XXIII.

                          THE STOLEN SILVER.


The next step was to ascertain if Lorton had been to any of the
well-known “fences” the night before, and if he had, to learn what he
had sold.

If he could learn absolutely that Lorton was in the city something
would be gained. And if it should prove that the goods he had disposed
of included the silverware that had been taken from Mr. Field’s house,
then he would have a good case, and it would only remain to get
together evidence. As it stood now he not only had to find evidence,
but also to make that evidence point to somebody.

With this purpose in view, then, he turned his steps in the direction
of Gorse’s place, patronized as extensively by crooks as any in the
city.

This man carried on business in a peculiar way, but one that was well
calculated to meet with success in his trade.

What had originally been a single store had been divided by a partition
into two parts. In one of these half-stores there was carried on what
might by courtesy be termed a jewelry business, as the window contained
old watches of little or no value and a quantity of worthless trinkets.
This business was run under the name of a tool of Gorse’s, who had
his name over the door of the other half-store as “Retailer of Wines,
Liquors and Fine Cigars.”

A man entering the liquor store might be supposed to be doing so
simply to obtain a drink, while under his coat would be concealed the
proceeds of some burglary that he was about to dispose of.

The “fence” proper was located at the rear of the jewelry part of the
premises, a door at the back of the saloon communicating with it.

Nick Carter so thoroughly disguised himself that he could not by any
possibility be recognized, and then sauntered into the saloon.

Gorse himself was behind the bar.

Nodding to him, Nick said:

“I want to see the proprietor. Is he in?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“The nature of your business.”

“It is important.”

“What might it be?”

“That is for him alone to know. From a description that was given me, I
should judge that you were the man himself.”

“I ain’t.”

Nick Carter knew better than this. He was positive that this was Gorse,
for he had seen him a number of times before, and he said:

“If you are Gorse, I’ve got something to say to you of the utmost
importance. If you are not Gorse, then something will have to go by the
board that you’ll be sorry for.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing.”

And, turning around as though about to depart, he said:

“Good-day to you!”

Gorse, as he had expected, called to him to stop.

“Hold on a minute!”

Facing him, the detective said:

“Did you call me?”

“Yes.”

“What do you want?”

“I was going to say something.”

“What?”

“That, if your business is very important, Gorse might be found.”

“I told you before that it was important.”

“Who are you?”

“A friend.”

“Well, I am Gorse.”

“Are, eh? Well, that is just what I thought.”

“Now, then, what is your business?”

Nick Carter rejoined:

“It would be as well if we could have it a little private, instead of
out here where we are likely to be interrupted by somebody coming in
for a drink.”

“Good enough! I will call my bartender.”

This individual put in his appearance, after which Gorse said:

“Step into the back room.”

This was just what Nick wanted.

He desired to get into the room where the “loot” was examined and
purchased, in the hopes that if what he was after had been purchased it
would not yet have been removed from sight.

In this he was disappointed.

If Gorse had bought the stolen silver it had been taken to some other
and less public place, as indeed was dictated by prudence to be the
only proper course.

When they were both seated, Gorse said:

“Now, then, friend, I am ready to listen to what you have to tell me.”

The detective coughed and replied:

“There are conditions.”

“Conditions!”

“Yes.”

“I don’t take!”

“Don’t? That’s funny! I spoke plainly enough. There are certain
conditions under which alone I can tell you a particular thing that may
be of great consequence to you.”

“What are these conditions?”

“That you will truthfully answer me certain questions.”

Gorse’s teeth shut together with a snap, and he said:

“I don’t like the looks of this!”

“Why not?”

“If you have anything to tell me there can be no need of asking me any
questions.”

“In that I know better than you do.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Let me tell you one thing!”

“Go ahead.”

“I will not answer a single question until I know who you are.”

“As you please about that.”

The detective’s coolness had the effect aimed at, which was to make the
villain more desirous of hearing the communication the other had come
to make. In addition to this, his curiosity was excited.

Biting his lip, the villain said:

“I mean it!”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ve got nothing to tell you.”

After a silence of several minutes’ duration, Gorse asked:

“Did you come here of your own accord?”

“No.”

“Ah! Who sent you?”

“That question I cannot answer until I know something of you?”

“In other words, I must answer your questions before you will answer
mine?”

“That is it exactly.”

“You can at least tell me the circumstances under which you came here?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“What are they?”

“They are simply these: A man who is a good friend of yours asked me if
I would come and see you, and I said I would.”

“He wanted you to tell me something?”

“Yes.”

“But, under conditions?”

“Precisely.”

“Who is this friend?”

“One who has, I believe, warned you of danger before now.”

“Ha!”

The villain’s eyes glistened.

“Perhaps”--speaking in a slow tone--“he is connected with the police
force?”

“It is possible.”

For some reason Gorse now appeared to be inspired with a confidence
that had been lacking a few minutes before.

“What is it you were to ask me?”

“I want to know something about the customers you had last night.”

“What about them?”

“Who were they?”

“It would be necessary to show me that the danger was great before I
would consent to give the boys away.”

“I don’t want you to give them away.”

“What do you want, then?”

“I want to know simply who was here last night.”

As Gorse did not seem likely to reply to the question, as thus put,
Nick went at it in another way. He said:

“I’ll put it to you in this shape: Did you take in any silverware last
night?”

Gorse gave the questioner a swift look of suspicion.

“What are you driving at?”

Calmly and in an offhand tone came the reply:

“As I have told you, it is optional with yourself whether or not you
answer my questions.”

“Well, suppose that I admit having taken in some silverware?”

“Then the next question is: Who brought it?”

“That I won’t tell.”

The detective coolly said:

“In refusing to do which you make a grave mistake! Possibly you will
tell me if it bears a certain mark?”

“A mark, you say?”

“Yes.”

The detective followed this answer by giving a description of the mark
on Mr. Field’s silver.

Gorse promptly said:

“I never saw such silver as that!”

But, as Nick Carter was describing the mark, his face had worn a
conscious look that did not escape the speaker’s keen eyes, and he
said, mentally:

“The rascal is lying! He has seen that very silver if, indeed, it is
not now in this very house.”

Aloud he said:

“Very well, then, you’re safe.”

“Safe?”

“Yes.”

“I say!”

“What is it?”

“You are talking to me in riddles.”

“I can’t help that. The circumstances under which I have come are
peculiar. The person who sent me dared not come himself, nor send the
customary messenger, and it would not do for it to appear that you had
received warning of a certain thing since this information is in the
possession of so few that, in case of any leak, it would not be hard to
locate it.”

Gorse, it was plain to be seen, was not a little troubled by what had
been said, although he said in a sneering way:

“All very nice, and told in about the style in which fortune tellers
talk to their dupes, so that no matter what transpires the tale will
cover.”

“Treat this so if you choose. As I have said, it is none of my affair.
But, I know this, that freedom of speech on your part might save you
some trouble.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“Then I may as well go.”

“So you had, for you can’t work any game on me.”

“That’s all right. Before I go, just to show you that I am not playing
on you, let me say that it is known about certain silver coming here.
And, further, the man who brought it is tricking you.”

“What! De----How do you know that?”

Nick quietly smiled.

“De----” Gorse had begun to utter the name of Demas Lorton, but
remembering himself, had cut it short.

Nick Carter had practically gained what he wished to know.

He was quick to think and plan, and in less than a minute after this
admission he said:

“See here, Gorse!”

“What now?”

“Demas Lorton brought certain pieces of silver to you last night. They
must be gotten rid of.”

“So?”

“Yes.”

“For what reason?”

“The best in the world! And, what is more!”

“Well?”

“The melting pot will not answer!”

Gorse gave a start of surprise.

At last he was thoroughly aroused.

“What do you mean?”

“The melting pot will not hide the traces of that particular lot of
silver! It is all part of a game; the silver was prepared for the job!”

“You mean that it was alloyed in a certain way?”

“I do.”

“I can destroy that!”

“You cannot. The fact of its impossibility is the reason why I was sent
here.”

“Do you mean that I am to infer that Lorton is playing a double game?”

“I have nothing more to say, unless you admit that Lorton did bring
such silver here last night.”

“Very well, I admit it. What, then?”

“I am instructed to give you certain advice.”

“Which is?”

“That you send him back the silver so that he gets it at nine o’clock
to-night.”

“Why that particular time?”

“You will see afterward.”

Gorse was silent a minute, and then said:

“I laid out good money on that stuff.”

“Hang on to it, then, if you wish!”

“I don’t want to do so at any risk.”

“Then send it back!”

“I will do so.”

“So that he will receive it at the time I mentioned?”

“Yes.”

“Very well, I will so report to the person who sent me.”

“Who was that?”

“He said you would know that!”

“I don’t, though.”

“But you will before long, even though I do not tell you, as I shall
not.”

“How, then, will I know?”

“He said that he would arrange to see you some time after ten to-night.”

The detective took his leave at this juncture. Gorse did not now in
any way doubt the man, although he could not understand the necessity
for all this mystery. If a certain person connected with the police
department, who had before now given him warning of approaching danger,
wished to warn him again, why could he not have done it in a way as
openly as before?

Nick Carter had played a shrewd game, based on a supposition that
Gorse had a friend in the department, which he had thought to be the
case since it had never been possible to secure evidence that had been
positively known to have been in his possession.

Nick might have disclosed his identity and forced Gorse to restore the
silver to him. But, for him to have taken this step would have resulted
in a widespread alarm that would certainly reach the ears of Lorton and
thus defeat the main object he had in view.

He believed he had arranged the matter a great deal better, and it
could not but prove so if Gorse did as he said he would, and sent the
silver back to Lorton at nine that night.

Nick now hurried away to headquarters and was closeted for some little
time with the chief.

The men he asked for were placed at his disposal. Then he proceeded to
his office, and made arrangements with his two assistants, Chick and
Patsy, to accompany him on what all knew would be a dangerous errand.




                             CHAPTER XXIV.

                         THE PLOT THAT FAILED.


It was half an hour in advance of the time when Gorse was, according to
agreement, to return to Lorton the silver taken from Mr. Field’s house.

Deep in the shadow of a doorway near the entrance to the “fence’s”
quarters stood the figure of a man. It was Nick Carter.

Around the corner, within signaling distance, were Chick and Patsy and
six police officers.

Twenty minutes passed.

Suddenly the door of Gorse’s place opened and Gorse himself stepped out.

Nick drew back further into the doorway, but he kept his eye on the
man, and noticed that he carried a large and what seemed to be a heavy
bundle under his arm.

He passed quickly down the street, glancing furtively behind him from
time to time.

But despite his caution he was closely shadowed by Nick, who had taken
up the trail after giving an odd whistle that could be heard around the
corner.

Several blocks were passed, the man in front carefully avoiding the
well-lighted streets.

Finally he paused before the door of a house in a narrow little street,
and started to ascend the steps.

He had scarcely done so, however, when he felt a hand clasped on his
shoulder and, looking quickly around, he found himself looking into the
barrel of a gleaming revolver.

He gave one look at the man who held the weapon and his face turned to
ashes as he gasped:

“Nick Carter!”

“Yes, my man. It’s Nick Carter. No noise, now. Come this way lively.”

Gorse was too much surprised to refuse, and before he knew it he was
handcuffed and led back the way he had come.

The two did not go far before Nick stopped abruptly on hearing a slight
noise ahead of him. It proved to be his assistants and the police
approaching, and turning his prisoner over to them, he told them to
await his signals opposite the building he had spotted.

Nick now proceeded toward the house Gorse had attempted to enter. He
was confident he was about to make some important discoveries, and his
face wore a smile of satisfaction at the clever way he had tricked the
proprietor of the “fence.”

Nick stealthily approached the basement door and listened a few minutes
to make sure no one was in the hallway within.

He cautiously tried the door and, as he expected, found it locked.

The lock that secured it proved to be one, although of a pattern
supposed to be complicated, very easily picked.

Less than ten minutes’ work sufficed for him to master it, and he was
free to go in.

It took but a moment to see that no one was on the basement floor.

He took no step in the direction of the upper part of the house until
he had by listening assured himself that nobody was in the immediate
vicinity of the head of the stairs.

On reaching the head of the stairs he paused again.

The silence that hung over the interior of the house was like that of
the tomb. It was unbroken by even the slightest sound.

Going softly along the hall he finally reached a door, which he judged
to be that opening on the street.

This gave him his bearings, so to speak, and he went back along the
hall. He paused before a door leading into one of the rooms.

From within came no sound.

The detective told himself:

“It is deserted, and if I can manage it I mean to go in and have a look
around.”

To his surprise, in trying the door, he found that it was not locked.

Softly pushing it open he entered.

There was a lighted lamp in the room.

He had not been given more than two minutes to look around when he
heard steps approaching.

At once he cast his eyes about him in search of some place in which he
could conceal himself.

The only place that offered was a space behind the sofa. Poor as this
might prove, it was all that could be found, so he lost no time in
taking advantage of it.

Just as he settled himself comfortably the door of the room opened and
two persons entered.

One was a woman.

The woman’s first words were:

“If I had done such a thing I would never have heard the last of it!”

“That would depend on circumstances.”

“Indeed it would not. If I had gone away from this house, leaving it
unguarded and unlocked you would have threatened to cut my throat if I
was ever as imprudent again.”

“Let it drop! I’ve heard enough.”

“All right. Is everything moving well?”

“Tolerably so.”

“Have you been out to-day?”

“Yes.”

“What was the result?”

“I could not learn anything.”

“Which means that we are practically balked.”

“I suppose so. Until it can be conclusively shown that the old man is
dead, we have mighty small show of handling a copper of his money.”

The woman said in a bitter tone:

“I don’t know as I am sorry.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t like a part of the game.”

“You mean my marrying the girl?”

“I do.”

“Pshaw! That should not excite your jealousy! There will be nothing of
it, except to play the part of a loving husband until I get the ducats,
and then I’ll skip and come back to your arms.”

“Of course!”

“Business, my dear--simple business, nothing more!”

“That’s what you would have me to believe.”

“Because it is absolute truth. In all the world you are to me the one
and only woman.”

Although Nick Carter could not see what was done, his ears were
sufficient of a guide to the truth to inform him that the man at this
point put his arm around the woman and kissed her affectionately.

It was all that Nick could do at this time to prevent gritting his
teeth so that they would hear. It fairly made his blood run cold to
hear that man talk so coolly of the foul wrong that it was intended
should, through him, befall a young and innocent girl.

Like a revelation had been these few words that he had thus far
overheard.

That the woman was mollified by his caresses was shown by the tone of
her voice when she next spoke.

“I am sure, Demas, that you do not care for any other woman, and yet
at times I cannot think but that you must, and it drives me nearly
mad with jealousy. I long thought that you cared a good deal for this
namesake of mine that you used to go to see once in a while.”

“Pish! Helen; I never cared a copper for her. But, when I saw that she
was fool enough to fall in love with me, I believed it would not be a
bad idea to keep it alive, for even then the plot we are working out
had begun to frame itself in my mind.

“I never believed, as you did, that she was really the daughter of
Field.”

“That was the result of your jealousy. It made you nearsighted where
she was concerned. I wish I was as sure of some other things as I am
that she is really his child.”

“You think that she will marry you for the asking?”

“If I had not been sure of it, do you suppose that I would have gone
into the scheme under the circumstances that I have? Of course I am
sure of it.”

“How can you be?”

“How do I know that you love me and are the best and most daring woman
in the world, where my best interests are concerned, my dear?”

The woman laughed. She said, returning to a subject previously touched
upon:

“Well, what about Field?”

“I can’t make it out.”

“You were up there to-day?”

“Yes.”

“And learned nothing?”

“Just precisely that. Appearances are that he was taken to the river
bank and away in a boat.”

“Who could have done it?”

“I don’t know. I can’t even guess.”

“Nor what the reason was?”

“No. If I could once get at a reason I might spot the person who
carried Field off. What the fellow wanted with his dead body, unless it
was to play counter to me, I cannot understand.”

“That’s what it looks like.”

“Yes, that and nothing else, but I can’t think of anybody who would be
likely to be in the game, as nobody knew what I was up to.”

The woman’s jealousy led her to revert to that other Helen again,
saying:

“You will not think of marrying her until it is settled that she is
dead certain of getting the money as well as the credit of being old
Field’s daughter?”

“Of course not. But, hark!”

While the man and the woman were listening to some sound that had
reached their ears the detective was busily thinking.

What he had heard was a revelation to him in every sense of the word.

While in some unimportant particulars it proved his first theory wrong,
in the main it supported it amply.

Holding the key to the mystery now, he saw how it had all been brought
about, save for one point. This was the precise motive that had led to
Mr. Field being carried away.

Nick now understood precisely the relation that was held by Helen Doane
to this man.

In some way he had gained an inkling of whom she really was, but
instead of telling her had kept it to himself, biding a time when the
fact could be made to turn to his advantage.

At last he had arranged a scheme for doing this.

Ostensibly leaving New York for a considerable length of time, he had
gone only a short distance. On the day preceding the crime he had
returned to the city, and had mailed the forged letter to Helen. That
night, accompanied by an accomplice, he had entered Mr. Field’s house,
and the gentleman had been attacked and left for dead. Lorton would not
have left, unless he believed him dead, since his death was a necessity
of his scheme. If it had not been, and Helen was really the missing
child, then he might have returned her without harming Mr. Field. This
would not do, however, as under those circumstances Helen would not be
permitted to see and marry him, in which way alone could he hope to get
his fingers on the Field millions. After he had departed, some one had
carried away the unconscious form of the millionaire, and the better to
cover up his tracks this second crook had resorted to the spilling of
the blood down the lawn walk and to the river front, while in fact he
took Mr. Field into a light wagon and drove him away.

That was the case summed up in a nutshell. It only remained to learn
who this second crook was and when he had stolen Mr. Field’s body.

The detective had just about got this straight in his mind when he
heard the woman say:

“I think it is Luke coming.”

The next minute there came a knock at the door.

The man who entered was addressed as Luke.

When the door was closed, Luke inquired:

“Have you learned anything?”

“No.”

“That’s funny.”

“So it is. Have you been out looking around?”

“I have.”

“And you could not learn anything about Field?”

“No.”

At this juncture came a ring at the bell.

The woman said:

“That’s the front doorbell! I wonder who it can be?”

Lorton rejoined:

“I think that you had better go.”

The woman arose to go and answer the ring.

She returned shortly after, ushering in a man who said:

“How are you, Lorton?”

At the man’s first words Nick could hardly repress a chuckle, for he
recognized his voice as that of his assistant, Patsy.

“How are you? What are you doing here?” returned Lorton.

The woman put in with:

“He’s come from Gorse, he says.”

“From Gorse?”

The man said:

“Yes, he sent me.”

“What for?”

“To bring back the silver you left with him last night. He says he’s
been warned and don’t want anything to do with it.”

“Tell Gorse he’s a fool. The melting pot would fix it in half an hour.”

“He don’t think so.”

With a sneer in his tone, Lorton said:

“Does he expect to get his money back?”

“I guess not. He’s glad enough, I take it, to get rid of it so cheaply!”

Starting up in surprise and alarm, Lorton demanded:

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing, only that the old man seems to be pretty well scared about
the stuff for some reason and wanted to get it safely out of his hands.
I don’t know for sure, but I think it has been traced that you were
concerned in the Field matter, and the ‘boodle’ to him.”

“Nonsense!”

“Not at all! You know that you fixed the old man, and it is possible, I
think, that somebody tumbled to you.”

“See here, it will be wisest for you to keep a still tongue. You’re
letting it wag a trifle too freely for your best good health.”

“That’s all right. You don’t think I would go around blabbing all I
know and all I guess, do you? I speak of it to your face as a fact, and
would not have done it if you hadn’t invited it.”

“Well, they can’t say I murdered the old man unless they find his body.”

“But you did, all the same!”

“Yes, and I’ll murder you, too, if you don’t get out of here in a
hurry!”

“I rather think not.”

As the disguised young detective gave this reply Nick Carter arose from
his place of concealment and echoed:

“I rather think not!”

Turning in the direction of this new speaker, Lorton uttered an oath
and demanded:

“What is the meaning of this?”

Nick smilingly answered:

“I will show you!”

As he spoke he ripped off his disguise with one hand, while with the
other he snatched out a revolver and brought it to bear on Lorton.

The woman was the first to recognize him. She gasped:

“Nick Carter, the detective!”

Bowing to her, he returned:

“At your service, madam!”

Then to the man who had brought the silver:

“Your disguise is admirable, Patsy. Your own mother wouldn’t know you.”

The woman shrieked:

“It is all clear now! We’ve been trapped!”

And, in an excited tone, she added:

“The trap--the trap! There are only two of them! We ought to be able to
master them!”

“Only two of us, eh?”

Saying this, Nick drew out and blew a whistle.

With a thunderous crash the front door was carried from its hinges and
a full dozen of policemen rushed into the room.

The game was up.

The conspirators saw it at a glance.

Just after the handcuffs had been placed on the wrists of the two men
there was a bustle at the door, and then Mr. Field stood before them.

At sight of him both men turned pale, while even Nick started with
surprise.

Looking at Lorton, Mr. Field said:

“That is the man who struck me!”

And turning to Luke:

“That is the man who carried me away from my house in an unconscious
condition and has kept me prisoner ever since.”

The eyes of Lorton and Helen fairly flamed with anger when these words
were uttered.

The former hissed:

“So you turned traitor, did you?”

The man sullenly returned:

“Yes, and for good reason. You were plotting for a big stake and only
wanted to give me a paltry ten thousand. When we looked at Mr. Field
just before leaving the house I saw that he was not dead, and, after we
parted, I returned and carried him away, knowing that while I had him
in my hands I held the power to make what terms I pleased. Now the plot
has failed!”

The answer fully explained the last thing that was a mystery to the
detective.

After the two men and the woman had been taken away, Nick turned to Mr.
Field.

“Permit me to congratulate you. I thought you had fallen into our old
friend Greer’s hands.”

Mr. Field extended his hand and caught Nick’s in a grateful clasp,
while he asked:

“Who called you in, Mr. Carter?”

“Mr. Barnes.”

“My blessings on him! He’s a manly, noble fellow!”

“Now, can you tell me anything about the occurrences of the night on
which you were attacked?”

“I cannot tell you much.”

“You did not go to bed?”

“I did not. I remained up thinking over some matters and arranging
the details of a certain matter when I was suddenly made aware of the
proximity of somebody by hearing a suppressed cough. I turned around
and saw a man close to me, with a club in his hand, and was on the
point of calling out when struck. The club hit me squarely on the head
and I knew no more until I found myself in the arms of a man in a
narrow, dark hall. Recovering consciousness then, I began to struggle
with him, and, although I did not succeed in getting away, I gave him a
great deal of trouble. He got the best of me by striking me again, when
my senses once more left me. In that condition I must have been carried
upstairs, for I imagined the dark hall to have been that of this house,
and, on my showing signs of returning consciousness, the man drugged
me. All this last I recall in a dim and confused way only.”

Questioned as to how he escaped from his captor, Luke, Mr. Field said
the man had evidently drugged him every time he left him alone, for the
hubbub caused by the detective’s entrance had awakened him from a deep
stupor, and when he arose from the couch on which he was lying, there
was no one to dispute his escape. His captor no doubt thought the drug
more powerful than it was.

Despite Luke’s villainy, Nick could not but admire his courage in
secreting his prisoner in the very house his pals were occupying.

Nick now asked some questions that went to prove the truth of the
story told by Timon, the butler, in whom Mr. Field reposed the utmost
confidence.

The replies satisfied the detective that the servants in the house were
guiltless of any participation in the crime.

Nick then said to him:

“Excuse me, Field, if I refer to a period in your past that must arouse
sad memories, for I have a special purpose in view in doing so. I do
not refer to your previous similar experience, but to a fact concealed
by you from the world. You married after your return to this country,
and had a child?”

“I had.”

And he sadly added:

“But I drove them from me.”

“You would like to recover them?”

“I would give half my fortune to be able to do so.”

“Have you never been able to learn anything of them?”

“I have not.”

“Not of your wife, or of both wife and daughter?”

“I mean both.”

“Then you do not know that your daughter is alive?”

“I do not.”

“And you did not, the day before being paid that burglarious visit,
write a letter to her?”

“How could I when I did not even know that she was alive?”

The detective smiled with triumph, while a great look of relief spread
over his face.

Nick’s next step was to acquaint his old friend with the fact that he
would find his wife and daughter at his home.

Nick said:

“Wife and daughter!”

He had no hesitation now in saying the latter, for Helen Doane stood
proven as an innocent party in a dark transaction. And yet the
circumstantial evidence against her was sufficient to have convicted
her.

It is needless for us to go into details of the happy meeting that
followed between the members of the reunited family, of how Mr. Field
begged for forgiveness, and was forgiven; of how his wife proved that
she still loved him; of how happy they were in having found so good and
true a daughter; of how they lived so happily afterward in each other’s
society.

Helen Field, as she now was known, explained to Mr. Barnes on a
subsequent occasion how it was that, being of a somewhat romantic turn
of mind, and feeling that the service done her by Lorton was of signal
value, she had determined to place her life at his disposal in return
for having, as she painted it, saved it for her. It was this that had
led her to refusing Barnes’ suit.

After listening to this naïve confession he did just what any sensible
man would have done in his place--took her in his arms and kissed her
over and over again, and ending up by a request that she would name the
“happy day.”

And, as all obedient girls do, she “referred him to her father.”

Father in this case was not a stern tyrant, and acquiesced heartily and
gave them his blessing--and a check for a hundred thousand the day they
were married!

Demas Lorton, Luke and Helen Lorton were tried, convicted and sentenced
to prison for the longest possible terms.

Nick’s reawakened anxiety in regard to Mr. Field was, long before this
happy event, finally and fully relieved.

Two weeks after Lorton’s trial and sentence, an unknown man was killed
by a fall from the elevated railroad station at Thirty-fourth Street.

Nick Carter happened to go to the morgue on other business, and the
keeper, knowing his familiarity with members of the criminal class,
invited him to view the body.

Nick identified it at a glance.

It was Elmer Greer!

“So,” thought Nick, “this is his end. It’s funny! I never knew a
criminal who led a happy life. From the first fall, jail and the
hangman’s noose haunt their waking and their sleeping hours. If they
don’t die in jail or the poorhouse, they meet a fate similar to this
of Greer’s. It’s incomprehensible to me why men should ever take up a
life of such misery and unhappiness!”

And the great detective shook his head.

For once he had propounded a question he could not answer!


                               THE END.


In the NEW MAGNET LIBRARY there is shortly to appear No. 1192, a
splendid tale showing great detective skill, under the title of “Nick
Carter’s Masterpiece,” by Nicholas Carter.




                         =Western Stories About=

                             =BUFFALO BILL=

                     ALL BY COL. PRENTISS INGRAHAM

                 =Red-blooded Adventure Stories for Men=


There is no more romantic character in American history than William
F. Cody, or, as he was internationally known, Buffalo Bill. He, with
Colonel Prentiss Ingraham, Wild Bill Hickok, General Custer, and a few
other adventurous spirits, laid the foundation of our great West.

There is no more brilliant page in American history than the winning of
the West. Never did pioneers live more thrilling lives, so rife with
adventure and brave deeds, as the old scouts and plainsmen. Foremost
among these stands the imposing figure of Buffalo Bill.

All of the books in this list are intensely interesting. They were
written by the close friend and companion of Buffalo Bill--Colonel
Prentiss Ingraham. They depict actual adventures which this pair of
hard-hitting comrades experienced, while the story of these adventures
is interwoven with fiction; historically the books are correct.


                     _ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT_

      1--Buffalo Bill, the Border King
      2--Buffalo Bill’s Raid
      3--Buffalo Bill’s Bravery
      4--Buffalo Bill’s Trump Card
      5--Buffalo Bill’s Pledge
      6--Buffalo Bill’s Vengeance
      7--Buffalo Bill’s Iron Grip
      8--Buffalo Bill’s Capture
      9--Buffalo Bill’s Danger Line
     10--Buffalo Bill’s Comrades
     11--Buffalo Bill’s Reckoning
     12--Buffalo Bill’s Warning
     13--Buffalo Bill at Bay
     14--Buffalo Bill’s Buckskin Pards
     15--Buffalo Bill’s Brand
     16--Buffalo Bill’s Honor
     17--Buffalo Bill’s Phantom Hunt
     18--Buffalo Bill’s Fight with Fire
     19--Buffalo Bill’s Danite Trail
     20--Buffalo Bill’s Ranch Riders
     21--Buffalo Bill’s Death Trail
     22--Buffalo Bill’s Trackers
     23--Buffalo Bill’s Mid-air Flight
     24--Buffalo Bill, Ambassador
     25--Buffalo Bill’s Air Voyage
     26--Buffalo Bill’s Secret Mission
     27--Buffalo Bill’s Long Trail
     28--Buffalo Bill Against Odds
     29--Buffalo Bill’s Hot Chase
     30--Buffalo Bill’s Redskin Ally
     31--Buffalo Bill’s Treasure-trove
     32--Buffalo Bill’s Hidden Foes
     33--Buffalo Bill’s Crack Shot
     34--Buffalo Bill’s Close Call
     35--Buffalo Bill’s Double Surprise
     36--Buffalo Bill’s Ambush
     37--Buffalo Bill’s Outlaw Hunt
     38--Buffalo Bill’s Border Duel
     39--Buffalo Bill’s Bid for Fame
     40--Buffalo Bill’s Triumph
     41--Buffalo Bill’s Spy Trailer
     42--Buffalo Bill’s Death Call
     43--Buffalo Bill’s Body Guard
     44--Buffalo Bill’s Still Hunt
     45--Buffalo Bill and the Doomed Dozen
     46--Buffalo Bill’s Prairie Scout
     47--Buffalo Bill’s Traitor Guide
     48--Buffalo Bill’s Bonanza
     49--Buffalo Bill’s Swoop
     50--Buffalo Bill and the Gold King
     51--Buffalo Bill, Dead Shot
     52--Buffalo Bill’s Buckskin Bravos
     53--Buffalo Bill’s Big Four
     54--Buffalo Bill’s One-armed Pard
     55--Buffalo Bill’s Race for Life
     56--Buffalo Bill’s Return
     57--Buffalo Bill’s Conquest
     58--Buffalo Bill to the Rescue
     59--Buffalo Bill’s Beautiful Foe
     60--Buffalo Bill’s Perilous Task
     61--Buffalo Bill’s Queer Find
     62--Buffalo Bill’s Blind Lead
     63--Buffalo Bill’s Resolution
     64--Buffalo Bill, the Avenger
     65--Buffalo Bill’s Pledged Pard
     66--Buffalo Bill’s Weird Warning
     67--Buffalo Bill’s Wild Ride
     68--Buffalo Bill’s Redskin Stampede
     69--Buffalo Bill’s Mine Mystery
     70--Buffalo Bill’s Gold Hunt
     71--Buffalo Bill’s Daring Dash
     72--Buffalo Bill on Hand
     73--Buffalo Bill’s Alliance
     74--Buffalo Bill’s Relentless Foe
     75--Buffalo Bill’s Midnight Ride
     76--Buffalo Bill’s Chivalry
     77--Buffalo Bill’s Girl Pard
     78--Buffalo Bill’s Private War
     79--Buffalo Bill’s Diamond Mine
     80--Buffalo Bill’s Big Contract
     81--Buffalo Bill’s Woman Foe
     82--Buffalo Bill’s Ruse
     83--Buffalo Bill’s Pursuit
     84--Buffalo Bill’s Hidden Gold
     85--Buffalo Bill in Mid-air
     86--Buffalo Bill’s Queer Mission
     87--Buffalo Bill’s Verdict
     88--Buffalo Bill’s Ordeal
     89--Buffalo Bill’s Camp Fires
     90--Buffalo Bill’s Iron Nerve
     91--Buffalo Bill’s Rival
     92--Buffalo Bill’s Lone Hand
     93--Buffalo Bill’s Sacrifice
     94--Buffalo Bill’s Thunderbolt
     95--Buffalo Bill’s Black Fortune
     96--Buffalo Bill’s Wild Work
     97--Buffalo Bill’s Yellow Trail
     98--Buffalo Bill’s Treasure Train
     99--Buffalo Bill’s Bowie Duel
    100--Buffalo Bill’s Mystery Man
    101--Buffalo Bill’s Bold Play
    102--Buffalo Bill: Peacemaker
    103--Buffalo Bill’s Big Surprise
    104--Buffalo Bill’s Barricade
    105--Buffalo Bill’s Test
    106--Buffalo Bill’s Powwow
    107--Buffalo Bill’s Stern Justice
    108--Buffalo Bill’s Mysterious Friend
    109--Buffalo Bill and the Boomers
    110--Buffalo Bill’s Panther Fight
    111--Buffalo Bill and the Overland Mail
    112--Buffalo Bill on the Deadwood Trail
    113--Buffalo Bill in Apache Land
    114--Buffalo Bill’s Blindfold Duel
    115--Buffalo Bill and the Lone Camper
    116--Buffalo Bill’s Merry War
    117--Buffalo Bill’s Star Play
    118--Buffalo Bill’s War Cry
    119--Buffalo Bill on Black Panther’s Trail
    120--Buffalo Bill’s Slim Chance
    121--Buffalo Bill Besieged
    122--Buffalo Bill’s Bandit Round-up
    123--Buffalo Bill’s Surprise Party
    124--Buffalo Bill’s Lightning Raid
    125--Buffalo Bill in Mexico
    126--Buffalo Bill’s Traitor Foe
    127--Buffalo Bill’s Tireless Chase
    128--Buffalo Bill’s Boy Bugler
    129--Buffalo Bill’s Sure Guess
    130--Buffalo Bill’s Record Jump
    131--Buffalo Bill in the Land of Dread
    132--Buffalo Bill’s Tangled Clew
    133--Buffalo Bill’s Wolf Skin
    134--Buffalo Bill’s Twice Four Puzzle
    135--Buffalo Bill and the Devil Bird
    136--Buffalo Bill and the Indian’s Mascot
    137--Buffalo Bill Entrapped
    138--Buffalo Bill’s Totem Trail
    139--Buffalo Bill at Fort Challis
    140--Buffalo Bill’s Determination
    141--Buffalo Bill’s Battle Axe
    142--Buffalo Bill’s Game with Fate
    143--Buffalo Bill’s Comanche Raid
    144--Buffalo Bill’s Aerial Island
    145--Buffalo Bill’s Lucky Shot
    146--Buffalo Bill’s Sioux Friends
    147--Buffalo Bill’s Supreme Test
    148--Buffalo Bill’s Boldest Strike
    149--Buffalo Bill and the Red Hand
    150--Buffalo Bill’s Dance with Death
    151--Buffalo Bill’s Running Fight
    152--Buffalo Bill in Harness
    153--Buffalo Bill Corralled
    154--Buffalo Bill’s Waif of the West
    155--Buffalo Bill’s Wizard Pard
    156--Buffalo Bill and Hawkeye
    157--Buffalo Bill and Grizzly Dan
    158--Buffalo Bill’s Ghost Play
    159--Buffalo Bill’s Lost Prisoner
    160--Buffalo Bill and The Klan of Kau
    161--Buffalo Bill’s Crow Scouts
    162--Buffalo Bill’s Lassoed Spectre
    163--Buffalo Bill and the Wanderers
    164--Buffalo Bill and the White Queen
    165--Buffalo Bill’s Yellow Guardian
    166--Buffalo Bill’s Double “B” Brand
    167--Buffalo Bill’s Dangerous Duty
    168--Buffalo Bill and the Talking Statue
    169--Buffalo Bill Between Two Fires
    170--Buffalo Bill and the Giant Apache
    171--Buffalo Bill’s Best Bet
    172--Buffalo Bill’s Blockhouse Siege
    173--Buffalo Bill’s Fight for Right
    174--Buffalo Bill’s Sad Tidings
    175--Buffalo Bill and “Lucky” Benson
    176--Buffalo Bill Among the Sioux
    177--Buffalo Bill’s Mystery Box
    178--Buffalo Bill’s Worst Tangle
    179--Buffalo Bill’s Clean Sweep
    180--Buffalo Bill’s Texas Tangle
    181--Buffalo Bill and the Nihilists
    182--Buffalo Bill’s Emigrant Trail
    183--Buffalo Bill at Close Quarters
    184--Buffalo Bill and the Cattle Thieves
    185--Buffalo Bill at Cimaroon Bar
    186--Buffalo Bill’s Ingenuity
    187--Buffalo Bill on a Cold Trail
    188--Buffalo Bill’s Red Hot Totem
    189--Buffalo Bill Under a War Cloud
    190--Buffalo Bill and the Prophet
    191--Buffalo Bill and the Red Renegade
    192--Buffalo Bill’s Mailed Fist
    193--Buffalo Bill’s Round-up
    194--Buffalo Bill’s Death Message
    195--Buffalo Bill’s Redskin Disguise
    196--Buffalo Bill, the Whirlwind
    197--Buffalo Bill in Death Valley
    198--Buffalo Bill and the Magic Button
    199--Buffalo Bill’s Friend in Need
    200--Buffalo Bill with General Custer
    201--Buffalo Bill’s Timely Meeting
    202--Buffalo Bill and the Skeleton Scout
    203--Buffalo Bill’s Flag of Truce
    204--Buffalo Bill’s Pacific Power
    205--Buffalo Bill’s Impersonator
    206--Buffalo Bill and the Red Marauders
    207--Buffalo Bill’s Long Run
    208--Buffalo Bill and Red Dove
    209--Buffalo Bill on the Box
    210--Buffalo Bill’s Bravo Partner
    211--Buffalo Bill’s Strange Task




                                 =S & S=

                                =Novels=

                                 =Means=

                             =MONEY’S WORTH=


Clean, interesting, attractive--they afford the reader the best
possible value in the way of literature of the day. Do not accept cheap
imitations which are clearly intended to deceive the reader and are
always disappointing.




                         =A CARNIVAL OF ACTION=

                           =ADVENTURE LIBRARY=

                  =Splendid, Interesting, Big Stories=

This line is devoted exclusively to a splendid type of adventure story,
in the big outdoors. There is really a breath of fresh air in each of
them, and the reader who pays fifteen cents for a copy of this line
feels that he has received his money’s worth and a little more.

The authors of these books are experienced in the art of writing, and
know just what the up-to-date American reader wants.


                     _ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT_

                        =By WILLIAM WALLACE COOK=

     1--The Desert Argonaut
     2--A Quarter to Four
     3--Thorndyke of the Bonita
     4--A Round Trip to the Year 2000
     5--The Gold Gleaners
     6--The Spur of Necessity
     7--The Mysterious Mission
     8--The Goal of a Million
     9--Marooned in 1492
    10--Running the Signal
    11--His Friend the Enemy
    12--In the Web
    13--A Deep Sea Game
    14--The Paymaster’s Special
    15--Adrift in the Unknown
    16--Jim Dexter, Cattleman
    17--Juggling with Liberty
    18--Back from Bedlam
    19--A River Tangle
    20--Billionaire Pro Tem
    21--In the Wake of the Scimitar
    22--His Audacious Highness
    23--At Daggers Drawn
    24--The Eighth Wonder
    25--The Cat’s-paw
    26--The Cotton Bag
    27--Little Miss Vassar
    28--Cast Away at the Pole
    29--The Testing of Noyes
    30--The Fateful Seventh
    31--Montana
    32--The Deserter
    33--The Sheriff of Broken Bow
    34--Wanted: A Highwayman
    35--Frisbie of San Antone
    36--His Last Dollar
    37--Fools for Luck
    38--Dare of Darling & Co.

In order that there may be no confusion, we desire to say that the
books listed below will be issued during the respective months in New
York City and vicinity. They may not reach the readers at a distance
promptly, on account of delays in transportation.


                    To be published in July, 1926.

    39--Trailing _The Josephine_      By William Wallace Cook
    40--The Snapshot Chap                        By Bertram Lebhar


                   To be published in August, 1926.

    41--Brothers of the Thin Wire                 By Franklin Pitt
    42--Jungle Intrigue                         By Edmond Lawrence
    43--His Snapshot Lordship                    By Bertram Lebhar


                  To be published in September, 1926.

    44--Folly Lode                            By James F. Dorrance
    45--The Forest Rogue                      By Julian G. Wharton


                   To be published in October, 1926.

    46--Snapshot Artillery                       By Bertram Lebhar
    47--Stanley Holt, Thoroughbred                 By Ralph Boston


                  To be published in November, 1926.

    48--The Riddle and the Ring                 By Gordon MacLaren
    49--The Black Eye Snapshot                   By Bertram Lebhar


                  To be published in December, 1926.

    50--Bainbridge of Bangor                  By Julian G. Wharton
    51--Amid Crashing Hills                     By Edmond Lawrence




                             =Love Stories=


All the world over love is very much the same, whether it be found in a
palace, or a hovel, or in a vine-covered cottage.

It is the one subject that is vitally interesting to every man and
woman, irrespective of nationality.

This is why the love stories in the _New Eagle Series_, the
_Bertha Clay Library_, and the _Southworth Library_ are so
eagerly sought for. They are worthy of your attention.

If you have not a series catalog, send us a two-cent stamp and we will
be very glad to send a copy to you by return mail.


                      =STREET & SMITH CORPORATION=
                 =79 Seventh Avenue=      =New York City=




                              =The Dealer=


who handles the STREET & SMITH NOVELS is a man worth patronizing. The
fact that he does handle our books proves that he has considered the
merits of paper-covered lines, and has decided that the STREET & SMITH
NOVELS are superior to all others.

He has looked into the question of the morality of the paper-covered
book, for instance, and feels that he is perfectly safe in handing one
of our novels to any one, because he has our assurance that nothing
except clean, wholesome literature finds its way into our lines.

Therefore, the STREET & SMITH NOVEL dealer is a careful and wise
tradesman, and it is fair to assume selects the other articles he
has for sale with the same degree of intelligence as he does his
paper-covered books.

Deal with the STREET & SMITH NOVEL dealer.


                      =STREET & SMITH CORPORATION=
                 =79 Seventh Avenue=      =New York City=

Transcriber’s Note:
1. Obvious printer, spelling and punctuation errors have been corrected
   silently.

2. Where appropriate original spelling has been retained.

3. Italics are shown as _xxx_.

4. Bold print is shown as =xxx=.