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Roy Glashan's Library
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"I BELIEVE, sir, that my husband has been murdered."
The remark was addressed to Nick Carter, and the speaker was a beautiful woman.
She was dressed in deep mourning, but had thrown back her heavy crepe veil while talking to the famous detective, thus disclosing a face which was classically perfect, although startlingly pale.
The time was mid-winter, and the place Nick's downtown office, where he was known only as T. Bolt, or, more familiarly, as "Old Thunderbolt."
She had just entered the office, and on being assured of the detective's identity and requested to state her business, she had made the startling announcement which opens this chapter.
"Will you state the circumstances, madam?" asked the detective. "If I can be of assistance to you, I will be pleased to take your case."
"I will tell you my simple story, sir, and then answer any questions which you may choose to ask."
"Please do so."
"I was married two years ago, this very month, to James Barrington. Two months after the wedding, my husband believed that he had found an opportunity by which he could very shortly realize a fortune.
"The business necessitated our temporary separation, but we were both convinced that it was for the best, and he left for Kansas City, promising to send for me as soon as the business was sufficiently established to satisfy him that it would be well to settle there."
"You corresponded?"
"Constantly. He wrote to me every Sunday, and at the expiration of three months after his departure, he asked me to join him there."
"Did you do so?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I was not at all well, and after due consideration it was decided by all concerned, that I was better where I was. My husband coincided with the decision, and there the matter rested.
"One month later, I received a telegram which stated that my husband had been killed by falling from a scaffolding.
"My mother immediately telegraphed to my husband's partners, requesting that the body be sent to us at once."
"Was it sent?"
"No. She received a message saying that the body had been buried, and that a letter was forwarded, explaining.
"When the letter came, it stated that my husband's body had been very much bruised, that decomposition had set in very rapidly and that it had been deemed best to bury him at once.
"In reply to that, my mother telegraphed that the body be exhumed, the coffin hermetically sealed and shipped without delay.
"To that, we received no reply for several days, when the distressing intelligence came that the grave had been robbed and the body stolen.
"I was very ill at the time, besides being utterly prostrated with grief, and for weeks, my life hung in the balance.
"During that time, my mother could not leave me, but my husband's mother, although in very poor health, took the journey to Kansas City, in order to investigate the matter which had come upon us so suddenly and mysteriously.
"She returned as greatly mystified as ever."
"Was she convinced that your husband was dead?"
"Yes. She saw and talked with many reputable people who had known him, and who had seen him in his coffin; who had attended the funeral, and followed the body to the grave.
"There the matter rested. My mother-in-law returned, heart-broken, and worse in health than ever, and we all resigned ourselves to the belief that I was a widow."
"You have not altered that opinion?"
"No."
"You still believe that your husband is dead?"
"Yes."
"But that he was murdered, instead of killed by an accident?"
"That is my belief."
"Have you a suspicion regarding the person or persons who committed the crime?"
"Yes."
"Whom do you suspect?"
"His partners."
"Why do you believe that he was murdered?"
"I have no good reason."
"Yet you have a reason."
"Yes."
"What is it?"
"A woman's intuition."
"Nothing more?"
"No; except the air of mystery surrounding the matter."
"Now, why do you suspect his partners?"
"I can give only the same reasons."
"Do you know them?"
"I never saw them."
"What are their names?"
"Alvin Conrad and Simon Pierce."
"Young men?"
"Both."
"How old would your husband be now?"
"Twenty-seven."
"And his partners?"
"Were about the same age."
"In what business were they engaged?"
"Real estate and general builders."
"Were they doing well?"
"My husband felt very hopeful and confident of the future."
"Did he know his partners prior to the time of forming the copartnership?"
"Of that I am uncertain. I think he had known one of them, Simon Pierce, about a year before he went to Kansas City."
"Have you preserved your husband's letters?"
"Certainly."
"Will you permit me to examine such of them as relate in any way to his business, or his partners?"
"Yes. I have them here."
"Thanks."
There were several moments of silence, during which Nick was busily engaged in looking over the letters.
"Did your husband have his life insured?" asked Nick, suddenly, laying aside the letters.
"I think not."
"Don't you know positively?"
"I am quite sure that he did not."
"He mentions the subject here."
"Yes: he often spoke of it before he went away."
"In what manner?"
"He intended to have it done."
"But neglected to do so?"
"Yes."
"That is, as far as you know?"
"Yes."
"Have you received any remittance from his former partners, representing the share that your husband would now own in the business, if he were alive?"
"No. sir."
"Have you written to them?"
"My lawyer has done so."
"With what result?"
"They state that the concern was in debt at the time of my husband's death, and invite investigation."
"Ah! Now, madam, as I understand you, your husband was killed while in the West, and notwithstanding the circumstances as they have been related to you, it is your belief that he was murdered by his partners?"
"It is."
"Where there is murder, there is always a motive."
"Yes."
"What possible motive could they have had to commit this crime?"
"I do not know; I cannot even imagine one. I cannot answer any of your questions, and I have only a woman's reason for coming here at all. I believe that my husband was foully dealt with, and I cannot give you a reason for that belief; I believe that his partners, Alvin Conrad and Simon Pierce, are the men who are guilty of the crime, if there is one, and I can give you no reason for that belief, either."
"A woman's intuition, perhaps."
"I am determined to know the truth, sir."
"A very natural desire on your part."
"To that end, I have come to you, and, although I have but very little money, I will use all that I have in finding out what was the real fate of my husband."
"We will speak of that part of it later. You have a child?"
"Yes, a son."
"How old is he?"
"Fifteen months."
"If your husband's former partners have deceived you; if, in other words, there is property in their hands now, which once belonged to your husband, it should belong to your son?"
"Certainly, sir. But it is not about the property, which may or may not exist, that I am most anxious. I am so thoroughly convinced that my husband has been the victim of assassins, that I have but one ambition now. I would know his fate, to a certainty, and I would bring his murderers to the justice that they deserve."
"It shall be done, madam."
"You say that?"
"I do."
"Then I believe that it will be done. But alas, sir—"
"Speak on, madam."
"My means are limited. I can only proceed with the investigation until my resources are exhausted. Then, if the result is not attained, I must abandon the search, and still remain in ignorance."
"Your means will be sufficient."
"Pray, tell me what you mean?"
"Certainly. I met and made the acquaintance of your husband once, when we were both boys. He did me a service, which, although trivial enough in itself, burdened me with an obligation which I have never had an opportunity to repay. Perhaps, in tracing out the mystery of his fate, I may get even."
"You say you met him when you were both boys?"
"Yes."
"You have made a mistake, sir."
"How so?"
"You forget that my husband, if alive, would be a young man; and you—"
Nick smiled. "You think me an old man?" he said, quietly.
"Much older than my husband, at least."
"I am older than he, to be sure, and yet, not many years. As a detective, I alter my appearance constantly. I am not a countryman, madam, neither am I as old as I appear. You may rely upon me to find out the truth for you, and in that way I will try to repay the obligation that I am under to your husband. If he is dead—"
"If he is dead! Oh, sir, can there be any doubt of that?"
"You do not know positively that he is dead, do you?"
"No, sir—no!"
"Until such knowledge is yours, there is room for hope that he may be alive."
"But there are many who knew him, and who saw him in his coffin."
"Madam, I once saw a woman in her coffin. I followed her to the grave, I saw the earth cover her, and for seven days I caused the grave to be watched. I believed her dead."
"Was she not?"
"No; she came to life, was taken from her grave, and caused the police department of this city, and myself, considerable trouble.
"I do not wish to engender false hopes in your heart, but in this case there is room for a little doubt, and I advise you to get as much comfort out of it as you can."
TWO gentlemen, who looked as though they might be father and son, descended from a Chicago and Alton train at the Union Depot in Kansas City, less than a week subsequent to the events related in the preceding chapter.
They took the Ninth street cable car, rode to Broadway, and walked to the Coates House, a block away, where the elder registered for both.
The names which he recorded were:
"JAMES GIBSON, Chicago.
ERIC GIBSON, Chicago."
Their baggage was sent up stairs, and they entered the dining-room together, where both partook of a hearty breakfast.
When they again entered the office, the elder man asked at the desk for a business directory, and, having procured it, he turned at once to the names of those who were dealers, and presently came to the firm name of "Barrington, Conrad & Co., No. — Delaware street."
"Come," he said to the younger man, "let us go."
They walked through Ninth street to the junction, and there turned down Delaware until they reached the required number, which was not far from Sixth street.
Presently they entered the real-estate office of Barrington, Conrad & Co.
The office, when they entered, was occupied by one man, who was in the neighborhood of thirty years of age.
He was engaged in reading the morning paper, but laid it quickly aside when his prospective customers entered.
"Good morning, gentlemen," he said, briskly. "What can I do for you?"
"Are you Mr. Barrington?" asked the elder of the two men, who, as the reader has guessed, was Nick Carter in disguise.
"No, sir; I am Mr. Pierce."
"Ah! Where can I find Mr. Barrington?"
"He is dead, sir."
"Dead!"
"I regret to say that he is."
"Indeed! Dear me! Dear me! You astonish me, sir."
"I am sorry."
"Was it not very sudden?"
"Yes. He was killed."
The middle-aged gentleman leaped forward with the quickness of a cat and grasped Pierce by the arm.
"Who murdered him?" he cried, evidently greatly excited as well as shocked by the news.
For an instant, and an instant only, Pierce seemed somewhat nonplused by the vehemence of his caller.
Then he smiled blandly.
"I did not say murdered," he said; "I stated that Mr. Barrington was killed."
"It amounts to the same thing, sir. Killed, murdered, assassinated, they are all one."
"But he was neither murdered nor assassinated. He was killed by falling from a scaffolding."
"Ah! you relieve me greatly, sir."
"I am glad that I can."
"Yet I am very much shocked."
"Were you a relative?"
"He was my nephew."
"Your nephew!"
"Yes."
"I never heard him speak of an uncle."
"Possibly not. There were reasons why we seldom spoke of or to each other."
"Indeed!"
"I had reason to be angry with him."
"Ah!"
"And for ten years I have not mentioned his name. I believe that he was equally reticent regarding mine."
"I am quite sure of it."
"Were you his partner?"
"I was."
"I am very glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Pierce. My name is James Gibson. This is my son, Eric Gibson."
"Delighted to meet you, I'm sure."
"Thanks. The news you have given me is overwhelming."
"You were anxious to see him?"
"Very."
"It is strange that you have not heard of his death."
"Why?"
"He has been dead more than a year."
"Indeed! Well—well!"
"I should have thought that his mother would have—"
"Say no more, sir, I beg!"
"Ah, the quarrel was not alone with him?"
"No, sir; but we will not speak of that."
"Certainly not."
"Except that I wish to do James, who was named for me, one bit of justice."
"Yes."
"I found out, one week ago, that the sin for which I blamed my nephew was another's. I have lost no time in coming here to ask his pardon; and now he is dead, dead, and I am too late."
"It is greatly to be regretted, sir."
"It is terrible. How long were you associated with him when he was—er—when he met with the accident?"
"Less than a year."
"Indeed! but you must have known him before that?"
"I had known him about two years."
"There is another partner?"
"Yes—Mr. Conrad."
"Where is he?"
"He is out in Fifteenth street, superintending the construction of a building that we are erecting."
"Ah, then you are builders, also?"
"Yes."
"I remember, now; my nephew once studied for an architect."
"He was a good one. His loss was a great blow to us."
"Can you tell me anything about his private affairs?"
"In what way?"
"Was he married?"
"I believe so."
"Children?"
"I think not."
"Where is his wife?"
"I have no idea, sir."
"No idea!"
"No."
"That is strange."
"Why?"
"Was there not a settlement to make?"
"Regarding what?"
"His business."
"I do not understand:"
"He was your partner, and as such had an interest in the business. It seems to me that you should either have bought his share of his heirs, or, if you still continue it in his interests, that you-should have remittances to make to his widow."
"At the time he died, he was not our partner."
"I thought—"
"He sold out his interest to us about a week before the accident."
"Indeed!"
"Yes, sir."
"With what purpose?"
"He preferred to work for a salary."
"For you?"
"Yes."
"Ah! Can you tell me whether he left his wife in straitened circumstances or not? I ask the question because I am a rich man, and I would like to atone for the wrong I did James."
"I believe that she is fairly well-to-do."
"Ah! Poor James! The body was, of course, sent to his wife?"
"No."
"You buried it here?"
"Yes."
"Indeed! You will take me to his grave, or tell me how I can find it."
"I can, sir; but it would be useless."
"Useless?"
"Yes."
"Why so?"
"The body is not there."
"Not there! Young man, are you endeavoring to joke with me upon a subject so serious as this?"
"No, sir; I am deeply in earnest."
"Where should the body be, if not in its grave?"
"I do not know, sir."
"By Heaven, sir, I am not used to being played with in this style. What became of James' body?"
"It was stolen."
"Stolen! By whom?"
"I wish I could tell you."
"How do you know it was stolen?"
"Because when we exhumed the coffin, it was empty."
"You did exhume it, then?"
"Yes."
"At whose request?"
"His mother's."
"And the body had disappeared?"
"Yes."
"There was no clue?"
"None."
"Did you make any effort to find the body?"
"Every effort."
"Without success?"
"Totally."
"What did you do?"
"Engaged a detective."
"A private one?"
"Yes."
"What was his name?"
"Richardson."
"Captain Richardson?"
"Yes; did you know him?"
"I have heard of him. Where is his office?"
"It was in Sixth street."
"Was! Where is it now?"
"He has no office now. He is dead."
"Well—well! Since when?"
"He died shortly after he finished our case. Less than a week, I think."
"Was he killed, also?"
"No, sir, he was not."
"Could he find no trace of the body?"
"None."
"Did you make any further attempt?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"We considered it useless."
"This is a very strange state of affairs, Mr. Pierce."
"Very."
"Who could have any interest in stealing the body?"
"Medical students, or doctors, probably."
"You should have pursued the investigation to the end."
"We could not afford it."
"Did his relatives do nothing?"
"His mother came here."
"Ah! She procured detectives, did she not?"
"I think not."
"Strange! very strange."
"She investigated the report of his death, and becoming thoroughly satisfied of that, she returned East. So much time had elapsed that the body, if found, would have been unrecognizable."
"His mother's health is poor, is it not?"
"Very."
"You think that James became the subject for a dissecting-table, then?"
"I do."
"It is very sad."
"Very."
"By the way—er—can you tell me—er—if he had his—er—life insured?"
There was an almost imperceptible start in the glance of Simon Pierce when the question was asked.
"Why do you ask?" he said.
"Simply because it would not be like him to neglect a thing so important, and, if he did neglect it, I would like to do something for his widow."
"I believe his life was insured."
"Ah! I am glad of that. For how much, Mr. Pierce?"
"Ten thousand dollars."
"Indeed! Quite a sum. Was the policy taken out here?"
"I believe so."
"And you attended to the red-tape part of it after his death?"
"We did."
"Did you see that the amount was properly forwarded to his widow?"
"The policy was not made payable to her."
"So! Um! To whom was it payable?"
"Really, sir, you catechise me almost beyond the limits of patience."
NICK, in his character of the uncle of missing James Barrington, swelled with outraged dignity at the last remark made by Simon Pierce.
"I was not aware, sir," he said, coldly, "that I had asked any questions unbecoming a relative of the man who is dead."
"I beg your pardon, sir; you have not."
"Then why—"
"Pardon me, sir. You wished to know about the insurance upon his life?"
"I did."
"The policy was made payable to Mr. Conrad."
"Your partner?"
"Yes."
"Why was that?"
"It was a business transaction."
"Will you explain?"
"When we went into business together, we put in ten thousand dollars a piece."
"Yes."
"Barrington had no money, and Conrad and I made the sum up between us, while he gave us the policy on his life as security for the loan."
"A very common transaction."
"Yes, sir."
"It has one peculiar phase, however."
"What is that?"
"You have said that he sold out to you."
"I have."
"Why was the policy not cancelled at that time? and even though not cancelled, what right had you to the money that it represented, if the purpose for which it was given, was void?"
"We had been in business some months together."
"Well?"
"We had undertaken several heavy transactions, amounting in all to nearly forty thousand dollars."
"Over and above the original investment?"
"Yes."
"Ah!"
"Barrington was, in reality indebted to us, about twelve or thirteen thousand dollars."
"So you took the ten thousand on the policy, and called it square."
"Yes."
"That was very kind of you."
"We considered it so."
"If you will make out a statement of his account, I will pay whatever balance is due you."
"We could not ask that, sir."
"I offer it."
"But—"
"Say no more, sir. I will expect the statement."
"Where are you staying?"
"At the Coates House."
"I will consult with Mr. Conrad about the matter."
"Do so; now, one more question."
"What is that?"
"Was there not some salary due James when he was killed?"
"A very little."
"How much?"
"A bout twenty-five dollars."
"And did he have no money in his possession?"
"There were exactly thirty dollars in his pockets."
"Total, fifty-five dollars."
"Yes."
"What was done with that?"
"It was offered to his mother."
"Offered to her?"
"Yes; she refused to accept it."
"Indeed! Why?"
"I do not know."
"You should have sent it to the wife."
"Her address was unknown to us."
"Hum! In making out the statement, give him credit for the fifty-five dollars."
"Yes, sir; but—"
"Well—but what?"
"We would prefer that you let the matter rest as it is. We do not need the money; and it is not your place to pay it."
"It is my wish."
"Very well."
"You will furnish the statement?"
"Certainly."
"Please have it itemized."
"Of course."
"Thanks. I would like to meet Mr. Conrad."
"He would be pleased to meet you."
"When will he be in?"
"Not before night."
"Perhaps I can call again later."
"We will call upon you at the hotel, if you wish."
"I should be very glad if you would."
"Certainly."
"This evening?"
"Yes."
Nick and his assistant were soon in the street.
"He's a bad egg, Chick," said the detective, as they walked up Delaware street.
"Sure."
"You had better take a run out on Fifteenth street and have a look at Conrad."
"All right."
"Be at the hotel by six."
"Yes."
Nick turned and went into the Board of Trade building, on the corner of Fifth street, and there he found a place in which to alter his appearance, so that when he was again upon the street he looked like an ordinary young man about town.
His first act was to hasten around the corner to where he knew that Captain Richardson had once had a detective office.
A smooth-faced, keen-looking man was standing in the stairway, and Nick accosted him:
"Can you direct me to Captain Richardson's detective bureau?" he asked.
The man pointed at the clouds.
"Is there an elevator?" asked Nick, calmly.
The man grinned and shook his head.
"When did he move?" continued the detective.
"Almost two years ago."
"Can you be exact?"
"Yes. He has been dead just nineteen months, I was figuring it up when you came along."
"How did that happen?"
"I have been out of a job ever since."
"Did you work for him?"
"Yes."
"What is your name?
"Lerou."
"Were you at work for him when he died?"
"Yes."
"How many men did he employ?"
"Only two, steadily."
"Yourself and another?"
"Yes."
"Do you know what cases he had on hand when he died?"
"Say, my friend, what is all this information worth?"
"Ten dollars."
"Fire away, then."
"Answer my last question."
"Yes."
"Did he have a case in which he was to find a body that had been stolen from a grave in — Cemetery?"
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive."
"Was the business of the office conducted at all after his death?"
"The office was kept open a month or two."
"Who attended to it?"
"His wife."
"Did she take any new cases?"
"No."
"Are you sure of that?"
"I am."
"Why was the office kept open?"
"To close up old cases."
"Were you retained?"
"Yes."
"Then you know what you are talking about?"
"I do."
"Do you know of a case that happened here about that time—the disappearance of a body from—Cemetery?"
"Yes."
"Whose?"
"Barrington's."
"Right. Did you know Barrington?"
"By sight."
"And his partners?"
"One of 'em."
"Which one?"
"Conrad."
"Do you know that they made any effort to recover the body of their friend?"
"I know they didn't."
"How do you know that?"
"I asked 'em."
"When?"
"When it became known that the body had been stolen."
"Do you know when Barrington was killed?"
"Yes."
"When was it, as relative to the death of Captain Richardson?"
"Richardson died three weeks before Barrington was killed."
"Do you know that to be so?"
"As well as I know my name."
"Good! Now, how did you happen to interview Mr. Conrad?"
"I wanted a job."
"Well?"
"I saw a squib in the Journal about the body of Barrington having mysteriously disappeared. I thought I would get a job out of them, so I called."
"And saw Conrad?"
"Yes."
"What did you say to him?"
"Told him I could find the body."
"What did he say?"
"Said he didn't care a d—n whether I found it or not."
"Did, eh?"
"Yes."
"Did you tell him who you were?"
"Yes."
"That you were one of Richardson's men?"
"Yes."
"Did he know that the captain was dead?"
"Not till I told him."
"Ah! you told him that day?"
"Yes."
"He would not engage you?"
"No."
"At any price?"
"No."
"What did you do, then?"
"Nothing."
"You ought to have gone on a still hunt."
"Well, I didn't, but I guess I will now."
"Why?"
"I think you want to find the body."
"What! after two years nearly? I will be frank with you, Mr. Lerou, and say emphatically, I don't."
"What do you want?"
"To give you ten dollars as per agreement. Here you are. Good-day."
"Say! Stranger!"
"Well?"
"Can't you make me useful?"
"I have."
"I mean in this business."
"What business?"
"Oh, say, I ain't been a detective fur nothin'."
"No?"
"No, I'm onto you. You're after somebody, and—"
"Good-day," repeated Nick, and he walked away.
Lerou stood still looking after him.
Presently he completed the sentence that he had begun.
"And I know who it is, too. I always suspected crooked work in that affair, and now I'll just make Conrad and Pierce pony up, or take the consequences. I'll bet my hat that feller's a detective, and a keen one, too. He knows his biz, an' I know mine. If he'd been jest a little bit more sharp, he'd have paid me something to help him. As it is, I'll either git well paid to checkmate him, or else I'll help him, anyhow. Guess I'll go down now and have a talk with the real estate men."
He started away, and just as he was about to enter the office of Conrad & Pierce, he saw Nick in the act of entering the National Bank of Kansas City.
"A detective, sure," he muttered.
Nick had also seen him going into Pierce's office.
"Good!" he muttered. "I'll have something to work on now, and that very soon."
WHEN Nick entered the National Bank of Kansas City, he stepped at once to the window of the first-assistant cashier, and handed in his card, upon which was engraved "Nick Carter, New York."
"I would like a few moments conversation with you, if you will permit it," he said.
"Certainly, Mr. Carter," replied the assistant cashier. "Your name is not unknown to me, and I will be glad to be of service in any way that I can."
He ushered Nick into a room back of the business part the bank, motioned him to a seat upon one of the leathered-covered chairs, and said:
"Now, Mr. Carter, I am at your service."
"You know who I am?" inquired Nick.
"Perfectly well."
"Then there is no need for me to go into explanations upon that point."
"None whatever."
"I am in search of some information."
"I will gladly give you all that is in my power, sir."
"I have just called upon some real estate dealers on this street."
"Yes?"
"The firm name is, I believe, Barrington, Conrad & Co., but Barrington has been dead some time."
"Yes; the real firm is Conrad & Pierce."
"While there, I saw a check-book lying open upon the desk, and it bore the name of this bank."
"Yes. we keep their account."
"It is regarding that that I wish to question you."
"We are usually very reluctant to give information regarding our depositors, Mr. Carter."
"I am well aware of that, sir, and will make my questions as general as possible."
"I will answer all that I can."
"Did that firm keep its deposits here while Barrington was alive?"
"It did."
"Who signed the checks which were presented?"
"They were signed by all three members of the firm."
"Do you remember the time of their first deposit?"
"It was nearly two years ago."
"Who made the deposit?"
"Mr. Barrington."
"Will you tell me the amount of that first deposit?"
"It was between five and six thousand dollars."
"Did it at any time prior to the death of Barrington amount to more than ten thousand dollars?"
"I think not."
"Has the firm lately increased its deposits to any considerable extent?"
"They have upwards of fifteen thousand dollars with us now."
"Will you give me the date of the last check signed by Barrington in person?"
"I will have to refer to my book in order to do that."
"I will ask you to do that later. In the meantime, do you remember the circumstances, approximately?"
"I do, very well, indeed."
"Did you know Barrington personally?"
"I did."
"To the best of your recollection, then, when was the last check which was signed by Barrington in person, as one of the firm of Barrington, Conrad & Co., presented at this bank for payment, and honored by you?"
"It was on the very day of his death."
"Are you positive of this?"
"I am absolutely certain."
"Why?"
"Because he brought the check here himself, and I stood at the window with him, while it was being cashed."
"At what time of day was that?"
"Shortly after ten in the morning."
"He was killed the same day?"
"He was."
"At what time?"
"Between three and four in the afternoon."
"What was the amount of the face of the check?"
"Three hundred and fifty dollars."
"Did you hold any conversation with him at that time?"
"I did."
"Do you remember whether he said anything to you about the use to which he meant to put the three hundred and fifty dollars?"
"He did."
"What did he say?"
"He said that he was going to use it to buy furniture."
"For what purpose?"
"It was his intention to send for his wife as soon as she should be able to travel."
"When he went out, he had the three hundred and fifty dollars in his pocket?"
"Yes."
"Do you know where he intended to buy the furniture?"
"Of North, Orrison & Co."
"Do you know whether he made the purchase?"
"I do not."
"Have you ever heard that he was not a member of the firm at the time he was killed?"
"I know that he was a member of it at that time."
"How do you know that?"
"By a remark that he made that morning."
"What was the remark?"
"He said that he had had some difficulty with one of his partners."
"Ah!"
"And that he had offered to buy out or sell out at a certain figure."
"Did he state the figure?"
"No."
"With which one of his partners had he had the difficulty?"
"Conrad."
"Did he state what the difficulty was?"
"He did not."
"Where was he killed?"
"On Fifteenth street."
"Did you see him after he fell from the scaffolding?"
"Not until I saw him in his coffin."
"You saw him, then?"
"Yes."
"And recognized him?"
"Yes."
"And are you positive that you were not mistaken regarding his identity?"
"Certainly."
"How did he appear?"
"Very life-like and natural."
"Was he badly bruised?"
"There was a contusion upon his forehead."
"Was that the only effect of his fall that you could see?"
"It was."
"Was the contusion a bad one?"
"Not particularly."
"When was he buried?"
"On the day following his death."
"Did you attend the funeral?"
"I did."
"And followed the body to the grave?"
"No; it was understood, then, that the body was to be sent East."
"Do you know that it was not?"
"I do."
"Do you know why?"
"It was said that he was so badly bruised that decomposition set in very rapidly, and he was buried at once."
"Did you know that the body was afterward stolen from the grave?"
"I have heard so."
"Have you ever been questioned before about these matters?"
"I have not."
"You have given me several valuable hints for which I am very much obliged. I may have occasion to call upon you again. In the meantime I will bid you good-day."
When Nick left the bank, he hurried at once to the furniture house of North, Orrison & Co., on Main street.
There he went to the book-keeper, of whom he desired to obtain a little additional information.
"Will you refer to your ledger," he asked, "and inform me, if, during the months of July and August of last year, you sold any furniture to James Barrington, of the firm of Barrington, Conrad & Co."
There was a silence of fully fifteen minutes, when the book-keeper looked up from his ledger.
"I find but one mention of that name in our books," he said, "and that is the name of the firm you mention, and not a personal transaction with Mr. Barrington."
"When was that?"
"In May of the year you name."
"What was the character of the goods sold?"
"Office furniture."
"You are positive that Mr. Barrington bought no house furniture of you, subsequent to that date?"
"Absolutely."
Nick thanked the book-keeper for his attention, and left the building.
He stood for some time upon the corner, lost in thought.
"There is only one way to gain my next point," he mused, and that is, to inquire until I find the right place."
Across the street he saw the sign: Hartford Life and Annuity Assurance Co., and he was soon in its office, where he was speedily in communication with its manager.
"I wish to inquire," he said, "if, at any time during the last three years, you insured the life of one James Barrington, of the firm of Barrington, Conrad & Co."
The manager smiled.
"It so happens that I can answer that question without reference to my books," he said. "Mr. Barrington's life was insured by the Midland & Occidental Co. I know, because there was some question about the payment of the policy."
"It was paid, however, I presume?"
"Oh yes."
"Where is the office of that company?"
"On Main street; near Tenth."
"Thanks."
Nick was soon in the office of the Midland & Occidental, and in consultation with its manager.
A few questions elicited the fact that Barrington had insured his life for ten thousand dollars, about six weeks prior to the day of his death.
The policy had originally been made payable to his wife, Christabel Barrington; but had been afterward renewed, and made payable to Alwin Conrad and Simon Pierce.
The manager remembered that Barrington had called in person at the office, to have the change effected, and was of the opinion that the proceeding at that time had been entirely regular.
A strange fact in connection with the matter was that on the very next day Barrington had fallen from a scaffolding in Fifteenth street, and been killed.
The company at first intended to contest the claim, but had finally paid it.
"Was anything said regarding the reason for making the change, when Barrington called here?" asked Nick.
"Not that I remember."
"You believe that the change was made in good faith?"
"So far as Barrington was concerned, I do."
"But you are not so certain regarding his partner?"
"No."
"Nor I. I believe there is a conspiracy in this matter, and that your company has been defrauded to the extent of ten thousand dollars."
IT will be remembered that when Nick saw the ex-Detective Lerou enter the office of Conrad & Pierce, he had been rather pleased than otherwise.
None knew better than Nick, the effect that his conversation would have upon a man like Lerou.
The latter belonged to that class of private detectives who are ever ready to sell out to the highest bidder, and are a disgrace to their profession as well as to mankind.
Having "braced" Nick for a job, with no result, he at once determined to betray him to the other side for what he could get out of it.
It seems strange that such a fact should please Nick, but it did.
The reason is very simple.
Nick had begun upon the case, almost without a clue. He had questioned Lerou, simply because he had found him at the door of Captain Richardson's office, and had discovered that he had formerly been an employee there.
He had not asked three questions before, with his fine insight as to character, he had discovered to what manner of man he was addressing himself.
He saw instantly that Lerou would betray him to Conrad & Pierce.
Being so betrayed, if Conrad & Pierce were guilty, they would at once take measures to offset any effort of his to find them so, and thus run their heads into the noose.
If they found that he was upon their track, and had reason to fear him for what he might discover, they would take measures to thwart him, and, in so doing, would doubtless provide him with the very evidence he coveted.
Nick did not take into consideration the fact that if they were really guilty of the murder of Barrington, they might, if he got too hot upon their trail, find means to do away with him also.
He never gave such matters a thought.
When he took a case, it was to win, without regard to the chances he took in winning.
His life had been threatened so many times, and he had so often nearly lost it in his work of man-hunting, that he looked with contempt upon every effort made by criminals to put him out of the way.
When he left the office of the Midland & Occidental Insurance Co., he went at once to the Coates House, first, however, resuming the disguise that he had previously worn of James Gibson.
It was not Nick's habit to lay out an extensive plan of operations. Nevertheless, when he reached his room, he sat down to systematically think over the pros and cons of the case in hand.
"First," he mused, "Pierce scarcely spoke the truth at all in his conversation with me to-day. He lied when he said that the partnership was dissolved before the death of Barrington. He lied when he said that Barrington was under a salary at the time of his death. He lied when he said that exactly thirty dollars were found in Barrington's pocket, for I know that there were three hundred and fifty dollars. He lied when he said that he did not know Mrs. Barrington's address, and, in fact, it is evident that every word he said was a lie.
"There has been one setback in the evidence I have found to-day, and that is the fact that James Barrington himself had the insurance policy changed.
"I am convinced, however, that the whole thing is a gigantic conspiracy on the part of Conrad & Pierce, to defraud the insurance company of ten thousand dollars at the expense of their friend and partner, whom they have doubtless murdered in order to attain their ends.
"By what manner they induced Barrington to make the insurance policy payable to them is a mystery, and will remain so until I have solved the problem of Barrington's death.
"Of several points I am reasonably certain.
"First, Barrington's body was not half so badly bruised as represented.
"Second, he was buried in haste—if buried at all—because his partners did not wish his remains to be too closely viewed by the curious. For that reason, also, they gave out the impression that his body was to be sent East.
"Third, if he was buried and his body stolen from the grave, Conrad & Pierce were the body-snatchers, and Barrington's body has never been a subject for a dissecting-table.
"Fourth, if they stole the body, it was for two reasons. One was that they would not be obliged to send it East, where a post-mortem examination might be held at the instigation of Barrington's relatives, and the other was, to avoid the very thing which they now claim has happened—that it was stolen for the dissecting-table.
"Their evident care to keep the body from post-mortem examination is a strong evidence of foul play, and suggests the use of drugs or weapons in bringing about his death.
"There is one point worthy of consideration. It may be that his body was never placed in the grave at all, and in that case he may be at this moment alive.
"If he is alive, he can be found; if he is dead, I will know the particulars."
It was half-past five o'clock when Chick returned from his expedition to Fifteenth street.
"You look as though you had discovered something," said Nick.
"Well, I have picked up a fact or two."
"Did you see Conrad?"
"Yes; I tried to sell him a bill of lumber."
"What do you think of him?"
"He is the heavy villain of the play."
"I thought so."
"I saw the place where Barrington fell from the scaffolding."
"Ah!"
"But I couldn't find anybody who saw him fall."
"Did you find anybody who was at work on the building when he was supposed to have fallen?"
"Yes; two carpenters."
"What do they say?"
"They heard a cry and a crash. Then they ran out of the building and saw Barrington on the ground, with Conrad and Pierce bending over him. There was blood upon his face, and a by-stander who said he was a doctor, pronounced him dead."
"What happened, then?"
"The body was taken away by Conrad and Pierce."
"Did the carpenters say that nobody saw him fall?"
"Yes."
"Did they know the doctor?"
"No."
"Was the scaffolding broken?"
"No."
"What is your opinion, Chick?"
"I don't believe he fell at all."
"Did the carpenters know where Conrad and Pierce were at time of the accident?"
"No, nobody seems to know anything, except that Barrington fell from the scaffolding and was killed."
"Chick," said the detective, after a few moments of silence, "I want you to go to the cemetery people, and get a permit from them to reopen the grave in which Barrington was buried, if the grave still exists. If it does not, find out who was present when the grave was opened, at the time it was discovered that the body had been stolen. There should be at least two men. Find them, and bring them to me."
"All right."
Two hours later, two cards were brought to Nick's room.
One bore the name of Alwin Conrad, and the other that of Simon Pierce.
Nick directed that the gentlemen be shown up at once.
His purpose was to frighten them by the extent of the knowledge that he had gleaned that day, and thus to force them to take the initiative.
That their interview with Lerou had already produced some result of the kind, he did not doubt, and he was resolved to add to it all that he could.
Pierce introduced him to his partner, in the character that he had represented himself, that of Barrington's uncle.
Then the conversation began.
"Gentlemen," said Nick, "I have learned several strange facts to-day, in connection with the death of my nephew."
"Indeed," said Conrad, who seemed to be the one selected to do the talking for the partners.
"Yes, Mr. Pierce told me that only thirty dollars were found in my nephew's pockets when he was killed."
"That is true."
"I have learned to-day that he had three hundred and fifty dollars with him at that time."
"Who told you that?"
"The cashier of the bank where your accounts are kept."
"It is possible that he may have drawn that amount that morning."
"It is absolutely true that he did so."
"Then he spent three hundred and twenty of it before he was killed."
"Where, and for what?"
"Really sir, I have no idea."
"I have made many inquiries, and can find no place where he spent any money that day."
"Do you mean to insinuate—"
"I insinuate nothing. I merely state what I have learned."
"Ah!"
"There is another point."
"Will you tell us what it is?"
"I understood from Mr. Pierce that the partnership had been dissolved, prior to my nephew's death."
"It had."
"And that he was working for you in the capacity of a clerk."
"That is true."
"Is it your custom to permit clerks to sign checks for the firm?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that when he drew three hundred and fifty dollars that morning, it was money deposited to the account of your firm, and that he, personally, signed the check for it."
The partners exchanged glances.
"Really, sir," said Conrad, with a bland smile upon his face, and rubbing his hands together, something after the manner of Uriah Heep, "you compel me to make statements which I would much rather leave unsaid."
"Make them, Mr. Conrad."
"I would prefer to let the matter rest, sir."
"I cannot permit that."
"But I dislike to speak disparagingly of one who is dead."
"I prefer to know the truth."
"Very well. There were several irregularities of which your nephew was guilty, which we did not discover until after his death."
"Indeed!"
"It was too late then to remedy them, and we preferred to say nothing about them."
"What were they?"
"He drew several checks against the firm's account after he had ceased to be a partner."
"Do you mean to tell me that my nephew was dishonest?" cried Nick, with well-simulated anger, leaping to his feet.
"You insisted upon knowing the truth, sir," said Conrad, coldly.
"It is a lie! a shameful, malicious falsehood! I cannot, will not, do not believe it!"
"We will bid you good-evening, sir," said Conrad, with dignity, rising and taking his hat.
"Go, then!" cried Nick, in a loud tone, "and know that you cannot come to me and slander the memory of my nephew with impunity. Show me the record of those irregularities, and I will reimburse you for every dollar. And you will have to show them, now that you claim they exist. If he was dishonest, I will know it. If you have wronged him, I will know that also."
There was an icy smile upon Conrad's face as he opened the door to depart.
"Good-evening, sir," he said, coldly. "You may live to regret the fact that you have made unjust insinuations against us here to-night."
"THE real work of the play has begun," said Nick, when he and Chick were again alone. "Those fellows believe that I am really the uncle of James Barrington, and they also believe that I have hired a detective to investigate the death of my nephew."
"Won't you scare them away?" asked Chick.
"Not immediately. They have too many interests at stake here, to give them up readily. I think I will be ready to arrest them before they are ready to leave, but if I am not, they can be followed."
"They have got a good scare, anyhow."
"Yes, and unless I am greatly mistaken, they are on to you."
"On to me!"
"Yes."
"How so."
"They believe me to be the uncle."
"Sure."
"They know that there is a detective on the case."
"Yes."
"Well, the deduction is simple enough. In their opinion, you are the detective."
"I see."
"And they will use every effort to put you out of the way."
"I say, Nick."
"Well?"
"I have an idea."
"Good! What is it?"
"I think their first move will be to try to buy me off."
"That would be a give-away."
"Not in the way that they will work it."
"How do you mean?"
"Through Lerou."
"They may try it."
"I think they will."
"Well, for the first day, we have accomplished something. Let us see what the second will bring forth by going to bed and getting a good sleep."
The detectives occupied connecting rooms, and each was soon in his bed, soundly sleeping. Two hours passed, and the hotel had become as still as hotels ever are. Nick, with the proverbial carelessness of a man who knows no fear, had tumbled into bed, forgetful of the precaution of even turning the key in his door.
Suddenly it began to open.
At first it moved ever so little; then more and more, until, in the dim light which shone in from the street, the face of a man peered through the opening into the room.
His face was bearded, and yet it would not have required an adept to have discovered that the beard was false.
He pushed the door open still farther, taking care not to make a sound, until finally there was room enough for him to pass.
Then he entered, leaving the door ajar, in case he should be obliged to make a hasty exit if either of the sleepers should be aroused.
He wore no boots, and his stockinged feet made no noise upon the carpet, as he stole to the window which Chick had raised before retiring.
It is a delicate thing to raise or lower a window in a room where a person is sleeping, but there are ways of doing most things, and this fellow was an adept.
The window was not raised much over a foot, and yet it took the intruder fully ten minutes to lower it.
He did not move the sash more than a thirty-second of an inch at a time, and the creaky noise that it made in the operation was scarcely noticeable.
Moreover, although the first noise made by an effort of that kind may partially arouse a sleeper, he pays no heed to it, and as it is repeated at regular intervals, his senses became accustomed to the sound, and he sleeps on, more soundly than ever.
There were two windows to close; one in Chick's room, and one in Nick's.
The intruder attended to both, spending nearly half an hour in the employment.
Then, from his pockets, he took a bunch of cotton, and a palette-knife.
His purpose was becoming apparent.
With the palette-knife, he proceeded to crowd the cotton into the cracks between the sashes of the windows, until they were nearly, if not quite, air-tight.
That done, he went to the transoms over the doors, and noiselessly closed them.
There was a smile of triumph upon his face, as he returned once more to the center of the room, and stood beneath the chandelier.
One after another he turned on the gas-cocks.
There were four of them in each room, and he opened them all.
It was a fiendish attempt to take two lives, and to take them in such a way that murder would not be suspected.
Two men dead in those rooms filled with escaping gas; the windows battened and the transoms shut.
How plainly the whole thing would point to a deliberate and double suicide.
But the crafty intruder was not to succeed.
He had to cope with men who were never off their guard, even while sleeping.
As he turned to hastily leave the room, he was brought to a sudden halt by the cold, calm voice of Nick Carter.
"If you move another step, or raise a hand in your own defense, I will kill you where you stand," he said.
There was light enough in the room for Lerou (for it was he) to see that the detective had him covered, and he knew by the tone in which he spoke, that he meant what he said.
Consequently he did not attempt to disobey.
The sound of Nick's voice had awakened Chick, and he bounded from his bed in the next room.
"Turn off the gas, Eric, and open the windows," said Nick, coolly.
It was quickly done.
The room was soon aired sufficiently so that a gas-jet could be lighted.
"Now, Chick, just go through that fellow, and relieve him of his weapons. Good! Pull off your false beard, Lerou, for I know you."
The fellow turned yellow with fright.
"You're in a bad fix, Lerou," said Nick, coldly, but remaining in bed.
"You've got me dead to rights, Nick Carter," replied Lerou, trying to be brave.
"Ah, you know me, eh?"
"Yes."
"Since when?"
"Just now."
"Had you known me before, you would not have come here on this errand to-night, would you?"
"You bet I wouldn't."
"Let me see,' mused Nick, aloud, and with a smile upon his face. "You are guilty of burglary, and an attempted murder."
"I haven't stolen anything."
"Burglary consists in forcible entrance, not stealing, Mr. Lerou. Those are two serious crimes."
"They are."
"We are in Missouri. Do you feel like spending fifteen years or more in—er—in Jefferson City, for instance?"
"No, I don't."
"Strange. I am afraid that is your fate."
"Let up on me, won't you?"
"Hardly. Put the irons on him, Chick."
Lerou was quickly shackled, and then Chick pushed him into a convenient chair, a picture of abject misery. "Let upon me, Carter, and I'll give the whole snap away."
"What snap?"
"With Conrad & Pierce."
"Did they send you here?"
"Yes."
"They didn't lose any time, did they?"
"Not much."
"What were you to get for putting us out of the way?"
"A thousand dollars."
"Indeed! They don't value us very highly, do they? Who proposed this thing?"
"Conrad."
"When?"
"After he left here."
"Were you waiting for him?"
"Yes."
"Lerou, I will let you go on one condition."
"What is that?"
"If I let you go, you must return to them and make any excuse you like for not succeeding to-night. Then you must play into my hands."
"What do I get for it?"
"Your freedom. Nothing more."
"I'll do it. I'll do anything for the sake of getting out of this scrape."
"Very well; listen! You are to return to your employers and pretend that you know a good deal more than you do. For instance, suggest that you know that the body of James Barrington was never put into the grave from which they pretend it was stolen.
"With that wedge, you are to learn more, and when you have found out anything worth while, let me know."
"It won't do for me to come here."
"You need not seek me; I will come to you."
"But if we are seen together—"
"Leave that to me."
"All right, sir."
"Do you agree?"
"To everything."
"You will betray your employers to me?"
"I will."
"What a scoundrel you are, Lerou! Let him go, Chick; he nauseates me. Remember, Lerou, if there is any backing out on your part, I will be down upon you like a thousand of bricks."
"I will remember."
"Go, now."
He went.
"Perhaps I have not done wisely, Chick," said the detective, "for honestly, I do not believe that he can help us much. Still every little helps, and he may be a straw which will show how the wind tends."
Nick's first move in the morning was to have Chick adopt his own disguise, that of James Gibson, for he had decided to make the investigations at the cemetery himself.
He thought that Conrad or Pierce, or some emissary of theirs, might elect to call upon him at the hotel that day, and so he left Chick to represent him.
Then, without delay, he secured the permit to open the grave, if he cared to do so, although the cemetery official assured him that since the body had disappeared, the grave had only been filled in and left; that there was nothing in it.
But his chief desire was to see the men who had opened the grave, when the discovery had been made that the body was not there, and he found them without difficulty. One, an Irishman, acted as spokesman for both.
"Sure, I remember well enough," he said, in answer to Nick's question. "Divil a thing was there in the box at all at all, whin we took it up."
"You are used to digging graves?" asked Nick.
"Begob, I make me livin' at that same."
"You know how the soil should look when a grave has been disturbed?"
"I do."
"In your opinion, had the grave been opened between the time when the coffin was first placed there, and that, when it was opened by order?"
"It had, sor."
THERE was an air of assurance about the Irishman when he spoke that made Nick think that he had noticed something before that particular day.
"Did you dig the grave in the first place?" he asked.
"Me an' Moike."
"And help to lower the coffin into it?"
"We did."
"Was it heavy, then, as though there was a body in it?"
"It was."
"Who filled in the grave?"
"We did, sure."
"When?"
"Right away."
"What time of day was that?"
"About dusk o' the avenin'."
"When did you see that grave again?"
"The next mornin'."
"Did you notice it, then?"
"I did."
"Did it show signs of having been disturbed, then?"
The Irishman looked furtively around him.
"Who be you, sor?" he asked, finally.
"I am a detective."
"Thin I bes afther losin' me place, sure," he said.
"Not if you tell me all you know, Pat."
"Well, I'll tell ye, sor; the grave was robbed the first night."
"Are you sure of this?"
"I am, sor. It was me day off, an' I forgot it. Afterward, I thought I'd say nothin', an' nobody'd be the wiser, sor."
"If it was your day off, how did you happen to be there that morning to discover what you did?"
"I lost me watch-chain, sor. It was only a steel chain, sor, but it was useful, an' I thought maybe I'd foind it at the grave."
"Did you find it?"
"No, sor; but I found this."
He handed Nick a small locket, such as gentlemen wear upon their watch-chains. Upon one side was the monogram of T. H. B. The other side was blank.
Nick opened the locket, and then smiled with pleasure.
Inside were two tiny photographs; one was of a man, and the other a woman.
Both were in the prime of life. The faces were strong, and Nick felt certain that he could sooner or later find the originals.
He handed Pat a ten-dollar bill in exchange for the locket, and having gleaned all the information he could from that source, hurried away.
Returning at once to Kansas City, he went without delay to the Times office, where he held a consultation with Morrison Munford, its editor.
"Mr. Munford," he said, "newspaper men have the reputation of knowing everybody, and I want to put you to the test."
"What is it, Carter?"
"I want to find the original of either of those pictures," and he laid the locket open before the editor.
"You've got me," said Mr. Munford, presently. "I never saw either of them. Let me take the locket a moment, and I will see if any of my employees are better posted."
He was gone about twenty minutes, and when he returned, he greeted Nick heartily.
"I've got a clue," he said.
"What is it?"
"One of my reporters remembers the face, but he does not remember when or where he saw it. He is quite sure that the man is a doctor."
"A doctor, eh?"
"Yes."
"Then another doctor would be apt to know him."
"Probably."
"Is there one in this building?"
"Dr. Jackson, on the second floor."
"I'll call upon him."
"Do. You'll find him a good fellow, and glad to give you any information that he can."
Nick was soon in the doctor's office exhibiting the locket.
"Yes," said Dr. Jackson, after a moment's study, "I know the face, and yet I can't place it."
"The man may be much older now," suggested Nick.
"Ah! I have it," exclaimed the doctor, suddenly.
"Glad of it," said Nick.
"I don't know the man," continued the doctor; "but I know who he is, and what his business is."
"Tell me that much."
"His name is Oppenheimer. He read a paper once before our board. It was about three years ago, I should say."
"What was the subject of the paper?"
"Insanity superinduced by something or other, I forget what. I remember that I didn't take much stock either in him, or his theories. He had a private asylum for the insane, somewhere; out in Kansas, I think."
"You don't remember where?"
"No, I do not. Go and see Dr. Lauray on Oak street. He keeps the run of such things, and, perhaps, he can give you some points."
"Thanks, I will do so."
Dr. Lauray was found without difficulty.
"Oppenheimer—Oppenheimer," he mused, when Nick asked the question; "I don't remember the name."
"Perhaps this will help you," and Nick exhibited the locket.
"Ah, yes; I remember the face! His name isn't Oppenheimer, though."
"What is it?"
"Bernstein."
"That agrees with the monogram, 'T. H. B.'"
"Yes."
"Do you know where I can find him?"
"In prison."
"Eh?"
"He got into difficulty a few months ago, and is now in prison. I know because I helped to put him there. He had a patient of mine locked up, as crazy, who was as sane as I am."
"Then he keeps an asylum?"
"Yes."
"Where is it?"
"Do you know where West Line is in this State?"
"Yes."
"It is across the line into Kansas from there. Anybody can direct you when you reach that point."
"Thanks! For how long was Bernstein sent up?"
"Four years."
"And his asylum is still running?"
"I believe so."
"Doctor, you have done me a great service."
"I am glad of it."
It was dark when Nick again reached the Coates House, but he felt that he had accomplished a big day's work.
He was thoroughly satisfied now, that James Barrington had not been dead when he was placed in the coffin and buried by his partners, Conrad and Pierce. The next morning, still leaving Chick in Kansas City, but with instructions to keep his eyes on Conrad and Pierce, Nick set out for West Line.
Inquiry demonstrated the fact that he could get there quicker and easier by driving, than he could by rail, for the little village of West Line was situated on a cross-road, which would oblige him to take a very roundabout way, in order to reach it by the steam-cars.
It was one o'clock in the afternoon when he reached there, and quickly making arrangements for a change of horses, he began inquiries about the asylum kept—or formerly kept—by Dr. Bernstein.
Standing before the door of the general store of the place, was a broad-shouldered, smooth-faced, determined-looking man about thirty-five years of age, and one glance satisfied Nick that he was the man to enlist in his services.
Calling him to one side, he said:
"I want a guide to drive me a few miles out in the country. Will you take the job?"
"I reckon I will."
"What is your name, please?"
"Emerson."
"Ah, you are the store-keeper."
"No, my brother keeps that."
"I notice that he runs a line of drugs with his other stock."
"Yes. Say, what are you driving at, stranger?"
"I have just engaged your services, and now I'm getting information, Mr. Emerson."
"Right. We haven't settled terms yet, though."
"When you present your bill, I will pay it."
"You're my fodder, stranger. I'm working for you on that basis. Now, tell me what you want to know."
"First, I want to know if you've got sand enough to stand a little scrimmage, if we happen to have one."
"Well, I ain't holding anybody up on the road, or running my neck into any tight-fitting halter on this trip. If you mean square and honest, I'm with you."
"I do."
"Then shake, stranger."
They shook.
"I think I have heard of you, Mr. Emerson."
"Where?"
"In Kansas City. I heard that you took a trip to Nevada sometime ago, so that you wouldn't be asked any questions about shooting a man a few miles below here."
"I reckon you're right. I had to do it; though. Now, who ere you?"
"I'm a detective from the East. and I want to find the house of one Dr. Bernstein near here."
"Bernstein's sent up."
"I know that. I don't want him, but I do want to search his house."
"Somebody called crazy and shut up there?"
"Yes, this person," and Nick produced a photograph of James Barrington. "Have you ever seen him?"
"No."
"Do you know Bernstein's house?"
"Like a book."
"Can you take me there?"
"I reckon."
"All right."
When they were driving along the road, Nick asked a few more questions.
"Who has charge of Bernstein's place, now?"
"His wife."
"She has assistants?"
"Two men."
"If the man whose picture I showed you is in that house, I want to take him out of it. If he is not there, somebody has got to tell me when he left, and how, as well as who brought him there."
"Correct! I can lick the two assistants, if you'll handle the old woman."
"Agreed—unless I find you need help."
It was exactly two hours after leaving West Line, when the horses stopped before a wide lane, lined with trees, which led up to a big, square house, a quarter of a mile or more from the main road.
"The gate is locked," said Emerson, who had leaped out to open it.
"Then break it open. We have no time to spare."
"Correct!" and Emerson placed the muzzle of his revolver against the lock, and fired.
THE lock was an old one, and very much out of repair, so that the bullet from the revolver easily shattered it.
Then Emerson pushed the gate open, and Nick drove through.
Emerson sprang into the buggy with him, and they were soon before the front-door of the house.
Not, however, before Nick had decided upon a clever bit of strategy, which he resolved to put into execution at once.
As they drove up the lane toward the house, he pulled a pair of handcuffs from his pocket, and fixing them so that they would not lock, placed them upon Emerson's wrists.
"Pretend to be crazy," he said, "and take your cue from me. It will serve until we get into the house."
"Correct!" said Emerson.
When they reached the door, a woman, whom Nick at once recognized as the original of the little photograph, came out upon the stoop.
"What do you want?" she demanded.
"I want to leave this fellow in your charge," replied Nick.
"What's the matter with him?"
"He's crazy."
"How'd you get in?"
"Through the gate."
"It was locked."
"I blew it open."
"Well, you can't leave your man here."
"I came here to bring him, and I ain't goin' to be put off," said Nick.
Then he sprang to the ground, followed by Emerson.
"Halt there!" said the woman, sharply, and she raised her right arm.
In her hand was a revolver, and its muzzle covered Nick's heart.
"Say, madam, you'd better put that thing away," he said, coolly. "It might go off, an' besides, the sight of one always gives my friend here a spell."
"You climb back into that buggy and mosey out of here, or it will go off," she said, and Nick saw that she meant it, too.
Her entire attention was, however, devoted to Nick to the utter neglect of Emerson.
But he was not idle.
When she presented the revolver, he began to make faces. Then he threw himself upon the ground and rolled over and over.
Suddenly he leaped to his feet.
Then, with two gigantic bounds he reached the woman, and knocked the weapon from her grasp.
His next move was to seize her, and although she fought like a tigress, he held her while Nick placed handcuffs upon her wrists.
During the short struggle, she screamed with all the strength of her lungs, and just as they had secured her, her cries succeeded in bringing two negroes to her assistance.
They were burly fellows, and they leaped forward to rescue their mistress.
Emerson raised his revolver.
"Don't shoot!" cried Nick. "They are unarmed. Tend to the woman, and I will manage these fellows."
And he soon had negroes bound hand and foot, and laid side by side upon the piazza.
Then Nick turned to the woman, whose eyes were dilated with fear.
"Madam," he said, "we did not come here to steal anything, or to hurt anybody, and I am very sorry that we have been obliged to fight our way in."
"What did you come for?"
"For James Barrington."
"I never heard the name."
"Perhaps you have seen his face," and Nick exhibited the photograph that he had shown to Emerson. He watched her closely when she glanced at it, and he saw a gleam of cunning come into her eyes for an instant.
"No," she said; "I never saw the face, either."
"Bah! you cannot deceive me, madam. Your husband helped to dig him out of a grave near Kansas City. Then you brought him here and resuscitated him."
"You lie!"
"Do I? Well, I will take a look through the house to satisfy myself, anyhow."
She laughed derisively.
"Stay here with her, Emerson," said Nick, "while I make the search."
"All right. Mind your eye, though."
"What for?"
"The two assistants."
"True. I will look out for them."
Nick entered the house.
There were sounds of singing and shouting from over-head, and Nick directed his footsteps that way.
He was soon before a great, heavy door in the upper hall, which he knew led into the apartments where the patients were confined.
With the butt of his revolver, he rapped loudly upon the door.
A moment later it was opened, and a man stepped out and confronted the detective.
Nick had no idea of mincing matters, and he did not stop to parley with the man.
The moment he was outside, he seized him.
The attendant was tall and wiry, and quicker than a cat.
Nevertheless he was no match for Nick.
It took five minutes, however, to conquer him, but at last he was upon the floor, bound hand and foot.
"There," said Nick, "there is only one more left, and then I will have you all. Now, my man, which would you rather do? have your throat cut from ear to ear, or answer a few questions?"
"I'd rather answer the questions."
"Good! Did you ever see the original of that photograph?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
"Here."
"Is he here now?"
"Yes."
"Alive?"
"Yes."
"Crazy?"
"Yes."
"Incurable?"
"No."
"What makes him crazy?"
"Drugs."
"Ah! Who administers the drugs?"
"The madam."
"What drug does she give him?"
"I don't know."
"Do you know the antidote?"
"Stop the drug."
"Is that all?"
"Yes."
"How long will it take for him to come to himself?"
"Two or three days."
"Is he in there?"
"No."
"Where, then?"
"Down stairs."
"Do you know the room?"
"Yes."
"Have you the key?"
"No."
"Who has?"
"The madam."
"Isn't there a duplicate?"
"Not that I know of."
"Where does madam keep the key?"
"In her pocket."
"On a bunch?"
"Yes."
"Would you know the key?"
"Yes."
"What kind of a lock has the door?"
"Common lock, but big."
"Perhaps I won't want the key."
"Maybe not."
"How many lunatics are confined in this room here?"
"Twelve."
"How many that are not lunatics?"
"None."
"How many have you got in the house who are confined against their wills, and who are not lunatics?"
"Only two now."
"This man is one?"
"Yes."
"Who is the other?"
"A girl."
"How old?"
"Twenty or so."
"Where is she confined?"
"In the room next to nineteen."
"Is she drugged also?"
"No."
"In her right mind?"
"Yes."
"Where does she belong?"
"I don't know."
"I am going to let you up now."
"Thanks."
"If you try to play any tricks, I will kill you."
"And if I don't?"
"You can have forty-eight hours to skip."
"I'll skip,"
"A good idea."
"Where shall I take you first?"
"To the girl's room."
"Come on."
Nick had no trouble in unlocking the door where the young lady was a prisoner.
She had been there only a month; and had received fairly good care.
Her story was the old one of an heiress, whose relatives wanted to manage her fortune for her, and had spirited her away for that purpose.
Nick ultimately saw her safely out of her difficulties, by placing her in charge of friends of his in Kansas City, who cared for her and helped her to fight her battles.
After liberating her from the room in which she was confined, Nick entered the room of James Barrington.
What a change was there!
His once black hair had turned gray. His face was haggard, and his eyes vacant and sightless, while seeing.
Nick tried to question him, but he only mumbled his replies, and they were utterly meaningless.
However, he was James Barrington, and he was alive.
He was found, and he would be restored to his friends, ultimately, perhaps, as well as ever.
Followed by the rescued girl, and leading Barrington by the hand, he went out upon the porch where Emerson was keeping watch over the madam and her two servants.
The captured attendant went with them; the other, Nick had not seen, and had no wish to see.
Four in a buggy was quite a load, but they all got in, Nick, Emerson, Barrington, and the girl.
"Madam," said Nick, just before they drove away.
"You can get yourselves free between you. When you do, take my advice, and go. I shall come back here in twenty-four hours with a warrant.
"If you are here—"
"I won't be."
"Good night! madam. If my time was less precious, I would not let you off so lightly."
NICK remained all that night at West Line, and reached Kansas City the following day, a little before noon.
When he got to the hotel, Chick was nowhere to be found.
None of the attendants had seen him since early the preceding evening, and had no idea what had become of him.
Nick knew well enough that Chick would not absent himself from the hotel when in momentary expectation of his return, unless something unforeseen, as well as of considerable importance, had occurred to detain him.
Their experience in the room during the first night that they passed in Kansas City evidenced the determined character of the men upon whose trail they were.
It was, therefore, with many misgivings that Nick learned of Chick's prolonged absence.
He hurried at once to the office of Conrad & Pierce, in Delaware street, satisfied that if any one was responsible for Chick's absence, they were the ones.
The office was locked and the shutters down.
Nick turned to a police officer, who had paused upon the curbstone near him.
"Is this your regular beat, officer?" he asked.
"Yes, sir."
"Do you know how long this office has been closed?"
"Since about noon yesterday."
"What has become of Conrad & Pierce?"
"I heard that they had sold out and gone away, sir."
"When did you hear that?"
"This morning."
"Who told you?"
"James & Lockwood."
"Real-estate dealers?"
"Yes, sir."
"Did they sell out to them?"
"I think so."
"Where is their office?"
"In Eighth street, opposite the American Bank building."
Nick hurried to the office of James & Lockwood.
"Is either member of the firm in?" he asked of a clerk.
"Mr. Lockwood is in the back room, sir."
"Is he engaged?"
"Yes, sir."
"Tell him that I am in a great hurry, and that I would like to speak to him a moment."
Mr. Lockwood came bustling out of his private office two moments later, with the stereotyped smile of a western real-estate dealer upon his countenance.
"Well, sir?" he said, inquiringly to Nick.
"I am told that your firm have purchased the business affairs of Conrad & Pierce."
"That is true."
"I am a detective from the East. There is my card."
"Ah! Mr. Carter; I have heard of you."
"I would like to ask you a few questions, Mr. Lockwood."
"I am at your service."
"When did you buy Conrad & Pierce out?"
"Yesterday in the forenoon."
"Had the transaction been previously talked of?"
"Not seriously."
"How, then?"
"We had made an offer to purchase, and they had declined."
"What happened yesterday?"
"Mr. Pierce came here, and said they had decided to sell."
"And you purchased?"
"Yes."
"At the original figures talked of?"
"No, considerably less."
"Showing that they were in haste to sell, eh?"
"That was my opinion."
"Was anything said about their reasons for selling so suddenly?"
"Yes."
"What was it?"
"Pierce said that Conrad had fallen heir to a large estate in the East, and had offered to do the handsome thing by him."
"What about their office?"
"They simply locked it up and left it, I believe."
"Who has the keys?"
"I have."
"Can you spare the time to step around there with me?"
"Yes, sir."
"You will oblige me by doing so."
"What do you wish to know? Perhaps I can tell you here."
"I wish to examine their office."
"Ah! Very well, I will go with you."
Ten minutes later the door of Conrad & Pierce's office was thrown open, and Nick stepped inside.
The first thing that attracted his attention was a large stain in the middle of the floor.
He pointed toward it with silent emphasis.
"Blood," said Lockwood, shuddering.
"Yes, blood," repeated Nick, shutting his lips tightly together.
The blood-stain was comparatively fresh, and Nick knew instinctively that a tragedy of some kind had been enacted. He at once began an eager search around the room, narrowly examining every point which might afford him some clue to the scene that had been enacted there.
Suddenly he paused and listened.
He was standing before a door built in one of the inner walls.
It was made of sheet-iron, and evidently led into a vault or closet where books were kept.
A quick glance at the lock told him that he could open it with his little instrument.
In a twinkling he brought it into play, and a moment later the bolt was shot back, and the door thrown open. Then Lockwood uttered a cry of horror.
Upon the floor, just inside the vault, were the bodies of two men.
Nick recognized them both instantly.
One was Chick, and the other was Lerou.
Chick was moving uneasily, and moaning in a low tone. When the door was thrown open, he gasped spasmodically two or three times, and then breathed steadily. Presently he opened his eyes.
"A tight squeeze that," he murmured, faintly. "I thought I was suffocated."
"You would have been in five minutes more," said Nick, as he helped him to a chair near the outer door of the office.
Then he turned to Lerou.
He was quite dead, with a knife buried to the hilt in his breast.
Lockwood was almost paralyzed with horror.
Chick, in the meantime, had recovered his faculties, and much of his strength.
"How did this happen?" asked Nick.
"It was a plot of Lerou's."
"How so?"
"He told me that they wanted to see me, and were ready to confess all. He brought a letter to that effect, signed by Conrad, and I was chump enough to believe it."
"Go on."
"I came here with him."
"When?"
"Yesterday at one o'clock."
"Well?"
"They were both here waiting. I showed the letter, and told them why I had come."
"What did they say to that?"
"They admitted that they had made away with Barrington, by putting him in an insane asylum, and had done it for the purpose of collecting the insurance on his life."
"Go on."
"While I was talking with him, Lerou managed to get behind me.
"He took me off my guard, and struck me with an iron-bar, or club, and that is the last that I knew until two or three hours ago.
"Then I came to my senses, and found myself in that vault, where it was almost impossible to breathe.
"I threw myself upon the floor again, and placed my lips close to the crack at the bottom of the door. Little or no air, however, found its way into the vault, and I was slowly suffocated.
"I indistinctly remember fancying that I heard somebody in the office.
"I tried to cry out, but could not. Then I opened my eyes, and you know the rest."
"The rest is very plain," said Nick.
"How so?" asked Lockwood.
"Why, they hired Lerou to kill Chick, and after he had done so, as they believed, they stabbed him, and placed them both in the vault together."
It was not difficult for the detectives to trace Conrad and Pierce to the Union Depot, and there they found that the two men had taken tickets for New York.
A fast train over the Missouri Pacific was just leaving for St. Louis, and without stopping for their baggage, the two detectives boarded it and sped eastward.
Nick knew that the men he was pursuing had gone by way of Chicago, and on a much slower train, and he figured that he could overtake them by the time they reached Jersey City.
At St. Louis they had five minutes to change from the Missouri Pacific to the Vandalia.
Then they rolled onward again, at the rate of fifty miles an hour, hot upon the trail of the conspirators and assassins.
ON the road between Philadelphia and Jersey City, Nick went through the train, narrowly scanning the face of every passenger.
He had assumed his old-time favorite disguise, that of the countryman, in which he was variously known as Joshua Juniper and Old Thunderbolt.
In the forward car, he noticed two men who attracted his attention at once.
The famous detective was as keen at penetrating disguises as he was at assuming them, and he saw in the two men the ones he was after.
But the train was on New Jersey soil.
He thought a moment, and resolved to wait until he reached New York before making any arrest.
Now that he knew where they were, there was no danger of losing them, and once in New York, they were as good as caught.
Returning, he told Chick the good news, and when they reached Jersey City, Chick, who wore no disguise, kept in the background, while Nick, in his countryman's rig, followed the partners upon the new ferry-boat "Cincinnati," which was to convey them to New York.
Once, Nick thought that the men looked askance at him, as though they had also penetrated his disguise, but yet he did not think it possible.
Conrad wore the wig and beard of an old man, while Pierce had donned a red wig of close fit, and having shaved his face clean, looked quite a lad.
In appearance, they were father and son traveling together.
"They borrowed the idea from me," thought Nick, remembering the character in which he had gone to Kansas City in search of them.
James Barrington had been left in good hands.
Even before going in search of Chick on the afternoon of his return from West Line, Nick had placed the unfortunate young man in the care of Dr. Jackson.
Just as the Cincinnati left the slip at Jersey City, Chick leaped aboard.
Conrad and Pierce were on the upper deck looking toward the shore, and they saw him.
They recognized him instantly, and knew that in some way he had escaped death in the vault, and had followed upon their trail.
Nick sauntered toward them, and they turned and went through the upper cabin to the forward end of the boat.
Nick followed.
He did not care now, whether they knew that they were followed and watched or not.
They could not escape until the boat reached New York, and then—well, then, he meant to take them at once to police headquarters.
But the partners were getting uneasy.
They acted in much the same manner that a pair of wild ducks act when a boat approaches.
They moved about here and there, now and then conversing in low tones, and then separating only to come together again a few moments later.
Chick came upon the upper deck, and Nick motioned to him to approach.
When the partners saw the two men together, they were satisfied that their identity was known.
With them, then, it only became a question of how to escape.
Not an easy question to settle.
They wandered forward until they stood near the rail, on the port side of the boat.
There they paused and conversed together again in low tones.
Nick would not have been surprised to have seen them make some desperate dash to be revenged upon him.
But they did not.
He watched them narrowly, expecting at any moment to see them draw weapons and make an attack upon him and Chick.
Suddenly, without an instant's warning, when the boat was in mid-stream, the detective saw them leap upon the rail.
They poised there for an instant only, and then both men leaped far out into the river.
A loud shout went up from the few passengers who saw the act.
There was a rush of many feet toward the side of the boat over which they had leaped, and the loud clanging of bells in the engine-room, as the pilot ordered the engines reversed.
Both detectives saw the mad leap for liberty.
Chick, with one bound, reached the rail over which they had disappeared, and the next instant he dove like a rocket in pursuit of the escaping partners in crime.
There was a wild scene of confusion aboard the new ferry-boat for a few moments.
Three men overboard at once.
It was a new thing in the annals of sensations.
Nick ran to the rear of the boat.
He would have stopped Chick from leaping over had he had time, but he had not.
He saw the men swimming away, back again toward the Jersey shore.
Chick was in hot pursuit, and gaining at every stroke.
The Cincinnati, in the meantime, was backing, and gaining upon all three.
Suddenly the partners turned and swam straight toward Chick.
Nick saw their intention in an instant.
They saw that they could not escape, and they meant to die and to take Chick down with them.
Nick could not stand idly upon the deck of the ferry-boat and see that.
A deckhand was near him.
Stepping forward, Nick said, hastily:
"I am Nick Carter. The man who leaped overboard last is my assistant; the other two are escaping criminals. I am going after them as soon as the boat gets near enough."
Then, before the astonished eyes of all, he threw aside the disguise of Old Thunderbolt and prepared for his leap.
The Cincinnati came nearer and nearer.
When the partners and Chick came together, the boat was not a hundred feet from them.
Chick grappled with Conrad, who was in advance, and they down together. Pierce seizing the young detective's legs as they all disappeared.
Then Nick dove into the water.
He was an expert at swimming, as he was at everything else, and he swam like a dolphin beneath the water, straight for the spot where the three bodies had disappeared.
They were nearing the surface when he reached them, and both were choking Chick with all their strength.
They were determined to kill him, anyway, it seemed.
But the Little Giant was on hand.
When they came to the surface, he struck Conrad a terrific blow with his fist, straight between the eyes, and the man uttered one gurgling cry and sank backward out of sight.
Pierce saw what had happened, and gave up at once.
By that time the Cincinnati was near enough, and ropes were thrown out.
Chick made Pierce take one, and he took another.
They were hauled upon the deck, where the deckhand to whom Nick had spoken, seized Pierce at once.
In the meantime, Nick had dived for Conrad and got him.
The villain was unconscious when he was hauled on board, but he was a prisoner none the less.
The two partners were taken to headquarters and detained there on the charge of attempted suicide, until requisition papers for their graver crimes could be procured.
Then they were taken to Kansas City, where they were tried for the murder of Lerou, and convicted.
Ultimately, they suffered the severest penalty of the law.
James Barrington fully recovered, although it was several months before he was strong again.
The policy which he had had changed, had been the result of a temporary agreement by which his partners were to borrow a large amount of money with which to invest in a land speculation for the benefit of all.
He little dreamed of the terrible plot behind their entreaties when they urged him to have the change made as a temporary thing.
The very next day, he was spirited away.
Who can imagine the joy of Mrs. Barrington when her husband, whom she supposed dead, was restored to her arms?
She had mourned him for two years, and he was restored to her.
Picture, too, his own joy, at finding not only his loving wife, but a son who had been born, even in the darkest hour of his own life.
All is well that ends well, however, and James Barrington is once more started out upon the main road of life to carve fame and fortune for himself and his family.
Thanks to Nick Carter!
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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