The Project Gutenberg eBook of Following a Chance Clew.

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.

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.

Following a Chance Clew

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 Mall 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 1070—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 King 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

OR,

NICK CARTER’S LUCKY FIND

BY

NICHOLAS CARTER

Author of the celebrated stories of Nick Carter’s adventures,
which are published exclusively in the New Magnet Library,
conceded to be among the best detective tales ever written.

STREET & SMITH CORPORATION
PUBLISHERS
79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York
{4}

(Printed in the United States of America)

All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign
languages, including the Scandinavian.
{5}

FOLLOWING A CHANCE CLEW.

CHAPTER I.

ON A SEPTEMBER NIGHT.

Nick Carter read the sign over the jeweler’s store on Eighth Avenue and stopped to glance critically at the place.

His thoughts flew back to another midnight earlier in the week, when Lusker’s store had been cleaned out by burglars.

The robbery had been charged to a mysterious crook known as Doc Helstone, who was supposed to be the leader of a clever gang of lawbreakers.

Nick had been asked to break up this gang, which had baffled some of the best men of Inspector McLaughlin’s staff. A proposition had been made to him that day, and he had promised an answer on the morrow.

Probably he would have decided to refuse the job, for he had a lot of work on hand; but, as he strolled up the avenue on that September night, an adventure was waiting for him which was to alter his purpose, and set him upon the track of a remarkable scoundrel.{6}

Lusker’s place was nearly in the middle of a block. As Nick turned his eyes away from the window, he noticed, on the street corner beyond, a group of about a dozen men and women.

There was nothing unusual about them except that they were all looking one way. Their attention had evidently been strongly attracted by something which was taking place on the side street, to the westward.

Suddenly they all hurried in that direction. Other persons, attracted by this movement, joined in it.

All whom Nick could see were hastening toward this center of interest—all, except one man, who was walking the other way.

This man came out of the street wherein the crowd was gathering, and turned up the avenue. Nick saw him for only a moment, and at a considerable distance, but he remembered him.

When Nick came to the street corner, he saw, about forty yards from the avenue, a considerable crowd, upon the downtown side. He quickly made his way to the midst of it.

There he saw a young man kneeling on the sidewalk, and supporting upon his arm the head of a woman.

The man seemed considerably agitated. The woman’s face, indistinct in the dim light, was white and rigid.

“Do you know this woman?” asked Nick, quickly, of the young man, after he had cast a single glance upon the unconscious figure.

“Do you know a tall man with a light brown beard parted in the middle, a dark suit of——”

“Why, that’s the man who has gone to ring for an ambulance,” was the reply. “This lady was with him when she was taken sick.”

Nick did not wait to hear any more. He slipped through the crowd like an eel, and darted away.

He was on the track of the man whom he had seen walking away from the spot to which everybody else was hurrying.

The avenue was brightly lighted, but the man was not in sight. By rapid, clever work, Nick traced him to Forty-first Street, where he had entered a carriage.

A hackman, who had seen this, did not remember ever to have seen the carriage or the driver or the passenger before.

“Was the man looking about for a carriage when you first saw him?” asked Nick.

“He held up his hand in a queer sort of way, and the driver nodded. Nothing was said.”

Evidently the carriage had been waiting, and the coachman and the passenger knew each other well. They would be harder to trace on that account.

For the moment Nick gave up the chase. He returned to the crowd around the unconscious woman.

She still lay where Nick had last seen her. A policeman had come, and had rung for an ambulance.

The young man who had been supporting the woma{8}n’s head had relinquished his burden, and just as Nick came up he was edging away through the crowd. He seemed to desire to escape further observation.

“Don’t try to get away,” said the detective. “You won’t help matters by that.”

“Because,” said Nick, calmly, “you will direct suspicion toward yourself.”

This sinister word produced a tremendous effect upon the young man. But he came out of it in a way which showed he had plenty of nerve.

“Look here,” said the young man, “I’m no fool, and I begin to see that something is wrong here. But when it comes to murder, I don’t believe you’re right. That lady isn’t very sick.”

“Yes. I saw at a glance that she was suffering from a blow with a sharp-pointed instrument. She has been stabbed, probably, with a stiletto.”

“But I swear by all that I hold sacred that I never{9} set eyes on the woman before this evening. I was passing along the street when I saw her ahead of me.

“The man whom I described to you had just overtaken her, and they were talking. At that moment a drunken man pushed violently against me. I looked around. He lurched away.

“Then I turned toward Eighth Avenue again, and at that moment I saw the woman fall into the man’s arms, with a low cry. I didn’t see him stab her, and I didn’t see any weapon. I ran up to offer assistance, and he said: ‘This lady is ill. Take her for a moment while I summon assistance. I will ring for an ambulance. It will be the quickest way to get a doctor.’

“I took the woman out of his arms because I couldn’t let her fall on the sidewalk. He hurried away. You know the rest.

“Now, then, I maintain that you have no right to detain me. I’m going home.”

“Do you suppose that you could do so, even if I consented? I tell you that a detective has his eye on you at this moment, though you do not see him. Do you think that policeman would have been stupid enough to let you get away if he hadn’t known that somebody was on hand to look out for you?”

“I’m a man who may believe in your innocence and help you to prove it, if your conduct justifies it.”

The young man looked at Nick as if he meditated making a break for liberty, but something in the detective’s glance restrained him. The stronger mind prevailed.{10}

“Go back and stand near the policeman,” said Nick. “Be on hand when the ambulance surgeon makes his examination.

“You will be taken to the police station. When you get there tell your story as you’ve told it to me. If there’s anything else, save it till you see me again. What is your name?”

Though fully twenty minutes had elapsed since the woman had received the injury, her condition had not changed in the least. Nick had felt certain that the night was so warm that no harm would result from her remaining outdoors. Otherwise he would have taken her to a drug store or into one of the houses.

The others, expecting the ambulance every minute, and failing to perceive the real nature of the woman’s trouble, had not thought of doing anything.

When the ambulance surgeon bent over her, he saw at once that she was suffering from a serious stab wound.

Not a drop of blood was visible, which showed that the weapon used must have been as fine as a needle.

The surgeon whispered a word in the ear of the policeman, who instantly whistled for assistance. Then, by Nick’s order, he placed young Reeves under arrest, and took him to the station house.

The other officer who had responded to the whistle, tried to secure witnesses. He could find nobody.{11}

Nick, a thousand times more skillful, had been engaged in that search for some minutes, but when the ambulance rolled away with the wounded woman in it, he had not succeeded in finding a single person who could throw any light upon the matter.

Apparently nobody but Reeves had seen the woman pass along the street, or had noticed the man who overtook her.

To be sure, there was the drunken man, of whom Reeves had spoken, but, accepting Reeves’ story as true, the supposed drunkard was doubtless a pal of the murderer, and was there to distract the attention of any person who might be likely to interfere.

The blinder the case the more anxious Nick was to follow it up. He saw in it one of the most fascinating murder mysteries which he had ever encountered.

It was probable that at the hospital something would be learned which would be of value, but Nick could not wait for it. There is nothing like following a trail when it is warm, and so Nick stuck to the ground.

After about an hour’s hard work, his efforts were rewarded. By this time the rumor that the case was a murder had begun to spread in the precinct.

The local detectives were out on it, and they dropped a word here and there which was taken up and borne along.

In the course of Nick’s search he worked along the cross-town street toward Ninth Avenue, finding out what every person knew.

At last, just in the doorway of one of the large apart{12}ment houses he found a man and woman talking about the case. Both of them were known to the police.

The man was a hardened young rascal, not long out of the penitentiary. The woman was known as “Crazy Mag,” though she was not really insane.

She was somewhat intoxicated, and was talking loudly. Nick entered the hall and pretended to be looking for a name on the bell rack.

“Shut up, Mag,” he heard the young tough whisper. “You’ll get yourself into trouble.”

“What’s the matter with you?” she exclaimed, roughly. “I saw the woman come out of No. 349. Why shouldn’t I say so?”

“I’ll tell you why,” said her companion. “Because that woman was put out of the way by Doc Helstone’s gang, and if you talk too much you’ll follow her.”

“I shouldn’t be surprised if you were right,” said Nick to himself. “At any rate, this clew settles one thing—I take the contract to trap Doc Helstone’s gang.”

CHAPTER II.

A NOVEL TIMEKEEPER.

It was about four o’clock in the morning when Nick and the New York chief of police sat down together in the latter’s house to discuss the events of the night. What had happened in the meantime the reader will hear in Nick’s own words.{13}

He had rapidly described the events with which the reader is familiar and had come to the scene in the hall.

“I went directly to No. 349,” Nick proceeded, “and there I found evidence which convinced me that Helstone’s gang had made the house its headquarters.

“I got no information from the people in the house. They only knew that a ‘club’ of some kind had hired one of the upper apartments.

“Of course it was empty. The gang had taken the alarm. But I saw the work of Helstone’s carpenter.

“You remember that when the central office men arrived just too late at Helstone’s place on East Tenth Street, they found the rooms full of concealed panels and secret cupboards—the cleverest things of the kind that had ever been seen in New York.

“Well, there was the same work over here, but the rooms were entirely deserted. The gang had got away. The last man hadn’t been gone an hour.”

“I could swear to it,” said Nick, smiling. “There is running water in one of the rooms. Under the faucet was a pewter drinking cup.

“The dropping water filled this little bottle in one minute and ten seconds. The bottle holds the hundredth part of a pint. The cup holds half a pint. Therefore, the leaking water would fill it in fifty-eight seconds. So somebody set that cup under the faucet less than an hour before I arrived.{14}”

“Upon my word, Nick,” said the chief, “you can make a clock out of anything.”

“Dropping water is a first-rate timepiece,” Nick replied. “That’s why I had this bottle made.”

“Except the joiner work, was there anything in the rooms to show that Helstone had occupied them?”

“No, but it’s pretty well known in the district now. That’s the peculiar thing about Helstone. He always knows just when to flit.

“Before he goes, nobody knows anything about him. Ten minutes later, everybody knows.”

“No; the inspector has got descriptions of some of his men, but there is no description of Helstone. He’s really only a rumor, a mysterious influence guiding the movements of those ruffians.”

“She lies unconscious, but will probably recover. Her clothing bears no marks by which she can be identified. She may prove to be a mystery.”

“A rather ordinary gray dress, with a simple hat to match. Her underclothing was unusually fine.”

“In the nature of a disguise,” said the superintendent. “A rich woman who wished to seem poor.”

“Perhaps; but here’s the great point which makes the{15} case extraordinary and seems to connect the woman with Helstone.

“In a pocket of her dress were five loose diamonds. Four of them were ordinary stones worth about four hundred dollars apiece.

“The fifth was a splendid gem of the first water. It is worth over five thousand dollars.”

“Looks as if she was a member of the gang, and was trying to get away with some of the plunder.”

“I sent them to headquarters, and furnished a description of them to the papers. Probably the last editions of some of them will have the description.”

“Age thirty, medium height, weighs about one hundred and thirty pounds, hazel eyes, very abundant hair, of a peculiar bronze hue; regular features, and, in general, unusual personal beauty. There are no distinguishing marks.”

“In the back. The dagger did not touch the heart,{16} but it grazed the spine, and there are signs that paralysis will follow, ending, of course, in death.”

“Then I’ll get back to bed. Good luck to you, Nick. Helstone is game worthy of your skill, but you’ll bag him.”

He held in his hand the five diamonds which had been taken from the wounded woman’s pocket.

“These four stones,” said the inspector, “will be hard to identify. The big one should find its rightful owner easily.”

He had no sooner spoken the words than Nathan Lusker was announced. He came to see whether the diamonds were a part of his stolen stock.

Lusker failed to identify them. His description did not fit the large jewel at all. This stone was cut in a peculiar manner, so that its owner should be able to describe it in a way to settle all doubt.

When Lusker had departed, an East Side jeweler called. He had no better fortune. The stones were evidently not his.

“Morton H. Parks,” the inspector read. “He’s not a jeweler. Bring him in.”

Mr. Parks entered immediately. He was a fine-looking man of middle age, with the face of a scholar.

“I called to examine some jewels,” he said. “They were, I understand, found last night in the possession of an unfortunate woman—a thief—who was stabbed by some of her accomplices.”

“Well, as to that I wouldn’t speak positively,” said the inspector, “but we have five diamonds here, and I don’t doubt that they were stolen.”

“I have reason to think,” replied Mr. Parks, “that the larger of them was stolen from my residence.”

He proceeded at once to describe the stone, and he had not spoken a dozen words before the inspector was convinced that the owner of the diamonds had appeared.

One of the smaller stones he also described very closely, and he expressed the opinion that all of them were his.

“They were stolen on the night of August 3d,” said he. “A burglar took the entire contents of my wife’s jewel casket.”

“Nothing else,” he replied, at last, “except some money which was in my pocketbook.”

The visitor tried to speak, but his voice stuck in his throat. He seemed to be suffering great mental distress.

Mr. Parks bowed his head in assent. Then, with an effort, he recovered his self-command.

“I am ashamed to confess,” he said, “that I did at first suspect my nephew, who lived with us. It is dreadful to think of it, but circumstances pointed to him. I am rejoiced to find that I was wholly wrong, and that the robbery was done by an organized gang of burglars.”

“Your identification of the large diamond,” said the inspector, “satisfies me that you are the owner. Yet, on account of its value in money, and its value to us as a clew, I wish to be doubly certain. Is there any way you can strengthen the identification?”

“Yes, indeed,” replied Parks, “my wife knows the stones as well as I. You see, the large diamond was the pendant of a necklace. The smaller ones, I believe, were in rings belonging to her, though, of course, I cannot be sure now that the settings have been removed.”

“No; she is in Stamford, Connecticut. She went there yesterday morning upon a visit. I have telegraphed her to return.”

A telegram was brought in. It was addressed to Mr. Parks, and had reached his house after he left.{19}

“Merciful Heaven!” he cried. “Gentlemen, my wife has not been to Stamford.”

For answer Parks drew out his watch and opened the back of the case with a trembling hand. He then held the picture it contained before Nick’s eyes.

“Mr. Parks,” said Nick, “tell me the truth. Was it your nephew whom you suspected of that robbery or——”

CHAPTER III.

THE ONLY WITNESS.

Mr. Parks seemed to be greatly agitated by this intelligence, and it was some time before he regained his self-command. Then Nick asked him how it happened he had had no suspicions on reading the description of the wounded woman in the morning papers.{20}

“Read that,” he said, thrusting a paper into Nick’s hands. “Does that describe her?”

“It is a pure fake. There has been no opportunity of getting a picture of her.”

“The description and the picture caught my eye before I read about the diamonds. Therefore I never thought of my previous suspicions of my wife, except to be thankful that they had been proved groundless.”

“In one word, because it seemed utterly impossible that anybody else should have done it. The theory of burglars would not hold water. One of my servants had been ill, and had been about the house with a light almost all night, and had seen nothing of robbers.”

“No; I questioned them without letting them know anything unusual had happened.”

“I watched them all. They were honest. Then I learned that my wife speculated in stocks. There are more women stock gamblers in New York than most people could be made to believe.

“She had wasted her private fortune, and had got all the money she could from me. Heaven knows that I did not begrudge it. I only asked for her confidence, but she would not give it to me.”

“Out of the question entirely. He was not in the house. He was in a sleeping car bound for Boston. I only mentioned him to you because I could think of no other way to avoid mentioning my wife.

“And now, gentlemen, do not detain me longer. I have recovered from the first shock of this dreadful news. I must go to her. Guilty or innocent, she is my wife, and I will protect and help her so long as she has need of me.”

When they stood beside the motionless and deathlike figure, the grief of the husband was pitiful to see.

The patient occupied a cot in the accident ward. Several other injured persons were there.

Parks turned to ask Nick whether his wife could be removed from the hospital, but Nick had vanished.

“He seems to be directing everything,” said Parks, “and I wished to ask whether I might take my wife to my house.”

“The surgeon can answer you,” said the inspector, pointing to a white-bearded and venerable man, who at that moment approached the cot.

Parks at once turned to the surgeon and besought permission to take his wife home at once.{22}

“In a few moments we shall make another examination of the wound. An operation may be necessary to remove a splinter of bone. After that she must be kept perfectly quiet.”

“Yes; and now I must ask you to withdraw. I think it much better that you should do so.”

Without making any protest against this decree, Parks again knelt beside his wife and kissed her. Then he slowly walked out of the ward.

The surgeon beckoned to a nurse. Then he and Inspector McLaughlin went into a small adjoining room.

“For two reasons,” he replied. “The first is that Mrs. Parks really ought not to be removed. But if Parks had been told so less firmly he might have insisted.

“My second reason for keeping her here is that while she will almost certainly die, she will, perhaps, have a few minutes of consciousness. We must know what she says.”

“You can’t blame him for wanting to keep this affair quiet,” continued the inspector.

“It is only natural; but we must hear what she has to say if ever able to speak rationally. We must do it in common justice.”

“Well, you know best, Nick. Of course I have not had a chance to study the case you have. What will be the difficulty?”

“It is true. By chance that scene upon the street seems to have been wholly unobserved.

“Reeves is found with this wounded woman in his arms. We have only his word to explain how he came by her. A coroner’s jury would certainly hold him.”

“It is possible that he is in the plot. He may have expected to escape. In fact, he came near succeeding.”

“I had a glimpse of him, but I know nothing that connects him with the crime.”

“But one word from this woman can certainly save him. I propose that we shall hear that word.”

“Well, Nick, take your own course. What I want is to see this crime fastened upon Helstone, and then to see you run that villain to earth.”

“As to the connection of this crime with that gang—— Ah, here is Chick.”

The door opened at that moment and Nick’s famous assistant entered. Even the inspector, who had seen him in many disguises, would not have known him but for Nick’s words.

“Crazy Mag is our only direct witness, so far,” said Chick. “She is the only person who can testify that the woman came out of that house.{25}”

“No; that was where I had trouble. It seemed impossible that she should have got in without being seen.

“I found a lot of people who ought to have seen her, but not one of them remembered her. At last, however, I struck the clew.

“Helstone’s gang had a secret entrance. They had rooms also in a rear building. To get into that house they passed through an alley from the street above.

“No. 349 and this rear building are connected by an iron bridge intended as a fire escape for the latter.

“Their use of this bridge had begun to be noticed, and this was probably one of the reasons why they had to skip.

“At any rate, I’m convinced that the woman entered that way. She could have done it all right, whereas the other entrance was under somebody’s observation almost all the evening.”

“Yes. The house is tenanted by respectable people. They all say that they did not see her, and I believe them.”

“He has been seen in the neighborhood, but nobody remembers anything about him. It is going to be nearly impossible to trace him.”

“That’s the state of the case,” Nick rejoined. “You{26} won’t find me camping on the trail of that fellow any more.”

“Look here, inspector, your men have been after Helstone for some time, haven’t they?”

“Yes; no detective can go to him, it’s time to make him come to the detective.”

CHAPTER IV.

THE DISPLACED BANDAGE.

Nick and Chick left the hospital together, but they soon separated. Chick resumed his search for clews in the neighborhood of the Helstone gang’s last haunt, and Nick, presumably, went to prepare his mouse trap.{27}

Not long after they left the hospital Dr. Reginald Morris, the well-known expert in the surgery of wounds, called to offer his services in the Parks case. He had been engaged by Mr. Parks.

About three o’clock in the afternoon a pale, dark-haired woman of middle age arrived and announced herself as the trained nurse engaged by Mr. Parks.

She presented his card, on which was written the request that she be allowed to attend the wounded woman.

She was permitted to do so, and showed at once to the surgeon’s experienced eye that she understood most thoroughly the care of the sick.

An operation, to clear the wound, had just been performed, and the bandages had just been replaced. Surgery could do no more. The work of the trained nurse began.

For about an hour she remained almost motionless by the bedside of the patient. During this interval one of the hospital nurses entered the room several times.

The regular attendant had gone out after her fourth visit. The nurse suddenly rose and listened at the door. All was quiet.

She approached the patient stealthily, then paused and listened again. Not a sound broke the solemn quiet of this abode of the suffering.

The nurse drew back the bedclothing and looked intently at the bandage. Then she stretched out her hand, made a rapid motion and replaced the clothing.{28}

Seating herself again beside the bed, the nurse waited quietly. Presently there was a change in the appearance of the white face on the pillow.

The patient, who had hitherto lain quiet as a statue, began to move restlessly and murmured in her swoon.

Rising gently, the nurse laid her ear closely to the lips of the moaning woman. She could hear no articulate words.

The delirium increased. Now the words began to come, but they were wild and wandering.

There was no answer. With a gesture of impatience, the nurse turned away for an instant from the patient whom she was so barbarously torturing.

Then she screamed. It was not a loud cry, but a scream stifled by suddenly closed lips.

She had turned to meet the gaze of sharp eyes which, for some minutes, had rested upon her, though she was far from suspecting that she was observed.{29}

As the faithless nurse fell back before him, he quickly lifted the patient and gently replaced the bandages. Then, by the touch of a bell, he summoned a surgeon.

“The patient seems worse,” said Nick. “I discovered that her bandage had become displaced.”

She had recovered a part of her self-command upon finding that Nick did not intend to expose her immediately.

He led her to the private room of one of the surgeons which had been placed at his disposal.

“Now, murderess,” said he, sternly, “tell me who sent you to do this work?”

“No, there isn’t,” said the woman, coolly. “I was employed to come here and attend that patient. I did it as well as I knew how.{30}”

Nick could not deny to himself the force of her words. He had not seen her remove the bandage. He could not swear that she had done so. It might have been done by the sick woman herself.

A nurse cannot be prosecuted for an error of judgment unless it amounts to criminal carelessness.

It might be doubtful whether in this case Nick could prove to the satisfaction of a jury that this woman intended to kill the patient left in her charge.

“When I lay my hand upon the man who struck the blow, I will prove you to be his accomplice, for I will show that he hired you to come here.”

“I was engaged by Mr. Parks himself. He came to my apartment about two o’clock this afternoon. I brought his card with a note written upon it to the hospital.”

“Did he not say that he knew you for a woman who{31} would do what was required of you, and make no fuss about it?”

Nick, of course, had no doubt of her guilt. In these questions he was simply trying to test the strength of her position.

This question staggered her. Nick saw at once by her manner that the enormous fee she had exacted for this murderous work was then in her pocket or concealed somewhere about her clothing.

“Don’t go to the trouble of lying,” said Nick. “I shall have you searched anyway.

“Now, madam, let me lay the case before you. You believe that that woman was stabbed by the notorious criminal, Doc Helstone, or by his order.

“You think that she possesses the secrets of Helstone’s real identity. You tried to extort his real name from her, in her delirium and agony, fiend that you are!

“You believe that the person who hired you was Doc Helstone himself, and you wish to get a new hold upon{32} him, or rather to be able to find him when you wish to. That’s your case in a nutshell.”

Hardened as this creature was, she shook with fear while the secrets of her heart were being read by Nick’s unerring eye.

What reply she would have made cannot be told, but her demeanor was enough for Nick. He saw that he had penetrated the secret.

As he revolved this question in his mind, and the wretched woman strove to frame some suitable reply to his accusation, there was a knock at the door.

When the eyes of the murderous creature, with whom Nick had been talking, fell upon Parks, they were barren of recognition.

“What do I hear?” cried Parks. “An impostor has appeared claiming to be the nurse sent by me to my wife!”

It required some minutes for Nick to explain the case{33} fully to Parks. Then he asked to see the card bearing his name and the note.

“This is really one of my cards,” said Parks, “but the writing bears no resemblance to mine.”

He sat down by the table and rapidly wrote the words of the message upon a card which he took from his pocket.

“Here is the nurse whom I really engaged,” said Parks, indicating the woman who had accompanied him. “She is well known in the hospital. As for you, murderess——”

His emotion, which he had hitherto repressed, broke out in violent reproaches as he turned upon the creature who had so nearly crushed out his wife’s last chance of life.

She bore the storm firmly and repeated her story that she had come in good faith, and had done the best she could.

There, under his rigid cross-examination, her pretenses melted away. She practically admitted what was charged against her.

Most important of all was the description which she gave of the man who had hired her.

It tallied exactly with the appearance of the man whom Nick had seen walking away from the spot where the crime had been committed.{34}

CHAPTER V.

BENTON, THE ENGLISHMAN.

After Nick’s cross-examination of the nurse he had an interview with Inspector McLaughlin.

Perhaps the reader does not know Ellis Benton so well as the three persons who were present on the occasion described.

Therefore, it may be necessary to explain that Benton is an Englishman, about fifty years old, who has been notorious at various times, as a receiver of stolen goods.

He is undoubtedly one of the sharpest rascals in his line of business, and has made a great deal of money dishonestly. It does not do him much good, however, for he plays faro and never wins.

His enormous losses at the game make him all the more daring and grasping. His success in disposing of stolen jewels is especially remarkable.

“I’ve been in his place,” said Chick, “and I’ve learned that he has important business for to-night.”

“I offered to bring him a lot of stuff at midnight. He wouldn’t hear of it. His answers to my questions made me sure that he has something big on hand.

“I’ll tell you my opinion and my plan,” said Nick. “You know that Helstone’s gang holds its plunder till it shifts its quarters. Then it turns loose upon some ‘fence.’

“When the gang was driven out of East Tenth Street, you remember, its plunder was turned over to old man Abrahams.”

“The stuff, you will remember,” said Nick, “was all turned in the night before Abrahams’ place was raided.”

“Well, I conclude from that that Helstone’s gang does not intrust its plunder to any one person. When it is to be disposed of the whole gang is present.

“There’s no other way of understanding Abrahams’ story which was as near the truth as anything he ever said. It was all right except his descriptions of the men. They were drawn from his imagination.”

“Yes,” assented the inspector, “he was too shrewd to put his customers in quod. He may need them when he gets out himself.”

“Just so,” said Nick, “and now for my plan. I be{36}lieve that Helstone’s gang is just on the point of disposing of its plunder.

“None of Lusker’s stuff has shown up anywhere yet, nor Alterberg’s either. The gang still holds it.

“But now that attention is directed to them they’ll want to turn their swag into cash. Greenbacks are the things to have if sudden flight is necessary. Yes; some ‘fence’ is going to get Helstone’s stuff very soon.

“Now, in my opinion, Benton is the man they’ll go to. He is just the man for them. I’ve had Chick look over the field, and he agrees with me that there are ten chances to one that Benton will get their plunder.

“What I propose to do, therefore, is to capture Benton’s place on the quiet. Not a whisper must be heard on the outside.

“When that is done I’ll wait in the old thief’s place. I’ll disguise myself as Benton, and receive his customers.”

“Well, Nick, I have perfect confidence in your skill. Go ahead. I hope Helstone will be among our mice, but I can’t think so.”

“Inspector,” said Nick, quietly, “when my trap is sprung, Doc Helstone’s neck will be pinched harder than that of any other mouse in it.{37}”

“I know the building. It runs back so far that it cuts into the cross-town lots.”

“That’s it. There’s a little square yard just back of it. An alley runs from the yard to the street below, and there are other near entrances.”

“Well, if it was anybody but you, Nick, I’d say it couldn’t be done. Of course we have sprung traps of that kind, but not when men like Benton were inside. Take care of yourselves, and if there’s any cutting or shooting, let the other fellows get it. The community can spare Benton or any of his crew better than it can spare you two.”

With this piece of good advice, the inspector wished Nick and Chick success, and they left the office.

He spoke without moving his lips and his voice was like a ventriloquist’s. The whisper seemed to be at Nic{38}k’s ear, perfectly distinct. And yet a person on the other side of Chick could not have heard it.

They paused on the corner of Houston Street and the Bowery and exchanged a few words.

Then Chick went up the stairs to the elevated station, and Nick walked along the Bowery, northward.

The detective was dressed on this occasion in a dark blue sack suit. He wore a soft hat, and carried over his arm a light-brown fall overcoat.

Keeping fifty feet or more behind Nick, the shadow walked up the Bowery. Suddenly Nick turned sharply to the left and entered the swinging door of a saloon.

As it closed behind him, and before he passed the main door, he passed his hand over his soft hat, and it took a wholly different shape.

Then he turned the overcoat wrong side out, and slipped it on. Instead of a handsome brown overcoat on his arm he now had a shabby black one on his back.

This was done in less time than it takes to read about{39} it, and without attracting the notice of the bartender or the two or three people in the saloon.

At the same time Nick’s shoulders seemed to grow narrower by about six inches. His figure changed utterly, lost its erectness, and its athletic appearance.

When the shadow entered the saloon Nick was partaking of the free lunch. He seemed to stand in great need of it.

The shadow looked at each of the people in the saloon, and then hurried out by a side door.

On the street, the trailer tried desperately hard to get upon the scent again. Nick lounged on a corner and watched him.

The detective knew that for a little time the shadow would stick to the place where he had lost the trail.

When at last the hopelessness of it dawned upon the young man, he struck off at a rapid pace up the Bowery.

Here the shadow—now shadowed in his turn—walked up to a carriage that was standing beside the curb, and spoke a few words to somebody within.

Then the shadow passed along, and Nick followed for a little distance. As soon, however, as he could shield himself from the observation of the driver on that car{40}riage, he dodged into a dark corner and came out transformed.

Nick wore now the semblance of the young man who had attempted to follow him. The likeness might not have deceived the young man’s mother, but in the evening and upon the street it seemed good enough to answer Nick’s purpose.

Thus disguised, Nick returned hurriedly to the carriage. He was determined to get a sight of the person within.

The coachman made no sign of suspecting anything was wrong. He sat like a statue on the box.

There was a deep shadow on the side of the carriage which Nick approached, for an electric lamp was on the opposite side of the street near the corner.

As he withdrew it again, the driver, with a sudden movement, leaned over from the box and struck Nick a tremendous blow on top of the head with a blackjack.

The detective fell like a log, and the coachman, whipping up his horses, drove away rapidly.{41}

CHAPTER VI.

A POINT GAINED.

It may as well be said at once that Nick was not badly hurt. His hat was not exactly what it seemed to be.

One would have taken it to be soft felt. In reality, it was a better helmet than those which the knights of the Middle Ages wore.

He had fallen under the blow because he believed that course to be the best policy.

Somebody had planned to kill or at least disable him, and he thought it wise to let that person suppose that he had succeeded.

But when the ambulance reached the hospital there was nobody inside it except the surgeon, who winked to the driver and went to his room.

“I caught a glimpse of him,” Chick replied. “He was a tall man with a light-brown beard. I have no doubt he is the same man whom you saw last night.”

“Then we’ve gained a point. We have worked down{42} to the man who is directing all these operations. Three times he has appeared. This settles it.”

“He executed one of the finest disappearances that I ever saw. It was just at the moment when the coachman’s club was over your head. I had to keep the coachman covered, and when I took my eyes off him, the other man had vanished.”

“It’s of no consequence,” said Nick. “At present we want him to be at large. We want to take his gang with him in order to secure the evidence we need.”

“I must go home to receive Ida’s report. At eleven o’clock I will meet you at Twenty-eighth Street and Sixth Avenue. Then we will descend upon the ‘fence.’”

Nick heard the report of his clever young assistant, Ida Jones, and then proceeded at once to his rendezvous with Chick.

It was eleven o’clock exactly when they met. They had assumed the characters of well-known thieves.

Chick was the exact image of “Kid” Leary. Nick was Al Hardy, the notorious second-story thief.

“Pat Powers wanted to take me in,” said Chick, indicating a policeman who stood on the opposite corner. “He{43} says that if I tell any of the boys at the station about it he’ll commit suicide.”

“He doesn’t need to be ashamed of it,” said Nick, surveying the perfect make-up of his friend.

They walked over Twenty-eighth Street to Seventh Avenue, and then downtown until they were nearly opposite the “fence” on Sixth Avenue.

Then Nick took one of the cross streets and Chick the other. Nick was to enter by the alley, and Chick from the front.

At the mouth of the alley Nick encountered a negro whose face was as black as the darkness behind him.

“Shut up, Pete,” said Nick, in a voice exactly like Hardy’s. “Don’t you know me?”

“Look here, Pete, I can’t stand here chinning with you all night. I want to see old man Benton.”

“Well, to tell ye the troof, Mr. Hardy, Mr. Benton ain’t in this evenin’.”

“Go ahead then, if ye know so much,” said the negro.{44} “Ye’ll find I’ve been givin’ it to yer straight. Everything is locked up.”

Nick had known that he could get by the sentinel. Benton could not keep people away by force.

But Nick knew equally well that it would do him no good to get by unless he was welcome. The negro unquestionably had some means of signaling to Benton.

He was, of course, instructed to pass only those who had the countersign or whose names had been given in advance.

In the case of others he would signal unfavorably and they would find “everything locked up.”

Understanding this perfectly well, Nick kept a watchful eye on the negro while passing him. He saw Pete back against the wall of the alley.

“Signal right,” he said, in a voice which showed that he meant it. “Signal right or this goes through your heart.”

Pete could feel a sharp point pressed against his breast. It pricked him, and a few drops of blood began to flow.

He dared not struggle. He was in mortal terror. The{45} grip on his throat was choking him, and the knife was at his heart.

“Fo’ de lub er Heaven, Mr. Hardy,” he gasped, as the pressure on his windpipe relaxed, “don’t cut me an’ I’ll do what you say.”

Nick’s hand left Pete’s throat; the dagger point was withdrawn, but before the trembling negro could take advantage of his improved condition, he found himself worse off than before.

“Yes; I thought so. Here it is in the space where this brick has been removed.

“If you ring that bell the right way I shall be admitted when I knock at Benton’s door. If you don’t I shall have to break it down.

“I prefer to get in quietly. I’m going to gag you and take you up to the head of the alley. If the door is open, I shall go in. If it isn’t I’ll come back and blow your head off.”

“Who are you?” gasped Pete, for Nick at the last had spoken in his usual voice.

Nick brought Pete’s fingers in contact with the button, and the signal was made.

Seizing the negro by the shoulder, he ran him out into the deserted street, and about a third of the way to Seventh Avenue.

“Stand here, as if on guard,” he whispered to Patsy. “When anybody who may by any possibility be one of Helstone’s gang comes along, press this bell four times. Don’t shut anybody out unless you’re perfectly sure we don’t want him.”

Having spoken these words, Nick ran up the alley. He feared that Benton, having heard the favorable signal, would be impatient for his customer.

In the little yard behind the house in which was the “fence,” there was no light whatever.

Nick found two or three steps leading up to a door which, by daylight, seemed to be frail, but was in reality strengthened by iron bands.

On this door he knocked cautiously four times. It was opened, disclosing a perfectly dark hall.

Nick entered. He could not see the person who admitted him, but he supposed that it must be Benton.

Nick might have seized the rascal there, and he meditated doing it. But he desired to see all the formalities of the place.

He wished to know how the thieves were received, because it would soon be his turn to receive them.

Moreover, the hall was so dark that he might easily make a mistake in his calculations. If he fell upon Benton and failed to shut off his wind instantly, the outcry would ruin his plans.

Then, too, for all he knew there might be somebody else in the hall. He could see nothing. Half a dozen men might have been standing there without his knowing it.

The flash of light had come so suddenly and been so speedily withdrawn that it had dazzled him without disclosing anything.

A door opened. Nick knew this by the current of air, though he could not see the door, nor did he hear it move upon its hinges.

The hand upon his arm guided him into a perfectly dark room, where he was presently told to sit down. He{48} found a bench behind him, and he sat upon it because there did not seem to be anything else to do.

Nick heard nothing of Benton. He could not be sure that the old man was still in the room.

There was a sound of suppressed breathing, the faint noise made by persons who are trying to keep still.

Presently there was a ring at the bell. The faint sound made itself audible, but it was impossible to say from what direction it came.

Then came a faint sound which Nick took to be the departure of Benton to let in his visitor.

Would it be possible to make a light without stirring up such a tumult as would alarm the whole city?

CHAPTER VII.

IN THE GLOOM.

All this darkness and mystery did not surprise Nick. He knew that Benton was a great man for hocus-pocus.

He had signs and passwords, and surrounded himself with precautions which looked childish.

There was a purpose in all this, however. By keeping a good many silly mysteries in motion he managed very often to cover up the real mystery and direct attention elsewhere.

It was just like him to collect the whole Helstone gang in the dark for no other purpose than to show them what a mysterious character he was. By and by he might bring a lamp, and then the business would proceed in the most ordinary way in the world.

Nick wondered whether it was possible that he had been recognized. If so, he knew that Benton would never let him get out of the place alive, unless he couldn’t help it.

Presently the bell rang again. This time, by listening with the deepest attention, Nick made sure that Benton went to the rear door—the one by which Nick himself had been admitted.

Then Nick was sure that something out of the common{50} course had happened. It would be hard to say just how he knew it. Only his great experience enabled him to interpret the faint sounds which he heard.

The caller, whoever he was, was not ushered into the room in which Nick sat. Of that Nick felt certain.

Benton, however, returned. By straining every nerve in the most rigid attention, Nick ascertained that.

Afterward it seemed to him that Benton had touched some other person in the room and was leading him out.

Nick began to be anxious. He made a sign which should have elicited a response from Chick if he had been present, but only silence ensued.

Nick could not see him, of course. The darkness was as profound as ever. But by this time he had learned to recognize the old man’s stealthy tread.

Nick listened intently. He seemed to know by instinct that Benton was listening also.

“Something has gone wrong, sure,” said Nick to himself. “I must act quickly or all is lost.”

And another sound now began to be audible. It was the faint noise of impeded breathing.

Nick knew that sound. In the midst of that perfect{51} darkness he recognized the person who was breathing as plainly as if he had seen the man by the light of day.

Nick had known Pete for some years. The negro had a slight asthmatic affection, which made his breathing just the least bit more difficult than a healthy man’s.

He also had a peculiar habit of drawing in his breath with a faint rattling sound once in about two minutes.

Then he had informed Benton that Nick Carter had got inside the house disguised as Al Hardy.

The wily old man, on receiving this information, had quietly removed the other persons from the room in which Nick was, and had then come in with the negro to take vengeance upon the detective.

This lamp was arranged to be used as a bull’s-eye or by removing the coverings from the sides it could be made to throw its light about as an ordinary lamp does.

Nick removed the side coverings. At that moment he could hear the two assassins very close to him.

Suddenly he pressed the spring of the lamp, and leaped to one side as agile as a cat.{52}

It revealed the evil countenance of Benton, with his thin, cruel lips, and habitual sneer. It shone upon the brutal face of the negro.

Each of them held a knife in his hand. They were bending forward, and were just ready to strike.

Every crook in New York—not to go further—knows Nick Carter’s reputation as a pistol shot.

Probably there is not a criminal in the whole city who would dream of making any resistance if he found himself covered by a revolver in Nick’s hands.

“Lay those knives down on the floor carefully,” said Nick. “Don’t make any noise or I’ll make a louder one.”

The two villains obeyed, Benton with hatred and chagrin visible in every movement, the negro with the alacrity of perfect submission.

Of Pete, at least, Nick felt sure. The man was an arrant coward, and Nick’s only wonder was that he had been induced to assist in murder.{53}

These directions he gave in a low voice, which could not be heard beyond the limits of the apartment.

“Now walk straight to the wall and put your face against it. If you look round, you’re a dead man.”

“I’ll do it,” whined the negro, whose terror was doubled when his back was turned to the object of his alarm; “don’t you go for to shoot, an’ I won’t make no trouble.”

Meanwhile Nick put one of the revolvers into his pocket, and drew out a pair of handcuffs.

As Benton held out his hands, Nick, for an instant, removed the pistol’s muzzle from a direct line with the other’s head.

Benton’s eye was quick to see this. Instantly he leaped forward to seize Nick’s hand, at the same time calling upon Pete to help him.

The hand in which Nick held the fetters leaped out and struck Benton on the point of his jaw, and he fell like a rag baby.

Pete turned at the sound of his name, but his head spun round again without any delay.

He saw Nick holding Benton’s unconscious form across his arm, as one might hold an old coat.{54}

“I ain’t doin’ nothin’,” protested the negro. “Don’t trouble ’bout pointin’ that gun at me.”

“You behave yourself and you’ll be all right,” said Nick. “Keep those hands up.”

Assuring himself that Pete was thoroughly intimidated, Nick bent over the form of the “receiver” and fettered him securely. He added a gag, which would keep him quiet in case he should regain consciousness before he could be put in a safe place.

It was Pete’s turn next, and he was bound in a way which made a second escape impossible. He, too, was gagged.

“I believe, Mr. Benton,” said Nick, addressing the “fence,” who, however, had not sufficiently recovered to hear him, “that there is a cellar under this apartment.”

With little trouble Nick found a trapdoor which could be raised. He lifted it and discovered a ladder leading down into the darkness.

He lowered Benton down into this place with a piece of rope, and then steadied Pete so that the negro made the descent, although his hands were tied behind him.

The cellar was a damp and unwholesome dungeon, but it extended a long way in the direction of Sixth Avenue.

This was what Nick had hoped, for it gave him an opportunity to dispose of his two captives at such distance from the rooms which Benton occupied that their cries, muffled by the gags, could not be heard.{55}

A partition divided the cellar, and there was a door in it. Nick made his prisoners secure on the other side of this door, and then he returned to the room in which he had captured them.

Then, extinguishing his light, he put it into his pocket, and made his way along the hall toward the rear door.

He passed out into the little yard, and thence to the alley where he had left Patsy.

The fate of his young assistant was a black problem in Nick’s mind. He greatly feared that Patsy had been murdered.

Therefore his satisfaction was great when, in the mouth of the alley, he found Patsy leaning against the wall.

“They pretty nearly did me up, Nick,” said Patsy. “I guess they left me for dead. But I’m worth half a dozen dead men.”

“I don’t exactly know. The negro must have crept up along the wall. The first thing I knew he was on top of me, and he got in a chance blow with a sandbag.

“Why it didn’t kill me I can’t understand. It lit fair enough. Is the game up, Nick?”

“You’ve had a narrow escape, my boy,” he said, “but{56} you don’t seem to be much hurt. Do you feel well enough to go on guard again?”

“Well, I’ll let you do it, since the case is so desperate, but if your head troubles you too much, just push the bell six times as a signal to me and then drop into a carriage on the avenue and go to see Dr. Allen.”

“Don’t you worry about me, Nick,” replied the boy. “I’m only ashamed to have him get the best of me.”

CHAPTER VIII.

A SEMICIRCLE OF CRIME.

The room where he had met with the adventures already narrated was on his right.

A moment’s thought convinced Nick that the voices were those of the men who had been in the room with him, and had been led out by Benton.

He resolved to join them. Therefore he threw open the door on his left and entered a room.

It was not perfectly dark, as the other had been. A small bead of gas flame struggled with the shadows.

In its light Nick saw three men, whom he instantly{57} knew to be crooks. One of them, Reddy Miller, had been suspected of belonging to Helstone’s gang.

“Come, Ellis,” said Miller, the instant Nick appeared, “we’ve had enough fiddling round. Tell us what’s the object of all this mystery.”

Benton had evidently given no alarm to these fellows when Pete had brought the news of Nick’s presence.

He had been confident that he could put the detective out of the way, and he had reasoned that if he did it without letting the thieves know, they would stay, and he could do a good stroke of business with them. On the other hand, if he let them know that a detective had got in, they would clear out at once.

If Benton had seen any signs of a police trap, he would not have tried this game, but he was shrewd enough to infer from the circumstances that Nick was not the forerunner of a squad of police.

All these thoughts passed through Nick’s brain in a flash as Reddy Miller spoke.

“Mystery? Well, why not? This isn’t the sort of business to be proclaimed from the housetops.”

“Rats!” replied Miller, in a tone of disgust; “you go through all these monkey tricks because you’re a cussed old crank. Now come down to business.{58}”

“But we can’t come down to business yet,” said Nick. “Our friends are not all here.”

“What I want to know,” said Miller, “is whether you’re ready to make the big deal. Can you take all of the stuff off our hands?”

“Don’t be so fast, Reddy,” said one of the other crooks. “Wait till the others get here. The Doc himself is coming.”

“Don’t you believe it,” said Miller. “The Doc is going to lay mighty low for a while. Things are pretty warm for him.”

The bell rang again. Nick had learned to distinguish the alley bell from the other. This time he was summoned to the front of the house.

“I’ve had a fearful time getting in,” said Chick. “Sixth Avenue seems to be plastered with Benton’s lookouts.

“I tried to get by the sentry, but he wanted a password. I said ‘Helstone,’ at a venture, and it didn’t go.

“My game was to pretend that I was too drunk to remember the password. Finally I went around to the alley where I met Patsy, who had learned the password from a crook whom he had let in.

“Of course I might have gone in that way, but I thought it best to pass the other sentry, convince him that I was all right, and thus quiet any suspicion which I might have aroused.{59}”

“I’ve got three of them in the room at the rear. I think we’d better secure them now, and then take the others singly, as they drop in.”

The two detectives went at once to the rear room, and before the three crooks had time to suspect any danger, they found themselves covered by revolvers in the hands of Nick and Chick.

It was now a little after midnight. For half an hour the members of Doc Helstone’s gang arrived rapidly.

While Nick answered the bell, Chick stood guard over the captives, revolver in hand.

Eleven criminals, every one a specialist in some line of theft, sat in a semicircle, facing a sort of desk which Benton ordinarily used when he had business on hand.

Nick had found a lot of heavy wooden chairs in one of the rooms, and in these the crooks sat, every one handcuffed and fastened to his chair.

The infernal regions could hardly furnish such a row of scowling faces. The crooks saw themselves trapped, and their rage was boundless.

On the desk and around it was spread out the plunder which they had brought. Its value went up well into the tens of thousands.

It had been arranged that Inspector McLaughlin should come at three o’clock. He wished to see the mice in the trap.

The crooks had stopped coming by that time, and so Benton’s sentries were gathered in and sent to the station.

Several of them were men whom he had long desired to have in exactly this position.

“Is Doc Helstone among them?” he asked. “There are two or three of these fellows whom I don’t know. Is he one of them?”

“Right; he should be here to look over this plunder. And more than that, he has a right to see the capture of his wife’s murderer.”

A light was burning in the library of the residence on Madison Avenue when Nick rang the door bell.{61}

“Mr. Parks,” said Nick, “I have something of great importance to say to you—so great that I would have roused you at this hour, but I see that you have not retired.”

“In the first place,” Nick said, when they were seated in that apartment, “let me ask what you have heard regarding your wife’s condition?”

“I have secured hourly reports,” Parks replied. “There has been no change.”

“You can hardly wish, believing what you do of her, that she should recover. Her fate might be worse than death.”

“Nevertheless,” Nick continued, “you cannot be indifferent to the arrest of the assassin.”

The question was asked in a voice that was like a groan. The man’s eyes blazed.

“I will not answer that question now,” said Nick, “but come with me and in an hour at the furthest I will set you face to face with the cowardly villain who struck that blow.{62}”

CHAPTER IX.

PARKS IN DISGUISE.

A carriage was in waiting, and it conveyed them rapidly to the “fence” on Sixth Avenue.

Nick guided Parks through the dark halls, but he did not take him to the room where the crooks sat chafing in their fetters.

Instead, the two went into the room on the other side of the hall. Nick struck a light, and they took chairs.

“I am simply following you,” said Parks. “I do not understand what we have come here for.”

“To meet the assassin,” said Nick; “but before we do that I wish to impose one condition on you.”

“True; I had not finished. It is important that when you face the assassin you should not do it in your own character.”

“That is hardly more definite. But why should I argue the point? It is immaterial. I am willing to assume a disguise.”

“I will disguise you now. You have heard, perhaps, that I have skill in such matters.”

It was wonderful to see the change which Nick produced in Parks’ appearance. It was not done so quickly as would have been the case with the detective’s own face, but it was done with amazing skill and care.

Looking into it Parks beheld a dark, bearded countenance. Paints, cleverly applied, threw such shadows upon the eyes that though they were really gray they looked black.

“We were speaking, some minutes ago,” he said, “of the character of your wife, as these tragic events have disclosed it.”

“Mr. Parks, your wife is a pure and innocent woman, the victim of brutal wretches.”

“Mr. Carter,” he cried, “in Heaven’s name, present the proof quickly, if you have any.{64}”

“You believe that your wife stole her own jewels in order to pawn or sell them.”

“She confessed to me when she had wasted her own fortune. She promised to reform.”

“Twenty-four hundred dollars. I happened to have an unusual amount of money in the house that night.”

“If she stole that money for speculation, it is reasonable to suppose that she used it immediately for that purpose, is it not?”

“Well, Mr. Parks, I have traced your wife’s movements for almost every day of last August.”

“Yes; by means of one of my assistants, a very clever and well-taught young lady.”

“How can you be sure of that? A person does not have to go to Wall Street in order to dabble in stocks.”

“I know it; but a person whose fate is on the turn of that dreadful game does not spend her time as your wife did.”

“In the noblest works of charity; in the homes of the poor on the East Side. It was there that she spent her days, not hanging over a stock ticker in some resort of fashionable women gamblers.”

“It is true. I know of one family which she visited every week day between August 3d and August 21st. I know several others where she was a regular visitor.”

“She spent a great deal of money in these charities, too. That does not look like the work of a ruined gambler.”

“Let us suppose that your wife was deeply attached to him. Let us say that after long watching, and years, perhaps, of dark suspicion, she discovered that he was a thief.

“Unwilling to believe any other evidence than that of{66} her own eyes, she follows him. She sees him enter a den of thieves. She learns that he is their leader.”

“Let us say that she enters this den of thieves. She has found their private way.

“They are thunderstruck when she appears, though only the leader knows her. She walks up to a table on which lies the plunder which they are dividing.

“She seizes some of it in her hands. She is mad with the horror of the scene, perceiving one she loves in such a place.

“They do not dare to kill her, for they have no means of disposing of the body. She does not see that she is in great danger.

“She threatens them. She urges upon this man—your nephew, let us say—to make restitution and reform.

“It is what a woman might do though a man would smile at it. He curses her. She seizes some of the jewels and rushes out saying that she will expose everything.

“The rank and file of the thieves’ gang would murder her rather than permit her to leave the room.

“The villain who did this is called Helstone. He is the leader of a gang of thieves. His real name has been unknown to the police.”

“Wait. That was only a supposition. Let us see if there is not somebody who was bound to her by a closer tie.”

“That you, Morton Parks, are Helstone. It was not your nephew, it was you she followed. Yes; I say it, and I shall ask you to test the truth of it.”

“In this house, at this moment, I hold the most of Helstone’s gang of thieves. Dare you face them?”

“You are disguised, it is true. I have purposely changed your appearance as much as possible. But it will not serve.”

They passed into a room which opened into that in which sat the fettered thieves.

“Keep your eye on this man,” said Nick, but in a tone so low that it could not be heard in the other room.

Nick entered the large room where Inspector McLaugh{68}lin sat with a revolver in each hand, facing the semicircle of crooks.

“Now, gentlemen,” said Nick, briskly, “you probably give me a great deal of credit for having trapped you so neatly.”

“I am too modest, however,” he continued, “to take glory which is not my due.”

Again he paused, and this time the crooks appeared to take more serious interest in what he was saying.

“Another man has really done the work,” Nick went on. “Without him you would never be in the predicament in which you now find yourselves, with Sing Sing prison open before you.”

“I am happy to clear Mr. Benton of that imputation,” said Nick. “He did not do it.”

Parks and Chick entered on the instant. Nick could not help admiring the man’s nerve.

And he had seen his disguise—the most utterly impenetrable which ever shrouded the face of any human being.{69}

He remembered the swarthy skin, the flashing black eyes, the beard of the color of a raven’s wing.

Yet when he appeared a cry broke from every crook’s throat in that criminal assembly.

Miller and one other actually burst their bonds in the frenzy of their wrath against the man whom they believed had betrayed them.

And Morton Parks stood there utterly at a loss for a defense. The recognition was too sudden and unanimous.

“Mr. Parks,” said Nick, stepping forward, “I promised that within the hour I would bring you face to face with the coward and villain who stabbed your wife.

With a sudden movement Nick raised a mirror which he had held concealed behind him and thrust it before Parks’ face.

In that mirror he saw his face wearing the exact disguise which he had led his gang of thieves to believe was the real countenance of Doc Helstone.

There was the light-brown beard parted in the middle, there were the gray eyes and light eyebrows, and rather pale skin.

“Surprised, are you?” said Nick. “Why, it was the simplest thing in the world.

“When I made your face up half an hour ago I used{70} a false beard colored with a substance which is black when it is moist, but light-brown when it is dry.

“Your eyebrows were colored with the same substance. It dries very quickly. Five minutes after I showed you the dark face in the glass you had begun to look like Doc Helstone. Every black line was fading into brown.

“The tint which I used on your skin acts the same way. It turns from a tan color to a pale flesh tint by simply being exposed to the air.

“It was very interesting to watch your face change into the character you so much wished to avoid. Of course you couldn’t see it yourself. It was changing almost all the time that we were talking.

“When you entered this room you fancied that you were disguised. In reality, your face was exactly as you now see it—the face of the man whom I saw walking away from the woman who had been stabbed.”

CHAPTER X.

“SPEAKING OF SELLS.”

“The trap has been sprung and Helstone is in it. Come, my man, what have you to say?”

“I have this to say,” said he, boldly, “that this identification is meaningless. The detective has painted my face{71} to represent a well-known criminal, and I am mistaken for him, that’s all.”

“Don’t be foolish, Doc,” said Miller. “We all know you. Now tell us why you sold us.”

“He didn’t sell you,” said the inspector. “This gentleman sold you”—pointing to Nick—“but it was a different kind of sell.

“And, speaking of sells. I have cells for every one of you. Shall we march them away, Nick?”

Morton Parks’ face became ashen. Then for an instant it cleared. If his wife was conscious he was not yet a murderer, at least he could save his life out of the ruin of his fortunes.

“It is fate,” the man muttered. “I have never for an instant expected to escape it.”

“I found it in the character of Mrs. Parks,” said Nick. “She could not be a thief or willingly the associate of{72} thieves. She was not the sort of woman who leads a double life.

“Yet she was proved to have been in a resort of thieves. What motive could have carried her there?

“I answer, only love, or what was left of it after respect had been destroyed—the love of some man.

“What man? To know her character was to answer that question. It must be her husband.”

“For that I must thank my assistant, Ida Jones. I sent her on that part of the case as soon as the identity of the woman was known. She reported to me from time to time. It was easy enough to trace her, she had so many friends among the poor. Ida had only to get a tip from Park’s coachman and the thing was done.”

“I told him I would show him the murderer of his wife. He could not refuse to come.

“Once here, I asked him if he dared to meet the Helstone gang. Could he say that he did not dare? That would have been confession.

“Why, I take it that when Mrs. Parks tracked her husband to the resort of his gang and entered it after him there was wild confusion.

“Very little was said that anybody understood or remembered. There was a heap of plunder on the table for the gang was ready to move.{73}

“Mrs. Parks snatched these diamonds as a corroboration of the story she intended to tell to the police. So tremendous was the excitement that nobody noticed her action.

“When Parks followed her out and murdered her, he dared not remove the diamonds for fear somebody would see him. The horror that comes on all murderers came on him.”

“In order to get hold of the gems before the rightful owner could identify them and in order to make the police believe that Mrs. Parks was a thief and a companion of thieves. It gave him a chance to tell this lie about stock gambling.”

“I never wish to look on his face again,” she said. “He is a bad man and deserves punishment, but you must deal with him on a charge of robbery, not on a charge of assault.”

As the leader of a gang of burglars, Parks was put on trial and sentenced to ten years.

Nick thought he had seen the last of him when he saw him go on board the train in charge of Special Detective Jones, who was to convey the criminal to Sing Sing.

But Parks was not a man to take his punishment without an effort to escape it.{74}

Docilely he took his seat alongside the plain-clothes man in the smoking car, which was then empty.

Jones took out a paper and settled himself back for the long ride; glancing once or twice at the placid face of the man beside him.

Truth to tell, he had an immense respect for this criminal leader, and he appreciated the responsibility of the task that had devolved upon him in lieu of the deputy sheriff who usually escorted prisoners to Sing Sing.

The car began to fill, but no one glanced at the detective and his prisoner, for Jones was in plain clothes, and his newspaper covered the handcuffs that linked Parks’ right hand with the left hand of the detective.

Parks ventured a word or two and presently led Detective Jones into a conversation. He was a highly educated man, and he had the gift of telling a story in an interesting fashion.

With his unfettered left hand Parks drew from his pocket a cigar case, fumbled with it a minute or two, and soon had a long, black weed between his teeth.

The cigar case stopped on its way to his pocket, while he waited for the detective’s answer.

There was a peculiar gleam in his eyes as the detective struck a match and lit up.

Parks talked on pleasantly for a little while, but soon relapsed into silence as the train rushed on, carrying him nearer and nearer to Sing Sing.

The car was uncomfortably warm. There was a drowsiness about the air that made it difficult to keep the eyes open.

He tried to fasten his attention on a particularly thrilling newspaper story, but the letters danced before his eyes; his eyes closed; he was asleep.

Parks emitted a grunt that might mean anything, then stretching out his legs and resting his head on the back of the seat, he followed his escort’s example and closed his eyes.

Mr. Parks seemed to be asleep, too, but there was no one more awake than he at that moment.

This was the thought that surged in his brain. He mentally repeated the phrase over and over again, then cautiously he opened his eyes.

Just across the aisle were two Italian workmen, too much engrossed in reciting their individual woes to notice anything else.

Over his shoulder he got a glimpse of a commercial man, studying his notebook. There was no danger to be apprehended from this quarter.{76}

Under cover of the newspaper he slid his left hand over to the detective’s waistcoat.

“I’ll need a few extra dollars,” he told himself, though he despised this petty theft.

At the next stop he left his seat, and, mingling with the other travelers, passed out.

CHAPTER XI.

THE FUGITIVE.

Morton Parks asked himself this question as he sat down on a fallen tree to rest.

He had rubbed the dust of the road on his face and had considerably altered his whole appearance by tearing rents in his clothing and pulling the crown out of his hat.

He looked like a tramp, and it was in this character he hoped to escape the vigilance of the police who were now scouring the country for him.{77}

“I would like to get back to New York,” he mused, “and yet I daren’t show up as Doc Helstone, and nobody knows Morton Parks.

“Stop! I had forgotten Gilmore and Geary, the high-power burglars. They know me in both characters. But they have left New York by this time. When I saw them last they were making arrangements for a big bank robbery in Chicago, and I remember they said they were going to bore into the vault with an electric drill.

“I laughed at the scheme, but I hadn’t any intention of joining them then. Why shouldn’t I get to Chicago and give Gilmore and Geary a hand? Yes, by jingo, that’s my plan.

“I’ll have to beg or steal my way there, but I ought to know how to do that.”

Mr. Chester Smith, the wealthy Chicago banker, threw himself into an easy-chair in the office of the chief of police, and looked decidedly ugly.

“I’d like to know what they didn’t get,” was the excited reply, “and I was at home every minute of the time, too.”

There was a quiet smile on the chief’s face as he sat looking at his excited friend.

“They entered my house while I was at home,” continued the banker, “ransacked every room in it, took my watch and pocketbook from under my pillow, and my revolver from a table drawer near the bed.”

“But that isn’t half of it. They went from my room to the kitchen, and what do you think they did there?”

“Well, they lit a fire and cooked breakfast. Then they went to the cellar and tapped my wine.”

“Then they rigged themselves out in my clothes and put their own old duds in the clothes press. But the worst is yet to come, and for iridescent audacity, it breaks the record.”

“Last week I bought a bulldog, whose sole duty it is to watch the premises. This morning I found him shut up in the coalhouse, with a heavy rubber band around his jaws, and a tag tied to his tail. The tag reads as follows:

“‘We didn’t take yer purp, ’cos we thought mebbe as how he wos raised a pet, an’ you might be fond of him.’”

“We are having a great deal of trouble with burglars lately,” he said, “and I am often at a loss what to do.”

“And nearly all recent burglaries are unusually daring and successful, are they not?”

“They are all daring, and I am sorry to say that nearly all are successful.”

“Well, we ought to have a few men like Nick on the Chicago detective force.”

The banker gave a few additional details regarding the burglary at his residence, and went away.

John Mitchell, returning to his residence on Boston Avenue one evening, saw that he was being followed by several men, and started off on a run.

It was quite dark, but Mitchell could see the men plainly every time they came to a street lamp.

Then the toughs seemed to understand that they were likely to lose their prey, and one of them darted forward and dealt him a stunning blow on the side of the head.

When Mitchell fell, he went through the door of his home, and landed in the hallway.{80}

The struggle which followed attracted the attention of two men who resided in the family.

But the highwayman was a desperate fellow, and seemed to be fighting for his life.

With the full weight of the three men upon him, he still struggled to his feet, shaking the men from his back as a huge dog throws off water.

Then he made for the door. His companions had disappeared, and the patrolman on the beat had been attracted to the spot by the noise of the combat.

Pursuit soon died out, and the fellow stopped to rest in the shelter of a cluster of stables.

His clothes, though of good material, were of the cheapest, and in shocking condition.

His broken shoes were soaked with mud and water, and his crownless hat afforded little protection from the weather.

When, occasionally, the light of a street lamp shone upon him, it revealed a countenance haggard and worn, yet it was the face of Morton Parks.

In all the city of Chicago that night there was probably no more piteous object than the escaped criminal. For lack of money this leader of criminals had become a common highwayman.

Dodging here and there through the semi-deserted streets in the banking and real-estate district—for it was{81} now after ten o’clock—the fugitive at length entered a prosperous-looking oyster and chophouse and asked for the proprietor.

The waiter looked at the disreputable figure in amazement for a moment and then pointed toward the door.

Then a handsomely dressed fellow with a long, drooping mustache and flowing side whiskers of the Dundreary type, stepped into the room.

A signal passed between the robber and the keeper of the restaurant, and the two men were soon closeted in a private room.

“It’s easy, Gilmore. I was on the road to Sing Sing. I escaped. I only had a dollar or two, that I stole from the detective.”

“Go on; don’t worry about the details. We can fill them in afterward. How do you come to be here in this plight?”

“My New York gang had been run in. I knew you had come to Chicago. I became a tramp, got in with a lot of thugs and finally landed here because it’s the only place where I expect to meet a friend.”

“Don’t be too sure,” said Gilmore, brutally. “Nobody likes to have an escaped criminal on his hands.”

“That’s nothing to do with the case. Who sent you to Sing Sing?” he asked, suddenly.

The restaurant man walked up and down the floor for a moment with a heavy frown on his face.

“No man with my police record—as you hinted—can do well anywhere,” was the angry answer.

“I noticed a bank next door,” said Parks. “I presume this place is a starter for the electric-drill scheme you once spoke of.”

“It is nothing of the sort,” said Gilmore. “I have decided to have nothing to do with that scheme.”

“It is strange that you should locate a place like this—next door to a bank, then. There can’t be much money in the trade you get here.”

“There is money enough here if the sneaks of the profession would only let me alone.”

“Another word like that,” he shouted, “and I’ll give you dead away to the police. You can’t talk to a man of my stamp in that fashion.”

“But suppose Nick Carter follows you here, and recognizes me? I’ll be pulled in, too.{83}”

“Drop Nick Carter. Lend me some money. I need a complete outfit, and something to buy food and drink with.”

“There is no bell to this room. He came here for the purpose of spotting you.”

“We can’t afford to quarrel,” he said, “if that is Nick Carter, or one of his assistants.”

“Help me out,” he said, “and I’ll get rid of the fellow. Then we can put up the electric-drill burglary, and make enough money to get out of the country.”

He had once been a leader of crooks, and disliked to mention the incident on Boston Avenue.

At last, however, he explained just what had taken place, and was roundly cursed by Gilmore for coming to his place after having attempted so daring a crime.

“You will be sure to be tracked,” Gilmore said, “if you remain in your present condition, and that will endanger my place. How much cash do you want to fix yourself up with?”

“Fifty dollars will do for the present. It’s a change for Morton Parks to be begging a paltry fifty-dollar bill, but my luck has turned—that’s all.”

“And you will help me to get rid of these people, and also assist in the electric-drill scheme?”

“So you are into that, after all,” said Parks. “I thought so all the time. Yes, I will help you all I can in both directions if you stake me now.”

Gilmore took a folded paper from his pocketbook and spread it out on the table. It was nothing more nor less than a carefully drawn plan of the buildings surrounding the bank which adjoined the restaurant.

“Here is the bank vault,” explained Gilmore, “and here is my place. The plan is to break through the cellar wall under this floor, and cut through the granite and steel walls of the bank with an electric drill. It can be done in two hours.”

“No. The vault is two feet lower than the floor of the bank above, and we shall strike it just about right.”

“Oh! I put in a patent electric motor for a dishwasher, and contracted for electric fly fans for next summer. So that is all right.”

While the men were figuring over the plan, the sound of breaking crockery came from the front end of the place.

They both dashed out, for it was quite evident that there was serious trouble in the main dining room.

“One of the waiters threw a server of dishes at a customer,” explained an employee.

“They had some words, sir,” continued the waiter, “and the customer tried to grab the waiter.”

Geary was revived, and the three men went back to the private room together. There a new surprise awaited them.

The plan they had been examining was not there, although Gilmore and Parks had left it on the table when they rushed out.

There was a movement by the door, and Geary turned, to see the man who had struck him stealing out of the room.

“Don’t allow him to escape,” roared Gilmore. “He has the missing paper. Shoot him down.”

The proprietor drew a revolver as he spoke, but Geary caught his hand in time to prevent the shot.

“I don’t want him to escape,” said Gilmore, making a dive for the young man, who was just passing out of the doorway.

The burglar was a powerful man, but he was little more than a baby in the hands of the man he sought to detain.

He was whirled from his feet in an instant, and thrown{87} against his two companions, who were now advancing to assist him.

Before the three men could do anything more to keep the young man from leaving the room, he had closed the door with a bang and darted through the restaurant to the street.

“Why didn’t you catch him?” demanded the proprietor. “The man is a thief, and the racket out here was nothing but a scheme to steal some private papers from my room.”

“I am glad that one employee has some sense,” growled Gilmore. “When Nixon comes back, send him to my room.”

Nixon was an old crook, who had been brought on from New York to keep track of things in the restaurant.

“I told you he was a detective, didn’t I?” demanded Gilmore of Parks, as soon as the door of the private room was closed.

“Because he stood in front of the door when I opened it a few minutes ago. Then, to account for his presence there, he asked if I had rung for him.”

“I spotted him when I came in to-night,” said Geary, “and accused him of trying to pick my pocket. He threw the dishes at me, and I made a grab for him. That’s all I know about it. He strikes a hard blow, whoever he is.”

“Then he followed me here, and spotted this place the first thing, knowing that I would be likely to come here,” said Parks.

“I don’t know about that,” said Gilmore, lifting a piece of paper from the floor as he spoke.

The paper was the missing plan, which the intruder had undoubtedly dropped in the scuffle.

“So the electric-drill scheme is safe for the present, at least,” said Parks, “but there is no knowing how long it will remain so, for the man just in here was Chick, Nick Carter’s assistant.”

“Then you make a skip,” said Geary, “and don’t come here again. We can communicate by letter.”

CHAPTER XII.

“ONE OF THE BOYS.”

Nick Carter, sitting in his room, at the Windsor Hotel, on Dearborn Street, looked up with a smile, as Chick rushed into the room and hastened to the window.

“I’m glad you came in early to-night,” said Nick, “for I am feeling a trifle annoyed.”

“It’s taking altogether too much time to get this man Parks back to Sing Sing.”

Chick turned out the gas, threw the window blinds wide open, and sat down in front of the window.

“I have a little surprise for you. Parks is at present trying to renew acquaintance with two famous high-power burglars, Gilmore and Geary.”

“That’s just what I’d like to know. You see, I dropped it in the scuffle before I had a chance to look at it.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, “that there are no charges against Gilmore and Geary. I’d run them in to-night.”

“Yes, and that Gilmore chophouse is next door to a bank. Do you begin to catch on?”

“I was wondering if you had the same idea as myself,” said Nick. “I see you have. We will postpone the rearrest of Parks until we get ready to bag the other villains. What are you looking at out there?”

“No,” said Chick, with a laugh, “my acquaintance with crooks is not so extensive as is that of my chief.”

“Well, it’s Nixon, the all-around crook from New York,” replied the detective. “I wonder what he’s up to now?{91}”

This last remark was caused by Nixon stepping out on the walk and stopping two men who were passing.

“They’re a tough-looking pair,” said Chick, “and he seems to be well acquainted with them. I believe they are going away together.”

Instead of starting away, however, the three men stepped into the cigar store and stood there by the counter, Nixon never taking his eyes from the doorway through which Chick had entered the hotel.

In about five minutes he looked like the prosperous advance agent of a negro minstrel company—one of the fellows who always talk show, no matter where they are, and who want everybody with whom they come in contact to know that they belong to the “perfesh.”

“How’s this?” he asked. “This will be apt to take down there in the chophouse, won’t it?”

“Not with me, and not in that rig,” was the reply, and the next moment the detective was on his way across the street to the cigar store, having left the hotel by a side entrance.

It took but a moment for Nick to get into conversation with Nixon, for the crook was quick to recognize “one of the boys,” and Nick declared, on entering the cigar store, that there wasn’t a decent chophouse in the whole city of Chicago.

The two toughs stepped back, and the detective and Nixon were soon on their way to the restaurant.{92}

The first thing Nick saw, on entering the place, was the open door of the private room.

“There comes Nixon now,” Nick heard Parks say, “and we may as well see what he has to say.”

Nick seated himself at a table and ordered a chop, and Nixon went back to the private room.

In a moment the two men who had left Nixon at the cigar store entered the place and sat down at the rear table.

The waiter seemed to know them, for he went back and opened a conversation with them.

Nick could not hear what they were saying, for the distance was too great, but he could now and then catch a word.

“I tell you, it’s a sure thing,” Nick heard Nixon say; “for he’s up there at the Windsor Hotel.”

“That’s easy enough,” was the reply, and then the men talked in whispers again.

“They’ll have a nice job coaxing Chick to come out and be killed,” he thought.

Presently a muscular-looking young fellow entered the{93} room and seated himself at a table not far from that occupied by Nick.

His oily trousers were thrust into the tops of a pair of heavy, unpolished boots, and he wore a baggy, blue woolen shirt under his rough coat, which smelled of machine oil. No vest or suspenders were in sight, and his closely cropped head was covered with a greasy felt hat.

He ordered a light meal and took out a huge roll of bills, as if to pay for it in advance.

“Now there’ll be a picnic,” he thought, wondering how the attempt to rob the young mechanic would be made.

He did not think Gilmore would allow any work of the kind on the premises, for it would be certain to become known, and would direct the attention of the police to the place, a thing which the burglar could by no means afford to have done.

Nick’s chop was finished by this time, but he ordered a cup of coffee and a cigar, and sat there smoking and waiting.

Before long one of the toughs walked over to where the young mechanic was sitting.

“I’ve just been strikin’ de boss fer a lunch,” he said, with a grin, “an’ I couldn’t make it stick. Can’t you help me out?”

“Fill him up,” he said, shortly. Nick started at the{94} sound of his voice, and then a pleased smile crept over his face.

In a moment the seeming mechanic took out his money again to pay for what the tough had ordered.

As the tough leaned forward he caught the other’s right square on the throat, and went down to the floor like a log.

The fallen man’s companion, Nixon, and three or four waiters made for the seeming mechanic, and in a moment all was confusion.

The young fellow put up a hot fight, and the chophouse people were sent tumbling around on the floor in great shape.

Nick watched the battle curiously for a moment, and then sprang to his feet with an exclamation of anger.

There were five to one, and yet the waiters were arming themselves with clubs and meat cleavers.

A cowardly waiter was aiming a blow at the seeming{95} mechanic from behind, which would have ended the fight right there.

Without saying a word, Nick struck out, and the waiter went halfway over a table before he fell.

The dishes, with which the table had been loaded, struck the floor about the time the waiter did, and there was a great crash as the fellow floundered around among the damaged crockery.

The door of the private room was now opened, and the three high-power burglars, who had been perfecting their schemes there, rushed out.

Nixon and his gang drew back, leaving Nick and the seeming mechanic standing by the overturned table.

It was a pretty case of hip-lock, and Gilmore carried another table to the floor when he went down.

“It’s a conspiracy to rob the place,” cried Geary. “Throw them out and call the police.”

But the employees had had enough of trying to throw the two men out of the place, and they held back.

“That’s a signal,” whispered Nick, to the seeming mechanic. “If a door leading into the cellar is opened{96} now, get down there, if you can, while I amuse the people up here.”

“All right,” replied Chick, “but you ought to be getting out before long. They’ll suspect it’s a scheme.”

Gilmore arose from the floor, brushing milk, butter and sugar from his clothing, and started for the door.

“This is no chance fight,” he shouted. “These men came here on purpose to get up a row.”

“You lie,” said Chick, coolly, “one of your toughs tried to rob me, and this gentleman came to my assistance.”

Before Gilmore could reply a back door was opened, and three hard-looking men rushed into the room.

“There come the men who are putting in the electric-drill machinery,” whispered Nick. “Now, look out for hot work.”

CHAPTER XIII.

THREE MILLIONS AT STAKE.

“You’ll soon be telling me that no damage has been done here,” he said, “and that the hot fight those fellows put up was all by way of amusement.{97}”

“And you’ll be telling me,” said Geary, “that the advance agent brought in was Nick Carter, and that the mechanic was Chick.”

The large dining room still showed that a desperate fight had taken place there, for the floor was covered with broken dishes.

The waiters and cooks had taken their departure for the night, and Parks and Nixon had gone out.

“What strikes me as peculiar,” said Geary, “is the way the fellows got out of the place.”

“The men you named a moment ago have a way of doing such things,” replied Gilmore.

“I stood right there by the stairs,” said Geary, “and I’ll take my oath that only one of them went in that rush.”

“I’m afraid the electric-drill scheme is busted,” said Gilmore. “If the detectives are onto us, we certainly can’t carry out the plans made in New York.”

“The detectives followed him here. They have known where we were all the time,” said Geary, “and when Parks led them here, they guessed he was steering for some more of the ‘crooked’ family, and probably decided they’d look into our history, and run us in with the man they want.”

“Have you any idea they are watching the drill scheme?” questioned Gilmore, anxiously.

“The drill scheme is all right, notwithstanding what took place here to-night,” said Geary. “How much money have we?”

“Of course he will. Morton Parks is not Doc Helstone, leader of criminals, now. He’s just an everyday crook, willing to do anything for money till he gets another gang under his thumb, and that will take time.{99} Didn’t he try to hold a man up in his own house to-night?”

During the short silence that followed the sound of a scuffle came from beyond the door leading to the cellar.

There was the dark staircase leading to the equally dark cellar below, and nothing else.

The two men looked tremblingly in each other’s face for a moment. They were both longing, yet fearing, to ask the same question.

“Can it be possible,” he asked, “that one of those fellows got down there during the fight?”

“It is possible,” replied Geary. “Get a candle and we’ll go down and look the place over.”

There was the double partition which had been built to shut the noise of the motor and the drill from the street, there were tools, pipes and iron bands lying around, and there, just beyond the broken cellar wall, was the heavy granite foundation of the bank vault.

The two men searched through every inch of the place, and then turned to the double wall.

“Yes,” was the reply, “but it fastens from the other side as well as this, and we can never get through without breaking it down.”

“Well, if we can’t get through no one else can, that is one sure thing,” replied Gilmore. “It must have been the rats we heard.”

The men were about to ascend the stairs to the room above when the cry reached their ears.

While the men waited and listened, the sound of blows and low-muttered curses came from the other side of the double partition.

“One of those detectives did get down here,” said Gilmore. “If he gets out there is an end of our scheme, and all the money we have put into it.”

“You stay here,” whispered Geary, “and I’ll go around in front and get into the other room that way.”

Then the latter heard steps and voices in the dining room above, and for a single instant left his post of duty.

As he crept to the head of the stairs to look into the{101} dining room, he thought he heard the creaking of a door behind him, and stopped to listen.

Had he returned to the cellar at that instant, he would have found the door in the double partition wide open.

He would have seen the body of one of his pals lying for an instant on the narrow threshold.

He would have seen the body drawn through into the rear basement, and the door softly closed and fastened.

He would have seen a dark figure in the dress of an iron worker lift the body and carry it through the broken cellar wall.

Then he would have seen two figures, one always carrying the other through the almost pitchy darkness, hiding in a corner near the granite wall of the bank vault.

The former had procured a new suit of clothes and looked more like himself, though his growing beard and mustache served as a sort of disguise.

“Here,” called that gentleman from the head of the stairs. “Did you see Geary as you came in?”

“I should say so. Come into the cellar. Turn the key in the front door first.”

“It was on this side, though,” replied Gilmore, “so everything must be all right, after all.”

“Of course. Then the noise we heard must have been out on the street, or in some adjoining cellar.”

CHAPTER XIV.

THE FLAT BURGLARY.

Shivering with the cold, and muttering imprecations against the weather, Parks and Nixon left the shelter of the chophouse and walked rapidly toward Wabash Avenue.

“We ought to have been out an hour ago,” muttered the former, “then we shouldn’t have missed the cable.”

“The owl car’s all right for a job like this,” was the sullen reply. “You’ll be wanting a hack next.”

“Why not take a hack down as far as Thirty-ninth Street?” demanded Parks. “It will be daylight before we get there at this rate.”

In a moment the two men, fairly well housed from the storm, were whirling southward.

“And the old man sleeps alone on the third floor away from the rest of the family?”

“Well, you needn’t be so mighty short about it. Do you want to go in and get the stuff while I watch outside, or shall I go in?”

“I guess I’ll run the job in my own way,” growled Parks. “I was in the business when Gilmore was working on a farm.”

The men were so busy talking, and the night was so dark and rainy, that they did not notice that one cab passed them several times, went on south for a block or two on each occasion, and then turned north again.

The man seated in the cab strained his ears each time in the endeavor to hear what the men in the other vehicle were saying, but he could only catch a word now and then.

The pursuing cab finally fell in behind the other, and the two vehicles proceeded together at a fast trot toward Thirty-ninth Street.{105}

There Parks and Nixon got out, and without once looking around to see if they were followed, walked rapidly toward Forty-third Street.

About halfway between Cottage Grove Avenue and the Illinois Central Railway tracks Parks and Nixon stopped and slunk into a stairway.

While they consulted together, he passed the spot where they stood, and entered the next stairway to the east.

There were in each one a front and a back parlor, a dining room, a kitchen, a bedroom off the front parlor, one off the kitchen and a bathroom off from the hall leading to the kitchen.

In each instance the back parlor and the bathroom were lighted by an air shaft running from the first floor to the roof.

The men talked for some time in the hallway and Nick, for it was he, at last succeeded in getting near enough to hear what they were saying.

“He sleeps in the back parlor on the third floor,” Nixon was saying, “and he always leaves his watch and{106} diamonds on the dresser, and places the money under his pillow.”

“His son sleeps in the hall bedroom. Don’t make any noise at the door. When you get the stuff make a run for it if there is any kick made.”

Here he rapped softly on the door leading into the flat on the right of the hall.

“You’ll do,” said Nick, with a laugh. “You won’t get scared if I tell you something?”

“Well, they are burglarizing the flat opposite, and I want to get where I can see what’s going on, and make an arrest when the time comes.”

The fellow was becoming more and more suspicious, and Nick was becoming more and more impatient.

“I don’t believe you are an officer,” was the reply. “If the flat over there is being robbed, you must be in with it.{107}”

“In that case I wouldn’t be likely to be here telling you about it, would I?”

The fellow finally opened the door, and Nick stepped through the back parlor, passed into the hall leading to the kitchen, and entered the bathroom, from which a full view of the flat across the way could be had.

There was no light in the place, except such as crept in from the street lamps, but this was enough to show the detective that the man who had admitted him was dressed from head to foot, even to his collar and necktie.

“This is a strange time of night for a man to be sitting all dressed in a dark room,” thought the detective. “Perhaps I have come to the wrong place for help in capturing these burglars.”

Nick stood looking across the airshaft to the window of the back parlor opposite, but there was nothing to be seen there.

The window shades were drawn, and there was no sound of life in the dark space beyond them.

“Don’t do that,” he said. “You will only warn the men who are on their way into the next flat.”

“What do I care about the next flat? I don’t believe there are any burglars about, anyway.”

The detective, standing with one hand resting on the window ledge, felt his fingers come in contact with some metallic substance.

He could hear the occupant of the flat moving away toward the windows facing on Forty-third Street, and, in a moment, lit a match.

The thing he held in his hand was evidently a revolving armature, and in one end was a “chuck,” into which a diamond-pointed drill could be fitted. Nick slipped the article into his pocket and turned away from the bathroom window.

“There is no use in staying here,” he thought, “for the burglary was probably planned in this room. I was a fool to come in here looking for help.{109}”

He had no doubt that the burglars had in some way been warned before he was well in the rooms.

“I want to know who you are, and why you came here with such a story at this time of night.”

Nick was about to brush past the fellow and pass on downstairs, when a low cry came from the direction of the bathroom.

The window shades across the airshaft were up, and the gas in the back parlor of the opposite flat was burning brightly.

The detective saw a white-haired man sitting up in bed with a look of terror on his wrinkled face.

In front of the bed stood a masked man, holding a revolver within an inch of the old man’s forehead.

By the side of the dresser stood another masked figure, eagerly raking off the articles of jewelry which the old man had placed there on retiring.{110}

The thief’s hand was, for an instant, clearly outlined against the pure white marble of the dresser.

His purpose now was to reach the stairway below before the burglars descended, and there arrest them both.

He tried to bring his revolver to bear, but his arms were bound to his side by that terrible grasp.

He raised his feet from the floor and threw his whole weight downward, thinking that a roll and a struggle on the carpet might break the other’s hold.

The next instant he realized that he was fighting three men instead of one, and that they had him in their power.

He knew that he was being beaten about the head, and that a long-bladed knife was flashing before his eyes.

CHAPTER XV.

THE POISON BALL.

Then Chick heard Parks and Nixon leaving the place, and heard Gilmore and Geary go up the cellar stairs.

“I got him through that partition just in time,” thought the detective, as he peered through the broken cellar wall, “for they would have hunted the place over until they found me, had they seen their chum lying there.”

According to instructions, Chick had slipped into the cellar during the fight in the dining room.

It was only when he passed through the door in the double wall, on the approach of the men from upstairs, that he realized that the gang had left a watchman there.

While Gilmore and Geary were talking on one side of the wall, the watchman and Chick were fighting desperately on the other side.

If Gilmore had remained in the cellar, Chick would certainly have been discovered.{112}

As it was, the four men, after the arrival of Parks and Nixon, coolly planned the burglary on Forty-third Street, and then left the cellar.

Chick knew that his chief would follow anyone leaving the place that night, and that he would be likely to have something to say about the affair on the South Side.

He did not like the idea of being shut up in the damp cellar all night, and then having to fight his way out in the morning.

He finally handcuffed the fellow’s hands behind his back, tied his ankles together, gagged him, and prepared to leave the cellar.

It would take a long time to cut through it with such tools as the detective had.

The lights were out in the dining room, and the place was evidently closed for the night.

He had hardly closed the door behind himself when Gilmore sprang to his feet with an oath and lit the gas.

“Not much. He’s been arrested,” said Gilmore. “I thought all along that there was something wrong down there.”

“I never saw you act as you are acting to-night,” he said. “What has got into you?”

“I’ll stand here with my gun,” said Gilmore, “and you light all the gas jets in the room. Then we can see to kill the spy.”

They would take any chance rather than allow him to escape after having gained admission to the cellar.

He sprang for an instant into full view, and darted down the stairs, followed by half a dozen bullets.

There was a moment’s silence, during which both men took good care to keep out of range of the cellar door.{115}

“He might shoot,” suggested Gilmore, pointing toward the dark opening through which Chick had disappeared.

Geary did not take the matter so much to heart. He was sure that it would all come out right in the end.

“I don’t care. I won’t have this scheme ruined now,” said Gilmore, with an oath.

“You might go down the front way,” he suggested, “and get a shot at the fellow through the door.”

When Gilmore reached the street door, he saw a man{116} waiting there, and looking through the glass panel as he waited.

“Then pay him, if you can find a member of your crowd that has a soul. I understand that the gentleman you name has a liking for souls, my friend.”

The newcomer was tall and slender, with sharp eyes and very glossy black whiskers, which clung close to a very white face.

He was an important personage in the electric-drill combination, having supplied most of the money with which to equip the chophouse and purchase the machinery.

“Anything new from the South Side?” asked the newcomer, who was a doctor by profession, and always smelled of drugs.

Gilmore locked the door again, and the two men joined Geary in the back end of the room.

“Tell me what’s up,” said the doctor, looking from one man to the other in amazement.

Chick, peeping from the head of the stairs, heard it all, and rather enjoyed it.

“Why haven’t you been doing something?” demanded the doctor. “For all you know, the fellow may be out in the street and halfway to police headquarters now.”

“He can’t get out. The door in the wall is fastened from the street side.”

“An hour ago you would have told me that he could not get into the cellar at all. Go to the street, and watch the front door.”

“Isn’t it about time the boys were back from Forty-third Street?” he asked.

“I think not,” was the reply. “Have you any fears as to the result down there?”

“None whatever,” was the answer. “Even if Parks and Nixon made a mess of it, my roommate will straighten them out.”

The men conversed for some moments in whispers, and then the doctor crept cautiously to the head of the stairs.

The doctor drew away from the doorway for a second, and took a little round white substance from his pocket.

“You can’t use the place to-morrow,” he said, warningly, as he for a moment held the ball suspended in the air between his thumb and forefinger.

“Not at once, but it will make a man lay like a corpse for twelve hours. Then, if restoratives are not applied, death results.”

Chick tried to breathe, but found it impossible. He felt himself falling, and heard a strange, rushing sound in his ears.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE MAN IN THE WARDROBE.

The man living in the flat above the one where Nick{119} Carter had been assaulted looked up from the morning paper.

“When I got up,” began the woman, “I stepped to the window looking into the airshaft. I did not sleep well last night, on account of the noise down there, and I thought I would see if everything there looked as usual.”

“Of course I couldn’t see into the rooms under us, so I turned my attention to the rooms on the other side of the shaft.”

“Well, a heavy black curtain hung over the opposite windows, making an almost perfect mirror of the plate glass in the sash.”

“And there, in that mirror, I saw the body of a dead man lying in the back parlor of the doctor’s flat.”

The head of the house resumed his paper for a moment and then laid it down again.{120}

“You are not in court now,” said the woman, with a laugh. “I don’t know as I can describe the noises I heard. There were blows and the sound of scuffling.”

“He’s gone, all right enough,” said the man, going upstairs again, “and I’m going to have a look into that room.”

“Oh, yes, I have, my dear. The law gives me a right to go anywhere I believe a crime is being committed.”

“Will the law heal your head if you get it hurt?” asked the wife, anxiously.

The head of the house got his wife’s clothesline down, and raised the window opening the airshaft.

The flat straight across was unoccupied, and the heavy curtains which had revealed so much still hung across the windows in the flat below, so there was no danger of making a scene.

The man swung himself down, and landed on the heavy ground glass at the bottom of the shaft.

The window was fastened and heavy curtains had been{121} drawn across the panes, but the investigator, by the exertion of all his strength, forced the sash up, and looked inside the room.

The man he saw lying there on the carpet was bound, and gagged, and bloody, but he was not dead.

“I didn’t get into this shape for the fun of it,” was the reply. “Take these things off before those men come back.”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he said, “so you may look at my credentials.”

The man did look, and in about a second after he had done looking Nick Carter was free of all bonds, and on his way to the flat above.

It took but a few moments for the detective to explain all that had taken place in the building the previous night.

A weaker man would have been laid up for days from the effects of the bruises he had received, but Nick had too much work to do to think of going to bed at all.

He washed and dressed his wounds as best he could, partook of a light breakfast, and then asked the man who had rescued him to inform the officer on the beat{122} below that something unusual had taken place in the old man’s flat the night before.

“That will place the matter in the hands of the police,” he said. “I don’t want to take a hand in it just yet.”

The man soon came back, and reported that the policeman had broken in the door, and found the old man lying bound and gagged on the bed. A large amount of money and some valuable jewelry had been taken.

“Yes, but I can’t give it now. I want to have another interview with those people downstairs before the officers get hold of them.”

Nick Carter, for once, had been caught napping. He had spoken when he should have remained silent.

“That makes me think,” continued the man, “that the two doctors downstairs are cranks on electricity.”

“They have a motor down there, and they have been drilling all sorts of substances.”

Nick thought of the armature he had found in the rooms below not long before, and remained silent.

“Now,” said the detective, “I want to be back in that room when the doctors return, and I want you within reach in case I should need help. What do you say to that?”

The two men descended to the lower flat, and Nick was placed in the shape in which he had been left.

The gag was in his mouth, and the ropes were on his wrists and ankles, but they were fixed so that they could be cast aside at any moment.

In ten minutes the door was unlocked from the outside, and two men entered, only one of whom the detective knew.

One was the man who had attacked Nick and the other was the man who had thrown the poisonous ball at Chick in the cellar of the chophouse.

“It worked like a charm,” the latter was saying. “The spy keeled over in a second, and you ought to see the stuff we got out of his clothes.”

“Yes, money and disguises and letters of introduction. He’ll make an excellent subject for the dissecting table in a day or two.”

“No, but you know that he will die if restoratives are not applied inside of twelve hours.”

“Yes, the boys are all at work, except the watchman Chick came so near killing. He’s gone to bed.”

His companion made no reply, but stepped up to the place where the detective was lying.

“You might have done it yourself,” he said, addressing Nick, “it’s loose enough.”

“Well, you’ll both be on the dissecting table in twenty-four hours. You’ll make good subjects, too.”

“You have only a short time to live,” one of them said, “and we may as well make you comfortable.”

The next moment one of the ruffians stood before the detective with a rag saturated with ether.

“It’s time to put you to sleep,” he said. “You’ll wake up in a place where you won’t need an overcoat.”

The instant the muscular doctor came within reach, Nick sprang to his feet, and struck out with his right, throwing all the strength of his strong arm and all the weight of his body into the blow.

The doctor caught the blow under the ear, and went to the floor like a dead man.

The other doctor sprang for the door, but the man from the wardrobe got there first.

“There’s one sure thing,” he said, “and that is that you can’t save Chick. He’s got a dose that will finish him.”

“All right,” said Nick, coolly, “I can get another assistant, but you can’t get another neck after the law gets done with the one you have.”

The next moment there was a sharp report, and a terrible odor crept into the room. The doctor had thrown another poison ball.

CHAPTER XVII.

“THE DOCTOR.”

“There! You may set the electric drill in motion to-night, or as soon as you please.”

“Three million dollars are almost within reach,” said the latter, “and then here’s one man for Europe.{127}”

“They are out of the way for the present,” he said, seeing that Gilmore expected him to say something.

Gilmore took the candle in his hand and walked through the break in the cellar wall.

Turning to the right, he faced toward the rear of the bank vault, and lifted the flashing candle above his head.

“What you say is all true,” said Geary, “but for all that you may rest assured that we are not through with Nick Carter yet.{128}”

“And have the officers find him with the broken vault in the morning? I should say not.”

“Yes, and he made a kick about letting me in. He said something about the word having been changed.”

“He must have been drunk,” said Gilmore, “for the word has not been changed.”

“You will spoil the whole scheme by putting such men on guard,” he said, “and at this critical time, too.”

“I’ll run that door myself, after this,” said Nixon, “or at least until the drill starts.”

The doctor stepped forward and bent over the still figure lying in the corner by the bank vault.

“He’s about gone,” he said. “We must get him out of this before he dies.”

“Because you can take an unconscious man through the streets very easily, but you can’t stir with a dead one.”

“Well, call one, then, and let’s have done with the affair for good and all.”

Geary went out to call a carriage “for a sick man,” and the doctor went back to the motionless figure by the vault.

Finally he saw him take a bottle from his pocket and press it to Chick’s lips.

The doctor and Nixon took Chick by the feet and shoulders, and carried him to the street door of the chophouse.

Then Gilmore called Nixon to the back end of the room, to a place where the doctor could not overhear what was being said.

“Well,” said Gilmore, with an oath, “I don’t like it either. He may escape.{131}”

“Yes, and has allowed us to do all the work and assume all the risks. Where was he last night when we were out there at his block? He ought to have been on deck then.”

“I’ll tell you what it is,” he said, in a moment. “I won’t leave this young man, Chick, until I see the knife in him.”

“I’ve had enough of this monkey work with Nick Carter and his gang,” continued the burglar. “I have had Nick and Chick in my power before to-night, and they have always escaped through some soft-heartedness on the part of some member of the party. That don’t happen this time.”

“You stick to that kind of talk regarding detectives,” he said, “and you’ll wear diamonds.”

“Remember,” Gilmore whispered in his ear, “any knife will do as well as a surgeon’s knife.”

The doctor, standing at the street door, with his hand on the knob, heard the words, and gave a sudden start.

“Hurry,” he said, when Nixon came up, “help me into the carriage with this sick man and then you can{132} run the place to suit yourself for a little while, but I advise you to keep a closer watch on the door opening on the street.”

There was something so peculiar in the doctor’s tone that the burglar looked up with a start.

“He takes it mighty cool,” thought Nixon. But, then, he could not see the doctor’s face from where he was standing.

Chick was placed in the carriage without difficulty, and then the doctor stepped forward to give the driver his orders.

When he got back to the carriage door, Nixon was leaning over the still figure of the detective.

With an oath, Nixon threw himself into the front seat of the carriage and folded his arms.

“Keep me away from him, then,” he said. “I shall not wait for the drug if I get another chance.”

Nixon glared about in a suspicious manner, but helped to carry the unconscious man to a room on the second floor without making any remarks.

He cursed and swore at the crowd which gathered around the stairway when Chick was taken from the vehicle, but said nothing to his companion until the door of the room was closed behind them.

He spoke with his hand on the handle of a revolver, but before he could draw it the doctor had him covered.

“It means,” was the calm reply, “that you are under arrest. Throw up your hands.”

The “doctor’s” false beard and wig were off in an instant, and Nick Carter stood revealed.

Regardless of the weapon held within an inch of his face, Nixon, wild with rage, sprang at the detective.

Nick did not care to use his revolver and so attract the attention of the police and the people in the house.

Nixon was a muscular fellow, and he now fought with all the cunning and all the fierce strength of a maniac.

He had a knife in his possession, and he exerted himself to the utmost to bring it into use.

Nick knew the danger he was in, and tried hard to bring the fight to a sudden close.

Not only his own life, but that of his assistant also depended upon his exertions.{134}

In a moment the struggling men heard steps in the hall, and then the door of the room was thrown open.

It was one of the toughs who had attacked Chick the previous night in the chophouse.

CHAPTER XVIII.

A LONG JUMP.

Chester Smith, the wealthy banker, Nick Carter, Chick and two detectives from the city force sat in a room not far from the chophouse.

“It beats anything I ever heard of,” said the banker. “When burglars took money from under my pillow, stole my revolver, cooked a breakfast in my kitchen, tapped my wine, and left an explanatory tag tied to my dog’s tail, I thought the limit of audacity had been reached; but{135} this robbing a bank by machinery throws all that in the shade.”

The detectives laughed heartily at the banker’s account of the burglar’s visit to his residence.

“I’d like to know,” he said, “how you got that make-up from the doctor, and how you knew what drug to use in order to help me back to life.”

“Why,” said Nick, “the fool of a doctor tried to catch me by giving me a dose of the same medicine he gave you. I got out of the room mighty quick and shut the door.”

“Exactly. Well, the ball wasn’t very strong, and when I went back into the room the fellow was still conscious, although lacking the power of motion.”

“He motioned for me to take a bottle out of his pocket, and give him some of its contents. I did so, and he was soon on his feet. So you see I had the remedy right in my own hands. As for the doctor’s rig, I made him give that up at the police station.”

“It was a perfect fit,” laughed Chick. “How Nixon started when you threw it off.”

“Of course. I began to recover the instant you gave me the antidote, but I didn’t want those fellows to catch on. I guess Nixon had an idea that I was as good as dead. When I sprang from the bed and got him by the neck he acted as if he had seen a ghost.{136}”

“You saved my life there,” said Nick. “I couldn’t have fought another round.”

One of the detectives who stood by the window now turned toward the little group.

“It’s time to go,” he said. “The lights are out in the chophouse and the drill must be going.”

“They are two hours late now,” said Nick, “but they may be waiting for Nixon and the two doctors.”

The two detectives, Nick and Chick, now left the room and walked down to the chophouse, where they stopped.

The city detectives went to the front door of the restaurant, while Nick and his assistant crept down the area in front.

As they expected, the door in the double partition was securely fastened on both sides.

They waited a few moments for the city officers to make their presence known, but the work on the other side of the double wall went on as if there were no officers within a thousand miles.

“Stay here and guard this door,” said Nick, “and I’ll go around and see what’s the matter.”

The detective found the door of the chophouse open, and understood that the city officers were on the inside.

He entered and walked along through the dark room until he came to the door leading to the basement.

His answer was followed by a sharp whistle, and then he heard a rush of feet and the sound of excited voices in the basement.

Nick knew that if he effected the capture of the gang at all he must act at once, without waiting for assistance.

His only answer was several pistol shots, but the bullets flew wide of their mark.

Only one cowardly rascal turned to the door in the double wall to make his escape.

Busy as he was with the men about him, Nick could not help smiling when he saw the fellow unfastening the door.

Nick was now hard pressed, for the burglars were fighting for dear liberty.{138}

He was in a fair way to get the worst of the encounter when the man at the door succeeded in getting it open, Chick having unfastened it from the other side.

As the burglar stepped into the opening he met a hard, white hand which sent him back into the rear room.

Then Chick sprang through the doorway with a yell, and began striking right and left.

Seeing a man creeping up behind Nick with a knife in his hand, Chick drew his revolver and shot the fellow through the heart.

The burglars had no means of knowing how many more officers there were in the front cellar, and they did not like the shooting.

“Yes, and I could have had you much earlier,” retorted Nick, “but when I took up your trail after you escaped on the way to Sing Sing, I knew you would lead me to some other villains, and I thought I might as well bag them too. Now, where is Gilmore?”

Nick, leaving Chick to guard the prisoners, dashed through the chophouse and up the stairs to the roof.

Finally, however, he heard a noise on the roof of the next building, which was several feet lower than the roof of the one upon which the detective then stood.{139}

A figure stood on the wall at the rear, looking over an alley, at least twelve feet wide.

As the detective looked, the figure sprang into the air and landed on the other side.

“Gilmore still has his old nerve,” thought Nick. “I wonder if I could jump that alley?”

He could, and he did, but when he stood in safety on the other side, Gilmore had disappeared.

Nick prowled around on the roof a long time, and was about to take his departure when a low cry of fright reached his ears.

He crept softly in the direction from which the sound had proceeded, and found a faint light shining through a skylight in the roof.

Looking down, he saw Gilmore standing by the side of a bed containing two young men.

The burglar had been careful to replace the skylight after leaving the roof, and had drawn a table under the opening for the purpose.

One of the young men saw him, but Nick pointed to the badge on his vest, and the fellow remained silent.

There was a short, sharp struggle, and then the most daring house and bank breaker in the world lay handcuffed on the floor.{140}

“What a bank burglar you would have made,” said Gilmore, as Nick sat down by his side for a moment’s rest.

“What have you done with Nixon, the two doctors and the doorkeeper?” continued Gilmore.

Gilmore was in a great rage when, after being taken to police headquarters, he learned that the whole gang had been captured by the two New York detectives.

And there the officers were found, nearly suffocated and foaming with rage.{141}

CHAPTER XIX.

AWAITING NICK CARTER.

While these events were transpiring in Chicago the New York chief of police was being interviewed by a woman who had a most remarkable story to tell.

So remarkable, indeed, that the chief persuaded his caller to defer any action till Nick Carter returned home.

The result was that when Nick reached his office he found this note awaiting him:

Nick did not need to glance at the signature to find out who had written this characteristic note.

“When the chief says ‘very urgent,’ he means it,” was Nick’s inward comment.

A pile of letters had accumulated in his absence, but it did not take him long to deal with his correspondents; then directing one of his assistants to inform the chief that he had returned and was acting on the urgent message, he started for the St. James and sent up his card to Miss Templin.

He was invited to “come right up,” and he soon afterward stood before the entrance to a suite of rooms on the second floor.

Accepting the invitation, he found himself standing in{142} the presence of a young lady, richly and tastefully dressed, and remarkably handsome.

She held in her hand the card which Nick had sent up, and, glancing at it, the young lady said:

“I have just arrived in the city and have had an urgent message from the chief asking me to call here.”

When Nick had taken the chair which the young lady pointed out to him, she continued:

“It can scarcely be necessary, Mr. Carter, for me to apologize for receiving you here, rather than in the public reception rooms of the hotel, where we might be overheard in our conversation.”

“I understand all that, Miss Templin. You wish to consult me professionally.”

“Yes. I called on your chief of police yesterday, and he advised me to put the case in your hands. He also promised to send you to me, and I see he has kept his promise promptly.”

“I will be pleased to hear from you the nature of the work which you have for me to do,” said Nick, in order to hasten matters.

“Five years ago my father, as I have up to a recent date had reason to believe, died, and was buried. Last week I met either him alive and in the flesh, or his double. I want you to run this mystery down and solve it. That is the gist of the story. Now I will go into details.”

“As I said before, I had, up to last week, a perfect belief that my father, Jason Templin, was dead and buried for three years.”

“I have always believed I could until the sight of that man last week raised a doubt in my mind of Mr. Lonsdale’s honesty. I am very anxious to speedily have the doubt removed, or confirmed, and that is why I applied to your chief of police for help. The affair must be cleared up within the next few days.”

“Because I am the promised wife of Lawrence Lons{144}dale. He left San Francisco for New York last evening, and we are to be married when he reaches this city. There must be no uncertainty about this affair when he arrives.”

“Well, give me the details of the case, and I’ll see what can be done,” said Nick.

“For several years before his death,” began Miss Templin, “my father was mentally dead and helpless.”

“Hardly insane. His case puzzled the most eminent physicians on the Pacific Coast. He retired one night, apparently in his usual good health. Next morning he was found lying in bed, helpless, speechless and, as it was soon discovered, with a brain which was mentally a blank.

“After that day he never spoke, or showed signs of possessing the powers of reasoning, understanding or hearing, and he never moved a muscle of either leg.

“The most wonderful part of the case was that his appetite was not impaired, and he took nourishment regularly. Physically, he was as well as ever, except that he never afterward would, or could, walk, talk or hear.

“For two years we called into his case all the medical skill on the coast, but without a particle of success. Mr. Templin lived on, his physical form as perfect as ever, but his mental or spiritual part seemed to have died and left the body.

“At the end of these two years a Dr. Greene, who conducted a sanitarium near Oakland, devoted to mental diseases of the milder form, expressed the belief that he{145} could restore my father to the use of all his faculties, if the afflicted man was placed in his care at his private retreat.

“I visited the sanitarium, and was shown the suite of rooms which Greene offered to set aside for my poor father’s use. He also introduced me to the two nurses and a male assistant, who would be in constant attendance.

“I saw at once that my afflicted parent would receive better attention than he had been getting, and, although Greene’s charges were excessively large, Mr. Lonsdale and I concluded to have him removed to the retreat.

“This was the more readily agreed to by me because I was going to Europe for a four years’ stay among the art studios of Italy.”

“Yes. From my mother, who died when I was young, I inherited a love for painting, and it was my father’s dearest desire that when I came out of school I should go to Italy and get the benefit of the best teachers in painting. Mr. Lonsdale, therefore, urged me to place my father in this retreat, where he would have better care than we could give him, and go to Europe, as originally arranged.”

“Yes. The first news I got of it was about a year after I had been in Rome. Mr. Lonsdale cabled that papa was dead. Several weeks later I got his letter, which set forth the details.”

“You shall judge for yourself. Mr. Lonsdale, as he{146} wrote to me in his letter, was summoned to the sanitarium by a telegram which informed him that my father was dead.

“He was not surprised at the bare news, for by that time we had surrendered all hopes of a final recovery; but the manner of the death was a shock.

“The weather was cool, and a grate fire burned in my father’s room that night. In the temporary absence of the attendants from the apartment, it was supposed the patient recovered the use of his legs, got up and went to the fire.

“When the attendant came back, he found the patient dead at the grate, with his head on the fender, and his face nearly burned away.

“Mr. Templin wore a long, white beard, and very white hair. All of the beard and hair had been consumed.

“Dr. Greene wanted to hold an autopsy, but Mr. Lonsdale would not consent. In fact, he had the remains consigned to a vault, because he feared the intense desire of the medical profession of California to get a look at the brain of the man who furnished this remarkable case was so great and so general that the body would not be safe in a grave.{147}”

CHAPTER XX.

AN HEIRESS IN TROUBLE.

“And yet you have some doubts, Miss Templin, whether it really is your father’s body which lies in that vault back there?” commented Nick Carter, as the young lady indicated that her story was told.

“And that Mr. Lonsdale, your guardian and affianced husband, has in some way deceived you?”

“Well, I had rather believe that if I have been deceived about my father’s death, he has been deceived also.”

“Why not wait, then, till he arrives in New York before making this investigation?”

“And if you find that the man you saw last week is not your father, you do not want Mr. Lonsdale to know that the investigation was made?”

“It was hard for me to make up my mind to stamp my doubts of the honor of the man I love with the brand of investigation. It was only when I realized that he was on his way to claim my hand in marriage that I decided to have that doubt removed when he stood before me again.”

“No. He got away before the opportunity offered, or rather before I recovered from the shock of my surprise. When I saw him he was some distance away, and just about to go out upon the street. By the time I had turned back to follow him, he had disappeared among the crowd outside.”

“He was alone, and held something in his hand which had the appearance of a note, a check or a receipt. He was looking at this paper the moment I saw him.”

“I went there under Mr. Lonsdale’s instructions to get a remittance which he telegraphed to me from San Francisco,” explained Miss Templin.

“He expected to meet me here in New York when I landed, but was detained a week in San Francisco. He therefore telegraphed, asking me to remain till he could come on. At the same time he sent me to his friend, the president of the Scotia Life Insurance Company, for what money I needed. I was just entering the office when I saw that man leaving.”

“No. I was not well enough acquainted with him to speak on a subject so delicate. I called at the office yesterday, but he was not in—would not be in till to-day.”

“By my father’s will, under which he was also made executor of the estate.”

“Is there any way in which Mr. Lonsdale could benefit by deceiving you about your father’s fate?”

“Yes. I told him I would not marry while my father was lying in that half-dead state. After papa died, he wanted to come to Europe and marry me, but I was determined to finish my studies first.”

“You ought to easily prove your father’s death without Mr. Lonsdale’s testimony, Miss Templin.”

“He, as well as the nurses and attendant in charge of my father, went to Australia or New Zealand soon after Mr. Templin’s death.”

It was only a word of two letters, but it caused the young woman to look at Nick sharply.

The detective pretended not to notice that searching look, but he was confident his little aspirate would set Miss Templin’s mind to work on a brand-new lead.

They found the president of the Scotia Life Insurance Company in his office, and Miss Templin introduced herself. She met with a warm welcome from the friend of her affianced husband.

“What! Not the celebrated detective!” exclaimed the insurance president. “How fortunate! I was upon the point of going to your house to consult you on a matter of considerable concern to not only our company, but to four or five other companies in this city, who have been hit equally hard.”

“Why, yes. A man who insured with us two years ago has died. There are some circumstances about the case which have aroused our suspicions that everything is not exactly straight. Before we pay the money we want the case thoroughly investigated, and we have decided you are the man to do it.”

“Half a million. He was insured for one hundred{152} thousand dollars in each of five companies. If you can show up fraud in the case, it will pay you well.”

“Well, as soon as I finish Miss Templin’s business, I’ll be glad to look into this affair for you, if it can wait a few days.”

“Oh, yes, a week, if necessary. The money will not be paid till you get time to look up the Mackenzie affair. So you have a mystery to clear up, too, eh, Miss Templin?”

Miss Templin explained as briefly as she could what had happened when she called the week previous.

“And you want to trace this man if you can from our office?” asked the president of Nick.

“Had your man any prominent appearance by which he would be likely to impress the cashier’s memory?”

“Tell Mr. Grandin I wish to see him, and ask him to bring his accounts along for Wednesday of last week.”

“Mr. Grandin, this gentleman”—indicating Nick Carter—“wants to make some inquiries, and I wish you would answer him to the best of your ability.”

“I shall be pleased if I can accommodate you, sir,” said the cashier, bowing to the detective.

“Well, then, Mr. Grandin, a gentleman was seen to leave this office on the day mentioned and our belief is that he was here for the purpose of paying a premium, because he had a piece of paper in his hand when he went out which looked like one of the company’s receipts.”

“Miss Templin can,” said Nick, looking at the young lady. Whereupon the latter said:

“The man was perhaps sixty years old, but looked older on account of very white hair and long white whiskers, white eyebrows and a very red face. He——”

“Wait a moment,” exclaimed the cashier, interrupting Miss Templin. “There is no need of your going any further.”

“What!” shouted the president, springing up from his chair. “The man who——”

“The man who died yesterday at Elmwood, in Pennsylvania, who was so heavily insured,” said the cashier.

CHAPTER XXI.

A MAN AND HIS DOUBLE.

“This is astonishing!” exclaimed the president, dismissing the cashier with a wave of his hand.

“It certainly is a remarkable coincidence,” said Nick Carter. “If your cashier is correct in what he has just told us, then the man who was mistaken by Miss Templin for her father was Mackenzie, late of Elmwood, Pennsylvania.”

“Then while I prosecute my inquiries for Miss Templin, I can at the same time probably serve your company,” said Nick, addressing the president of the Scotia.

“Not only my company, but the four other companies besides. I have seen the presidents or managers of the other four this forenoon, and they authorized me to take charge of the affair and secure an investigation.{155}”

“When were your suspicions aroused that the Mackenzie affair might not be exactly all right?”

“By the receipt of a telegram from Elmwood, announcing the death of Mackenzie.”

“You thought it strange that the death should thus be announced to your company?”

“Yes. It is quite unusual. But there are other strange features about the case. A similar telegram was received by each of the other four companies. What is more suspicious still, the premiums on three of the other policies would have been due to-day, and the remaining one next week. The first insurance was secured in our company. Nine days later he took out policies in three more companies, and a week later still, in the fifth.”

“This is all you have upon which to base your suspicions that something is wrong in the case?”

“No. After these telegrams were received yesterday, our general manager, during my absence from the city, secretly sent an agent of the company to Elmwood for a little private investigation. This morning we received a message from him. Here it is.”

“This evening. I can get a train at five o’clock, which will set me down at Elmwood about eight.”

“No. I want you to recall your man immediately. He must not be there when I arrive.”

“Maybe I should have said I do not need it. Surely I ought to be able to discover anything he has discovered. Then I don’t want his deductions. They might mislead me. A detective’s own theories are usually better and safer than those of an amateur.”

“Before I go, will you give me what information you have of the history of Mackenzie? I mean as to his age, birthplace, family history and other things shown by his application for a policy.”

When the insurance company’s application in the case of Miles Mackenzie was laid before Nick, he looked it{157} rapidly over, and mentally noted such points as he thought might be of interest in his investigation.

The applicant’s age was given as fifty-seven years; born in Scotland; only child of parents who were both dead; family history good; father and mother both died at a ripe old age; never had been seriously ill in his life; medical examination eminently satisfactory; married the second time; had one child—a son by first wife; his living wife was made the beneficiary under the policy.

“Seems to have been a good risk,” commented Nick, as he handed the application to the president.

“They were. In the two years he has paid to the five companies more than sixty thousand dollars.”

“Then you think there will be little trouble in showing fraud of some kind in this case?”

“Oh, I did not intend to convey that idea. If there be fraud, it ought to be proven in a very short time. If everything is legitimate, then the fact must also be readily established. Therefore, I anticipate a speedy report, but whether it will be favorable to your interests or not, I cannot promise until I have first gone to Elmwood.”

“Did this Dr. Greene own his sanitarium at Oakland when Mr. Templin was a patient at that place?”

“Quite easily. An intimate friend in San Francisco, with whom I have constantly corresponded, can get the information, through her brother.”

“Now, Miss Templin, you must ask me no questions, but be ready to answer those I have to put to you at any time. You will stay here in New York a few days?”

“Oh, yes. I must remain at the St. James until Mr. Lonsdale arrives, and that will be nearly a week longer.”

“Then stay in your room as much as is altogether convenient, and hold yourself in readiness to come to me at Elmwood in an hour’s notice, should I send for you,” was Nick’s parting injunction, as Miss Templin got ready to leave the elevated train at Twenty-eighth Street.

Just as she was going into the hotel at the Twenty-{159}eighth Street entrance, she was noticed by one of two men who happened to be passing on Broadway.

One was a man apparently about fifty years of age, of medium height and stockily built. He wore a closely cropped, full beard, of a sandy hue, and was clad in a business suit of light gray.

His companion was a much younger man, whose age could not have been more than thirty-five. He wore no beard at all, but his smooth, pale face showed the close-shaved stubble of a beard which would be intensely black were it allowed to grow, and his closely-cropped head of hair was of the same hue.

It was this younger one of the two who first saw Miss Templin. Instantly he grew excited and exclaimed, as he grasped his companion by the arm:

“I should say it was. I’m going to see what she is doing in New York. I had no idea she was back from Europe. Go on up to the Coleman House. I’ll join you there in the bar.”

The man addressed as Dent continued on up Broad{160}way, and his companion entered the St. James Hotel from the Broadway side.

The stranger walked slowly past, behind her back, and managed to read at a glance what the young lady had written, and to which she was putting her signature.

“Find out and telegraph me at once sum paid to Dr. Greene by present owner of Greene’s Sanitarium.”

The newcomer strolled on up to the office desk, and thence into the reading room, from which place he saw Miss Templin enter the elevator and go upstairs.

Then he left by the Twenty-eighth Street door, and soon joined his companion at the Coleman House.

“Dent,” he said, “it is worse than I feared. That woman is here for no good.”

“She just now sent a telegram to San Francisco, asking for information as to the price paid for Greene’s Sanitarium by the present owner.”

“What will I do? That telegram sealed Louise Templin’s fate. She’ll never get an answer.{161}”

CHAPTER XXII.

MACKENZIE’S SECRET.

Nick Carter reached Elmwood a few minutes after eight o’clock that night, and went straight to the only hotel in the town—a very comfortable and well-kept, though small, hostelry.

He made his appearance in Elmwood in the guise of a lawyer, and registered as “Wylie Ketchum, New York City.”

“I can tell you where he did live,” was the reply, made in a mysterious tone of voice.

“Well, not for sure, though, seeing the old man was a good sort o’ person as men go—a member of the Presbyterian Church, and one who never refused a call in the name of charity, I presume he has gone to heaven, if a man ever gets there.”

“Who is Dr. Abbott?” asked Nick, at the same time remembering that the telegrams to the insurance companies, announcing Mackenzie’s death, were signed “John A. Abbott.”

“Why, he’s the oldest physician in these parts. Has been here since a boy, and——”

“Yes; and more than his physician. The two men were intimates. No one in Elmwood knew Mackenzie better than Abbott—not even his minister.”

Ten minutes later he was introducing himself to “the oldest physician in Elmwood.”

Dr. Abbott was fully sixty years old; he was a large, well-fed, jolly-appearing gentleman, who no sooner looked Nick Carter in the eye than he impressed the latter most favorably.

“No matter how much of a villain Mackenzie was, this man was not his accomplice,” was Nick’s verdict of Dr. Abbott.

“I came to Elmwood to transact a little business with a client, and was shocked to learn as soon as I reached town that he is dead.”

“No; he arranged for my visit when he was in New York yesterday a week ago.”

“So I’m too late, and it’s my fault. I should have come several days earlier, but couldn’t get away. Besides, I supposed he was in the best of health and there was no hurry.”

“That was Mackenzie’s secret and mine. We expected a quick ending, but its sudden arrival astonished me, at least, in spite of my knowledge of his condition.”

“For about a year. He came to me when he experienced the first symptoms, and told me how he felt. I kept from him the knowledge of his condition as long as I thought it wise. But he grew so rapidly and alarmingly worse, I was forced, a few months ago, to lay bare to{164} him his precarious state of ill-health. He heard his doom like the brave Christian he was.”

“In Australia, though he originally came from Scotland. He was a Scotchman by birth.”

“Yes. I own the house in which they have lived ever since they came to this place.”

“On the contrary, he was worth half a million, besides his large life insurance.”

“He rented, with the privilege of purchasing. You see, he was not sure of making this his home until after he was stricken with his fatal disease, and then I discouraged him from buying for two reasons. One was because the rent he was paying was satisfactory, and the other was because I made up my mind that I would move into the house myself, should he die and his wife go away.”

“Back to her old home in Australia. Mackenzie told me she has never been satisfied since she left that far-off place of her nativity.”

“None by the present Mrs. Mackenzie, who is his second wife and comparatively a young woman. But he had a son living—the issue of his first marriage.”

“I don’t know where he is at present. When last heard from he was in Paris and talked about coming here to visit his father soon. Indeed, Mackenzie, when he showed me the Paris letter, said he’d not be surprised if his boy would drop in on him almost any time.”

“Oh! yes. You see, Mackenzie made me his full confidant ever since he first met me. He has talked a great deal about his absent son, and has shown me all the letters he received from the young man from time to time, written at different places. He confided in me as if I were his brother.”

“Yes; Mackenzie had half a million dollars on his life. You see, he wanted to leave his entire possessions to this son, and yet arrange it so that his widow would not receive a cent less at his death. He consulted me about the plan, which was adopted, and it was this: His in{166}come was sufficient for the family’s modest mode of living, and for the payment of premiums on a half million of life insurance besides. So, instead of putting the accumulating revenues with the principal, he used them to carry the insurance. Did he never explain this to you, his lawyer?”

“No, I have done very little business with Mackenzie. Had he lived, I should have known more.”

“Well, as his trusted friend, I will gladly consult with you on all matters pertaining to his estate. Now you are here, had you not better remain till after the funeral? Your services may be needed.”

“I was just going over to the house to see if I could be of service to the widow in making the arrangements for the funeral. Will you go along?”

It was just what Nick hoped for—this opportunity to visit the dead man’s late home, and he accepted Dr. Abbott’s invitation.

As the doctor was getting ready to leave his office, Nick made a mental summing up in the case, so far as he had got.

“This Mackenzie’s plot, if there be one, was deep-laid. He was probably an excellent reader of human nature, and when he got ready to pick out an innocent aid-de-camp in this town, he wisely selected Dr. Abbott, for the triple reason that Abbott was the most pliable, unsophisticated man in town: because he was a man of high stand{167}ing in the community, and because he was a doctor by profession.

“He was careful not to let his chosen friend discover the fact that he, himself, thoroughly understood diseases and all their symptoms. Therefore, he easily led Abbott into the belief that he—Mackenzie—was a victim to some deadly malady.

“He has taken Abbott into his confidence about the absent son, even to showing the letters from the latter. Those letters we shall find among his effects, no doubt, and the son may or may not turn up hereafter.

“He even consulted the doctor, and used him in some way to further his ends about the life insurance. I must find out just how, after I have seen the corpse. Yes, I must see the corpse of Miles Mackenzie when we reach the house of mourning.”

CHAPTER XXIII.

A DOG’S INSTINCT.

As Nick Carter and Dr. Abbott walked through the main street of the town of Elmwood, on their way toward the residence of the late Miles Mackenzie, the detective had an opportunity to note the great popularity and widespread esteem in which his companion was held in that community.

Everyone they met had a word of greeting, and received from the whole-souled man some response in return. Very often inquiries were made about the funeral,{168} and it was evident that a very general feeling of regret existed for the death of the man who had so recently come among them.

Abbott explained to Nick that the house, in which Mackenzie’s body lay, was half a mile beyond the edge of the town. The night was pleasant, and they walked along in the full enjoyment of the summer weather.

“Dr. Abbott,” said Nick, when they were fairly out of the town, “your friend died suddenly, you say. Might not the insurance company, on that account, be inquisitive, and be inclined to make trouble before they pay over such a large sum?”

“There are five companies, Mr. Ketchum. He held a policy in each of five companies. When it became evident that he would drop dead some day, we discussed that very point. Mackenzie had a horror of being dug up after burial, and having his body subjected to a postmortem examination. So we prepared against that contingency.”

“As soon as he died, I telegraphed to each of the insurance companies, notifying them of his demise. If they hold an autopsy, it must be done before to-morrow afternoon. If they fail to do it by that time, they will never be able to set up a plea that the body was removed beyond their reach without giving them a fair chance to investigate the cause of death.”

“But that would not prevent them from digging up the body or having it disinterred for the purpose of an autopsy later,” said Nick.{169}

“Then, after all,” said Nick to himself, “it is not his body lying in a self-inflicted trance, nor is it a perfectly made wax image. What is it I am up against?”

A huge Newfoundland dog met them at the gate leading into the spacious grounds surrounding the house. The dog greeted Dr. Abbott familiarly and with demonstrations of great friendship.

“Poor Rover!” exclaimed Abbott, patting the Newfoundland on the head. “You have lost your good, kind master.”

“This dog and Mackenzie were almost inseparable. When the poor brute realizes his loss, he will be inconsolable.”

“Dr. Abbott, I wish you would not mention to the widow my profession nor the business which brought me to Elmwood.”

“I mean until after the funeral. Might it not be a source of additional worry to her to know that I had been brought here by her dead husband?”

“You are right, Mr. Ketchum. I will introduce you as a friend from the city visiting me.{170}”

The house stood in the center of a large lawn, and there was no other residence within a radius of a quarter of a mile. It was a frame building of moderate size, two stories in height, and by no means of modern architecture.

A very large, buxom woman, of middle age, met Dr. Abbott at the door. He addressed her as “Emma,” and Nick supposed she was a servant.

“Then we’ll not disturb her till they have gone. I’ve brought a friend, who is visiting me, and we’ll go in and look at the remains, if you have no objections.”

“Why, certainly not, doctor,” was the stout woman’s reply, but Nick was aware that she was at the same time staring at him with a gaze which was full of suspicion or curiosity.

Abbott and Nick followed Emma through the first door on the right, into a room which had all the blinds drawn and was but faintly illuminated by a lamp burning low.

The servant turned up the light, and Nick saw a coffin resting on two chairs near the mantel.

Softly and silently he and Abbott walked forward and looked down at the dead man.

They saw the face of what was undoubtedly a corpse; the face of an old man, with very white hair and very white beard.{171}

Abbott looked but a few moments. Then he turned away, while tears trickled down his face.

Nick stood a little longer, carefully noting every feature of the dead man in the coffin, and all this time he was aware of the fact that the stout woman never once took her eyes off his face. When they emerged from the parlor, the minister and deacon were just leaving. Abbott, therefore, instructed the servant to conduct them to the widow.

During that short visit to the corpse, Nick made one very important observation, which was lost upon Abbott and the woman, Emma.

Rover had followed them in, and, while Nick was looking at the dead man, the dog came up to the coffin, also looked at the face of the corpse, gave one or two sniffs and walked away, without exhibiting a particle of canine grief over his loss.

They found the young and comely widow in the sitting room, surrounded by several condoling neighboring women, who took their departure as Abbott entered.

The doctor introduced his friend and visitor, Mr. Ketchum, from the city, and made his excuses for bringing a stranger to the house of mourning.

“The fact is, my dear Mrs. Mackenzie, we may need an additional witness, when the life insurance is collected, and as Mr. Ketchum is a stranger in Elmwood, he will serve as such much better than one of your neighbors.”

This explanation may have been satisfactory to the widow, but Nick noticed that she, too, bestowed more{172} attention upon him than the circumstances seemed to call for.

“You will pardon me, Mrs. Mackenzie, for mentioning such a matter now, I know, because you are aware what good friends your husband and I were; but I’m going to ask whether you have any knowledge of a will which he left?”

“Yes. That is why I asked. He told me that it was his design to give you the proceeds of his life insurance, and his estate in hand to his son, Leo.”

“Then he made more of a confidant of you than of me. If there is such a will, it may be in his room—in his desk. Shall we go and see?”

Abbott readily assented, and Mrs. Mackenzie led the way into an apartment between the sitting room and the parlor.

A bed stood in one corner. At its foot was a door, partly ajar, which Nick’s quick eye observed gave entrance to a large clothes closet.

The dog followed them into this room also. Nick’s eyes never lost sight of the brute, though to an observer he was giving Rover no attention.

He saw the dog trot across to the closet, push the door further open with his nose, and look up toward the ceiling, while he uttered a very low whine.

The stout woman was right on Rover’s heels, and the toe of her heavy shoe gave him an admonishing punch in{173} the ribs to indicate that his exit from the room and from that closet in particular was greatly desired.

Nick’s back was turned nearly all the time, while the closet incident was occurring, and the stout woman no doubt said, in her soul:

“That brute will tell me more than Abbott can, if I follow the four-footed fellow up.”

“Here is the desk and here are the keys,” said Mrs. Mackenzie, as she unlocked a small desk sitting between the two windows. “Will you search for what you want, Dr. Abbott?”

They found numerous letters from the absent son, and such odds and ends as one might expect to find in a private desk of a man whose life was uneventful. But no will turned up.

“This desk is especially arranged to throw off the unwary,” thought Nick, as he watched Abbott sorting papers and investigating pigeonholes. “If I were to search the house, that desk would be the last place I should overhaul.”

The moon was shining brightly as they walked down the path through the lawn, on their return to town. Nick was slightly behind Dr. Abbott, as the path was narrow, and the grass wet with a heavy dew.

Suddenly he saw at his feet a small, square piece of{174} paper, which the wind was playing with. It looked to him like the label from a bottle.

He stooped, picked it up, and, assuring himself that he had made no mistake as to the nature of its former usage, he stuck it into one of his vest pockets.

When he left Abbott, to return to his hotel, he promised the latter to call on him again next morning.

Once safely in his room at the hotel, Nick took the label from his pocket and examined it by the light of his lamp. On it he read:

For thirty seconds Nick looked at the address on the label, after reading it. Then he muttered:

“So! so! Madame Reclaire, of Philadelphia! We shall meet again. I have not seen you since I worked out the identity of Daly. I then promised myself to look into your business at some future time a little more closely. Now, here is some more of your peculiar article in trade, and it has been used to further the ends of a stupendous crime.

“This label came from a bottle of your mixture which changes the color of hair, after a few applications, and keeps it of the desired hue.

“What a little thing often works out the fate of man! This small, square bit of paper, which the sportive wind blew to the feet of Nick Carter, has solved the mystery of that man who lies back yonder in his coffin.{175}”

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE SON RETURNS.

It was ten o’clock next morning before Nick Carter reached Dr. Abbott’s office, and then he found the doctor absent on his daily round among his patients.

“I have promised to accompany Mrs. Mackenzie to New York with her husband’s remains this evening, Ketchum. Can you remain here till we return?”

“To-morrow morning. The remains will be incinerated to-night. We must stay in the city over night and come back early to-morrow forenoon.”

“I think I will have to return. But I’ll run up again in a few days,” said Nick, after pretending to study over the situation a little while.

“No, and I’m really glad you will be one of our party, for I don’t exactly like being the only disinterested witness to the cremation. I want you to follow the remains with me to the crematory and see them put into the retort.”

“Thank you. Now, let us go up to the house. The{176} service takes place at one o’clock. We’ll find nearly the whole town present, for Mr. and Mrs. Mackenzie, though they never entertained, were immensely popular.”

“A better man did not live in Elmwood. He and his wife were prominently identified with every good work undertaken by the churches.”

“Yes. Like nearly all Scotchmen, Mackenzie was a profound Presbyterian of the strong foreordination faith. Yet he was always ready to join hands with the members of any Christian sect in doing deeds of good. You will see in this last tribute how great was the respect in which he was held.”

And what Nick saw during the funeral services went to confirm Dr. Abbott’s assertions.

The attendance was so large that the coffin was carried out under a large tree, near the front of the house, and there the funeral sermon was preached before several hundred neighbors, many of whom shed the tears of sincere sorrow.

The sermon was pronounced by everyone to be the most eloquent effort of the reverend speaker’s life. The subject, it was agreed, was an inspiration.

Nick’s attention was quietly divided between the widow and the dog. The widow’s face was hidden beneath a deep crape veil, and she seemed to weep silently and incessantly.

The dog did not simulate. He expressed no sorrow in his brute way, but to Nick’s practiced eye, the animal{177} was plainly nonplussed. He walked around among the vast crowd, sniffing at everybody and peering up anxiously into the faces of all he passed.

“Rover is looking for his master,” silently commented Nick. “What a splendid assistant I have in that dog.”

After the services, the neighbors were dismissed. Only the undertaker, Dr. Abbott and a few chosen friends remained at the house.

Nick excused himself to the doctor, with the plea that he must go to the hotel and get ready for his departure. He promised to meet Abbott at the depot.

Among the passengers who left the train at Elmwood was a rather handsome, smoothed-faced young man, an entire stranger to the loungers about the station, who were already collecting to pay a last tribute of respect to the remains of their dead townsman, as he would be borne away forever by the four o’clock train.

The stranger inquired the way to the nearest hotel and set out to walk there, after getting his directions.

With his traveling bag in hand he entered the hotel just as Nick came into the office with his valise, and went to the desk to settle his bill.

The comfort of the parting guest is always made subservient to the welcome which awaits the fresh arrival at country hotels.

The detective noticed a look of surprise on the land{178}lord’s face, as he turned the register around and examined it, after the stranger had written his name.

“Beg pardon for seeming to be impertinent, but are you Miles Mackenzie’s son?”

“I’ve often heard your father speak of you. And now I look at you, I think you resemble him somewhat.”

“Well, no. That is why I want to brush up a little before I go to the house and surprise him. So I just stopped in. Can you give me a room with plenty of soap, water and towels?”

“Ahem!” he began, clearing his husky throat. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard any news since you arrived?”

“News? Why, no! I didn’t suppose you ever had any news in such a quiet, graveyard sort of a place. What on earth induced father to come to this town and bury himself alive with all his money, I cannot conceive. I marvel that he hasn’t died of sheer lonesomeness.”

“Your father leaves for New York on the four o’clock train. He must now be on the road to the depot.”

“Why, then, I’ll go back and surprise him at the train. I can go along and——”

“I must. He died the day before yesterday, and will be taken to New York for burial this afternoon.”

“This is terrible,” groaned the afflicted son, as he let his face fall into his hands and sank back into a chair.

The landlord was so absorbed in the overpowering grief of his new guest, that he scarcely mustered up enough presence of mind to make out and receipt the bill of the departing lawyer, Wylie Ketchum, of New York.

As this task was finally completed, the sound of slowly revolving wheels came in from the street, accompanied by the measured tread of many feet.

The tender-hearted landlord came out from behind his desk, laid his hand gently on the afflicted man’s shoulder, and said, while tears came into his eyes:

“There comes the body, now, on the way to the depot. Will you accompany it to New York?”

The young man raised his face, and looked toward the street. Nick was sure the face was paler than it had been when its owner covered it with his hands a few moments before. The eyes certainly were filled with horror, and a wild expression distorted the countenance.

“No! No!” he muttered. “I couldn’t bear it. It’s too{180} late, now. Let them go on. I’ll remain here till—till—my stepmother returns.”

Then he drew back to a place where he could look through a window into the street without being seen.

From that place he watched the funeral procession pass the hotel, on its slow journey to the depot.

Nick looked, also, and his eyes rested longest upon the dog, Rover, which followed among the crowd, still maintaining that animal expression of puzzled wonder.

Just as the end of the procession passed the hotel, the dog stopped, put his nose to the ground, sniffed vigorously a few moments, and came running back. His nose remained close to the ground, and he came straight into the hotel.

The next moment he uttered a joyful whine, and, bounding across the room, began to lick the hand of the stranger and manifest other signs of doggish joy.

Nick Carter was busy fastening his bag, yet he noticed the look of terror, mixed with rage, which came into the young man’s face.

“Whose dog is this?” asked young Mackenzie, patting the delighted Rover on the head.

“Well, that beats the dickens!” muttered mine host. “Why, that’s your father’s Rover. The instinct of these brutes is wonderful. He knows you are a member of the family, I guess.”

Just then the landlord’s attention was called to another part of the room, and Nick’s head was bent down till it{181} seemed to have his body between his eyes and Mackenzie, Jr. Yet he saw the latter give the dog a vicious kick, which sent the brute howling toward the door.

“Poor fellow!” coaxed Mackenzie, “did I step on your foot! Well, I ask your pardon, old boy, I’m sure.”

The dog approached suspiciously and received the man’s caress, with some misgivings expressed in his honest face.

“Landlord, I’m going to the house to remain till my stepmother returns. I suppose I’ll find some one there?”

“All the better, then; I’ll not be disturbed in my sorrow. Can you direct me?”

“Certainly,” was the response, and the landlord gave the necessary directions, concluding with: “You can’t miss it.”

“Come on, old fellow; we’ll go together,” said the afflicted man to the dog.

And as Nick was driven to the depot, in the town bus, he saw the wandering prodigal walking up the road in the opposite direction, while Rover went gamboling along at his side.

“If men were endowed with the instinct of dogs,” muttered Nick, “crimes like this would never be committed.”

Then he heaved a sigh as he watched the capers of the happy dog, and again muttered:

“Poor brute! Your instinct this time will cost you your life. You know too much to live. And if I was suspected of sharing your knowledge, my life would also be in danger.{182}”

CHAPTER XXV.

THE CREMATION.

It was seven o’clock when the remains of the dead man from Elmwood reached New York City. On the train, Nick yielded to Abbott’s request to accompany them to the crematory.

So reluctantly did the pretended Mr. Ketchum agree to become one of the small funeral party, that Abbott was far from suspecting the fact that his new acquaintance left Elmwood with the determination of seeing the remains in the coffin placed in the furnace, and not lose sight of them until they were reduced to ashes.

It took two hours for the hearse bearing the remains and the carriage in which sat the widow, Dr. Abbott and Nick to cross the city to the Thirty-fourth Street Ferry, reach Long Island City, and make their way to the crematory.

They found the furnace ready for the reception of the body. The manager suggested that the widow had better not remain during the process of incineration, but she insisted in not only remaining, but also in viewing the process.

Much to Dr. Abbott’s surprise, but not to Nick’s, the widow witnessed the cremation without fainting, and without even going into an hysterical condition.

Indeed, her interest in the process was marked and unconcealed. The ceremony seemed to fascinate her, and while her eyes followed every movement of the men who{183} were handling the corpse, Nick’s eyes were watching her just as intently.

Without the twitching of a muscle, she saw the body placed on the reception slab; she saw it covered with the cloth soaked in the acid used for that special purpose; she saw the doors of the retort flung open; she saw the slab containing the body hastily pushed into the incandescent oven; she saw the doors hurriedly closed forever between the world and the mortal form of the man with the long, white beard. Through the place prepared for the purpose, she watched the outlines of the body under the medicated cloth without a shriek of horror—without even so much as a sob she stood there, and saw the covered form on the slab slowly sink, quiver and finally settle down into a thin layer of ashes.

The cremation was finished; the earthly remains of the man in the white beard were nothing but a handful of ashes; the manager of ceremonies gave Abbott a knowing look.

Dr. Abbott drew Mrs. Mackenzie’s arm still closer through his own, and turning, led her away to the waiting carriage. Nick followed, and heard the sigh which at last escaped from Mrs. Mackenzie’s lips.

Dr. Abbott’s construction of the sigh differed materially from that which Nick put upon it.

It was nearly eleven o’clock when he sent up his card to Miss Templin’s room.{184}

“I might have told you that much before your card was sent up,” exclaimed the clerk, “had not something else been on my mind at the time. Miss Templin has not been at the hotel since last night.”

“Not been here since last night!” repeated Nick, in surprise. “Why, where did she go?”

“Excuse me, sir, but if I knew, I think I should not have the right to answer for her whereabouts to everybody who called, unless I was sure the inquisitor had a right to receive the information,” replied the clerk.

“You are quite right,” assented Nick. “When I tell you who I am, I believe you will not hesitate to give me what information I need.”

“Carter,” he said, as he read the name written thereon. “You are Mr. Carter.”

“Well, you beat the dickens in disguising yourself so your best friends don’t know you,” muttered the clerk.

“Well, there’s something queer about her disappearance. By the way, here’s a telegram came for her to-day.{185}”

Without so much as saying “by your leave,” Nick tore off the envelope and read the message.

“It is in answer to a message she sent for me,” explained the detective. “Now, what is there strange about her disappearance?”

“Don’t let him know who I am,” whispered Nick, as the hotel detective came forward, in answer to the clerk’s beck.

“This gentleman is a friend of Miss Templin, the young lady who has been absent so mysteriously,” explained the clerk to the local detective. “Please tell him what you know of the circumstances surrounding the affair.”

Nick and the “local” walked over to a seat near the entrance to the restaurant and sat down together.

“You see,” began the local, “the first suspicious thing about the affair that attracted my notice happened yesterday.”

“I saw her sending a telegram by the hotel wire yesterday afternoon. My attention was attracted at the time, by the queer actions of a man who came in at the{186} Broadway entrance while Miss Templin was writing out her message.

“The fellow passed behind your friend, and I am sure he looked over her shoulder and endeavored to read what she was writing.”

“No; he scarcely stopped at Miss Templin’s back a moment. Then he passed on, and left by the Twenty-sixth Street door.”

“This man passed on up Broadway to the Coleman House, where he joined another fellow—a man older than he, who wore a full, close-cropped sandy beard. I heard him call this fellow Dent.”

“Only that far. The two men walked north on Broadway, when they left the Coleman House, and I came back to the hotel.”

“But now comes the most surprising part of my discoveries. Last evening those two men came back.”

“Yes. The man with the sandy beard was on the box—was driving a spanking pair of horses, to a fine-looking carriage. The other fellow rode inside.

“The latter, without getting out, called the bell boy to the carriage, and sent a note up to Miss Templin. Ten minutes later, the young lady came down, equipped as if{187} for a call, went out, was helped into the carriage and was driven away. That was the last of her, the carriage or her two companions.”

“Can you describe the person who came to the hotel and took her away—the man who rode with her, inside?”

“If Miss Templin fell into that fellow’s trap, I can do her no good now. I must not risk spoiling the whole case in an attempt to find her at present, especially as such a search would be extremely difficult to prosecute from the points I have to start with.

“This sudden disappearance of Miss Templin will make my work somewhat more difficult, and change my plans materially. With her to accompany me to Elmwood and confront Mrs. Mackenzie and her woman, Emma, my task would have been easy from this point. Now, I am forced to take a new tack, and sail up against the wind.”

When the president of the Scotia Insurance Company arrived at his office that forenoon, he found Nick on hand waiting for him.

“Ah! Mr. Carter,” he cried, “I am glad to see you. What news have you to report?”

“For the purpose of saving your own money and the money of the other four companies.”

“It is only part of my scheme to capture the most consummate band of scoundrels who ever plotted to rob insurance companies.”

“Then please notify the widow that if she will call here at the company’s office at two o’clock to-morrow, and furnish the necessary proofs, a check for the amount of her policy will be given to her.”

“Yes, I do. You will delay that part of it until after the banks have closed. I’ll promise that it will never be cashed.”

Nick remained in earnest conversation with the president for nearly an hour. The two men then parted on the best of terms.

He went straight from the Broad Street Station to the office of the chief of police, with whom he was closeted for twenty minutes.

The two men took a carriage and were driven to No. 1871 ——th Street, where Madame Reclaire had her rooms.

Nick didn’t waste a word in parleying, but pushed his way in—the chief of police following.

The woman made a vain effort to stop them, but she was helpless to stay their entrance.

In half a minute they had locked the door, and led her into a better-lighted room beyond.

“It means, Madame Reclaire, that you’ll give us some information which we want, or go to jail, charged with being accessory to murder.”

CHAPTER XXVI.

AT MADAME RECLAIRE’S.

Madame Reclaire’s face grew ghastly. Her attempted bravado faded away in an instant. She caught at a chair for support.

“A label from one of your bottles has been found in a case where life was taken unlawfully. It may be you are innocent of wrong in the affair, but your bleaching devices were used in a plot which has, as I said, resulted in murder.”

“That remains to be seen. It behooves you to speak the truth to us. About two years ago a man with a long, black beard called at this place and purchased some bottles of a wash to bleach his beard and his hair snow-white.”

The chief of police shot Nick a quick triumphant{191} glance. Madame Reclaire saw it, and properly interpreted the meaning of that look. She bit her lip till it almost bled. The shrewd woman knew in an instant that she had been trapped; that her two visitors had no knowledge of any such visit from a customer such as they had described.

“There your memory fails you, madam, and I see we might as well take you with us, where we can refresh your recollection with faces.”

“And have supplied both with enough of the washes since then to keep those colors up?”

“You did not ask what purpose they had in view by changing the color of beard and hair?”

“Hereafter you had better make it your business. We will leave you now, madam. Until I see you again, do not go to the bother of trying to leave your apartments. You’ll be watched, and it would only lead to your landing in jail. Good-day.”

Nick went direct to the Broad Street Station, and took a train at that point for Elmwood, where he arrived about nine o’clock at night.

“Hello, Ketchum! I’m downright glad you’ve come. Had you been ten minutes sooner, you would have seen Mackenzie’s son, who just left my office. He came in yesterday, and was awfully cut up over the unexpected news of his father’s death.”

“I’ll tell you, Dr. Abbott. I was at the hotel yesterday when young Mackenzie arrived. Rover found him there, and took a great fancy to him. I thought, perhaps, the dog might be following him around.”

“Wait a moment, doctor. What did Mackenzie want just now? To tell you his stepmother had been summoned to go to New York to-morrow by the Scotia Insurance Company to get the money on the policy of that company?”

“And he wanted you to go along to furnish proofs of death, and to identify the widow?”

“I’ll tell you, presently. First, let me ask whether you promised to go to New York with Mrs. Mackenzie?”

“He is. And I’ll be obliged if you’ll help them out with your evidence.”

“Oh! I’ll help them out, never fear. But neither you nor I must go with them.”

“First, by telling you that the poor dog, which was killed last night, was not so easily deceived as you were.”

“Had your perceptions been as clear as the dog’s, you, too, might have met his fate.”

Abbott jumped to his feet, as he made the exclamation, and stood looking at the man before him like one entranced.

“Well, I’m going to risk it, and rely on your good, sound common sense. I believe I know you well enough to trust you with an astonishing secret.”

“Let me ask you a question. That dog, you told me, was very fond of his master, Miles Mackenzie?”

“Wasn’t it strange that the dog did not recognize his master’s corpse in the coffin when he looked at it night before last?”

“Then I did. An intelligent dog like Rover would have known even his master’s corpse.”

“Wait. Perhaps you noticed that the dog was almost constantly searching for something.”

“And he found him. That is where Rover, the dog, was shrewder than you, the friend.”

Then Nick described the scene at the hotel when Rover surprised the landlord, and aggravated the newly arrived son.

“That the dog could not be deceived. He knew the corpse in the coffin was not the remains of his master as well as he knew the pretended son was Mackenzie himself, without white whiskers, without white hair, without dye on the upper part of the face.{196}”

“It seems so, but I have the proofs to back up the murdered dog’s cute perceptions—that instinct which cost him his life.”

“No. Even incredulous as you are determined to be, you shall soon agree that you have been wonderfully deceived. Shall I tell you the strange story?”

“Well, some years ago, a certain Dr. Greene owned a private sanitarium near Oakland, Cal.

“Among his patients was a rich man, who met with a peculiar affliction. The man’s name was Jason Templin.

“His affliction left him helpless, speechless and without the power of thought. He was a living man with a dead brain.

“Among the attendants at the sanitarium was one of Templin’s nurses, a handsome, scheming young woman.

“It was she, I suspect, who conceived the plan to obtain great wealth, and at the same time become the wife of Dr. Greene, whom she, in her way, loved.

“She made the discovery that if Greene’s beard and hair were white, and his face a little more florid, he would be almost the counterpart of the strange patient—Jason Templin.{197}

“Then a plan was probably laid which had in its aim the substitution of Greene for Templin, whereby they might obtain the latter’s great wealth.

“One day a man met his death in such a way that only Greene and his scheming aids knew anything about it. This man’s body was dressed in Templin’s clothes, the body was laid with the face in the grate fire of Templin’s room till it was burned beyond the power of recognition, and the helpless Templin was put in perfect concealment.

“The mutilated body was delivered to Templin’s friends, who buried it, under the belief that they were burying the unfortunate man’s corpse.

“Shortly afterward Greene sold out, receiving seventy-five thousand dollars cash for his property.

“When we investigate further, it will be found that Templin’s handsome nurse and several other of his associates disappeared at the same time, and were seen no more in California.

“Some time later, Miles Mackenzie appeared in this town of Elmwood. With him was his young wife and a stout servant woman.

“This Mackenzie was such a living image of the awfully afflicted Jason Templin that the latter’s daughter, a few weeks ago, caught sight of Mackenzie’s white beard and hair, and mistook him for her father, whose remains she had believed were lying in a vault at San Francisco.

“When Miss Templin saw the disguised Mackenzie,{198} he had just paid a premium on a one-hundred-thousand-dollar life insurance policy.

“The fact turned up that Mackenzie had five one-hundred-thousand-dollar policies.

“A little further investigation showed that in two years he had paid, in premiums, over sixty thousand dollars.

“There was not enough left of the seventy-five thousand dollars to pay another year’s premiums, and still the unfortunate, helpless Templin, hidden away by the man who was masquerading as his able-bodied double, didn’t die, and give them a chance to collect the insurance.

“So a crisis in their plans approached, and the murder, which they had hoped to avoid, seemed to be inevitable.

“Meanwhile, Mackenzie had singled out a physician in high standing at Elmwood, as his chosen friend and confidant.

“He succeeded in winning this doctor’s friendship, and by correctly describing the symptoms, so well known to him as a doctor, of a deadly disease, prepared the deceived friend for the news of his sudden death.

“No! No! Great heavens! No! This Templin may have died a natural death,” cried Abbott.

“But he didn’t, as I’ll convince you soon. Templin was killed—poisoned, probably—and his body was produced before the Elmwood people as that of Mackenzie.

“Meanwhile, Greene disappeared. He cut off his beard, cropped his hair, removed the dye from his face, and appeared in his real character as a comparatively young man.

“He had prepared for his advent in Elmwood in the character of his own son, by showing letters from the supposed young man written in London, Paris and other foreign cities.”

“One of his companions in crime—a man whose beard and hair of yellow hue had been dyed a sandy color. A man named Dent.”

“So the false son came home at almost the hour when the remains of the supposed father were being taken away to be cremated.

“But the brute instincts of a dog nearly betrayed the well-laid plot. It so thoroughly frightened the arch-plotter that he concluded to take no further risks in that direction, and while the pretended widow was witnessing the incineration of the remains of Jason Templin, the rejuvenated Miles Mackenzie, alias Dr. Greene, killed his loving dog.

“Do you remember how persistently the supposed widow insisted on seeing the remains cremated?”

“She took no chances on an autopsy ever being held. That is why I am so sure Jason Templin did not die a natural death.”

“You and I. That is why I said you must not go with them to New York to-morrow. I want you, in their absence, to go with me and make a search of their house.”

“No. The only thing which is almost beyond belief now, is that I should have been so easily deceived.”

CHAPTER XXVII.

THE PADDED SECRET PRISON.

Abbott and Nick Carter remained locked up together in earnest conversation nearly all that night. A train left Elmwood for New York at a few minutes after five o’clock in the morning, and it carried away the famous detective on his return to the city.

He went at once to his own house, where he was fortunate in finding his two assistants, Chick and Patsy.{201}

His first move, after having dispatched a hearty breakfast, was to take Chick up to his “den” and remove his disguise as Wylie Ketchum, the lawyer. Then he proceeded to assist Chick in assuming the same character, until another Wylie Ketchum stood forth.

“You’ll do. Mrs. Mackenzie saw me only by lamplight, and through her crape veil, and you are so nearly like I was, that the difference is not discernible to an unpracticed eye.”

“I guess there’ll be no trouble in deceiving her, Nick. The man never saw you?”

“No. Now, remember you are to be at the Scotia Insurance Company’s office at two o’clock prompt.

“Patsy will be on hand to shadow them when they leave the office, and never lose sight of the couple till I return, to-morrow morning.”

About noon Nick went to the Scotia office, and received the following telegram, which had just arrived:

“It’s all right,” said Nick, as he handed the telegram to the president. “My assistant will represent me here as Mr. Ketchum, and I’ll be off to Elmwood again.{202}”

Fifteen minutes after Mrs. Mackenzie and her pretended stepson had reached New York, Nick, in the new disguise of a farmer, was once more on his way to Elmwood, carrying with him a huge carpetbag.

His train left directly after the Elmwood express arrived, and he had the satisfaction of seeing his party disembark, and start toward the ferry before he stumbled up the steps into the smoking car of his train.

When he was once more in the presence of Dr. Abbott it was necessary to introduce himself anew.

But when Abbott realized that in the old farmer who stood before him he saw the great New York detective, he was not slow in posting Nick on the way the case lay at Elmwood.

“When I pleaded my duty to a sudden very dangerous case, wherein my services were demanded for this afternoon, Mrs. Mackenzie and her pretended stepson were very much disturbed. But when I assured them that you were a personal friend of the president of the insurance company, and had promised me to be on hand for the purpose of proof and identification, they agreed to go on and try it without me.”

The stout servant, Emma, met them at the door, and there was a scowl on her face.

“Why, Dr. Abbott, I thought you had such a serious{203} case on hand this afternoon,” she said, placing her large body in the doorway, and thus barring their entrance.

“An old man with a long, white beard; a man who looked as much like your late employer, Mr. Mackenzie, as if they had been brothers.”

The woman’s face grew deadly white, and for a moment Nick believed she was going to faint.

But Emma was not of the fainting kind. By a great effort, she regained some of her courage, and attempting a laugh, which was a dismal failure, she said:

“We think he did live in this house, and have come to investigate a little, to satisfy ourselves.”

Emma had slowly thrust one hand into the folds of her dress skirt. Suddenly, and with a movement as quick as thought, she stepped back, raised her arm and flashed a pistol in Abbott’s face.

She was not quick enough for the detective, however. His large carpetbag swung through the air and hit the weapon just as she pulled the trigger.

There was a report, but the bullet went wide of the mark. In another minute, Emma was securely bound and gagged.

“Now, for a search of the house,” said Nick. “First, I want to see if any changes have been made in the building since Mackenzie moved in.{204}”

“There have been none made on this floor, as I told you, for I’ve been all over it dozens of times,” replied Abbott.

He led the way first to the front room over the parlor. They no sooner entered than the doctor walked across to the dividing wall opposite the front windows.

“Here is something, Mr. Carter,” exclaimed Abbott, staring at the blank wall.

“There was a large clothes closet at this place when I rented the house to Mackenzie.”

“Not this part, surely. It is brick, covered with plaster, and neatly papered. Did Mackenzie buy any brick after he came here?”

“No. But I now remember he asked permission to remove a small outbuilding, and that was built of brick.”

“That is where he got them, then. Was there a corresponding closet on the other side?”

They went into the apartment over the sitting room, and there, too, the closet had been sealed up by a solid, brick wall.

“Now, we’ll go below and take a look into the closet where Rover’s investigations were so rudely interrupted by the toe of Emma’s shoe,” remarked Nick.

The closet was dark, but Abbott produced a lamp, lighted it, and brought it to Nick’s assistance.

Then he moved the ladder to a place about the center of the closet, and mounted the steps until he could place both hands against the board surface over his head, which he did.

“There is a trapdoor here, I am sure,” said Nick, “but it is somehow secured by—— Ah! Let’s try this.”

He pressed his thumb against the head of a nail, which had a slightly different appearance from the rest; at the same time he maintained the upward pressure of the other hand.

There was the noise of a sharp click, and then a section of the ceiling, about four feet square, began to rise from one side.

Pushing the trap open as he went, the detective continued to ascend the ladder until his head protruded through the opening.{206}

For a moment he stopped to look around. Then he drew himself up to the floor above.

The two men found themselves standing in an apartment about ten feet square, inclosed by four solid walls. The roof of the house, twelve feet above, opened into the glass-inclosed cupola, which surmounted the building, and thus, as Nick and Abbott saw, in an instant, was furnished the medium for light and ventilation.

The only furniture in the small room was a single bed, of iron, a chair and a small, rough table.

Indeed, there was little, if any, room, for anything more; though a hole in the side next to the chimney showed plainly that some kind of a stove had been used during the winter.

A hand glass, a pair of scissors, shaving utensils, a basin of water, and two or three bottles lay promiscuously on the table, and scattered over the floor was a mass of white hair.

“Behold all that remains of your friend’s venerable whiskers,” said Nick, pointing to the telltale material at their feet.

“Yes, and was so sure of the security of this hiding{207} place that he didn’t lose any time in destroying the proofs of his villainous plot. See! there are the bottles from Madame Reclaire’s laboratory, whose contents bleached his beard and hair. He even used the wash here right in the presence of the helpless man who was so terribly wronged.”

“Evidently. Have you any idea how they got Templin here without arousing suspicion?”

“During the first few months of their residence in the house,” he finally said, “there was a man of all work about the place who, from what you tell me, I believe was the fellow with the sandy beard and hair Madame Reclaire described as a partnership patron with Mackenzie. Maybe he had something to do with smuggling the old man in.”

“I have no doubt of it,” said Nick. “It was probably he who constructed this chamber while Elmwood slept; and helped Mackenzie, or Greene, to bring the victim from some other hiding place to this padded prison. I wish I knew where that sandy-bearded man is at this moment.”

If Nick only had known what he expressed the wish to know, it would have saved him from great danger.

For at the very moment the wish was expressed on his lips, the sandy-bearded man was cautiously crawling up the stepladder, in the closet below.

A few moments later his burly form straightened, his arm went up through the opening, his hand caught hold of the trapdoor, and before Nick or Abbott realized their{208} peril, the door fell, with a muffled sound, and the click of the spring lock was plainly heard.

Nick had bent his head toward the floor, and was listening for any sound which might come up from below.

For half a minute everything was silent. Then was heard what seemed to be the sound of crashing glass.

“Abbott, we must get out of this, if we can, without delay,” said Nick, in tones which were full of intense meaning. “They have crashed the lamp among the clothing in the closet beneath us, and thus fired the house.”

“I don’t know. But the woman has had help, for she could never have escaped from her bonds unassisted; of that I am sure.”

“Good heavens, Carter! There is no chance for us. The roof is too far beyond our reach, and that is now our only way out,” cried Abbott.{209}

CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE WAY IT ALL ENDED.

“I have been in many tighter places than this, doctor,” said Nick, cheerfully. “I’ll show you how badly the people below us have miscalculated.”

In confirmation of his suspicions, a loud peal of thunder broke the outside silence.

“It is coming fast, too,” said Nick. “Now, see how easy it will be for us to escape.”

Then he pulled a sheet from the bed, twisted it into a rope, and threw it around his neck.

“Now, then, doctor,” he exclaimed, “just jump upon the table and brace yourself to hold the weight of about one hundred and eighty pounds of human flesh.”

Nick followed him upon the table at his back, having first seized one of the empty bottles in his right hand.

The next moment he was standing upright, with a foot on each of Abbott’s shoulders.

Having secured a safe hold for his hands on the base{210} of the cupola, Nick put his athletic training into use, and drew himself up by the mighty muscles of his arms.

Then taking the sheet rope from his shoulders, he lowered it to Abbott, with the question:

He would not have reached the cupola had not Nick finally let go one hand from its hold on the sheet, and with it caught Abbott by the arm. Then he seized the physician with the other hand, and the rescue was completed. Abbott came through the opening into the cupola as if he were fastened to a derrick.

The thunder was crashing on all sides by this time. Smoke was also rolling out of the house by the doors and windows, and Nick knew that they would have no time to lose in getting down to the ground.

Seizing with a firm grasp the bottle he had brought from the prison room below, he made an assault upon the glass inclosure of the cupola. Crash! crash! went the crystal plates, until an opening was secured large enough to let Nick crawl through to the roof.

He turned and was assisting the doctor through, when the latter suddenly pointed over Nick’s shoulder and cried:

Nick directed his attention to the place Abbott indicated—a large elm tree, about sixty feet from the house.

There, leaning against the trunk, and watching the house, were Emma, the servant, and a man with a sandy beard.

Even while the doctor was looking, the eyes of the sandy-bearded man were raised, and he saw the men on the roof.

At that instant there came a blinding flash, followed by a deafening clap of thunder.

The tree was a wreck from the lightning’s bolt, and beneath its shattered boughs lay two forms—a man and a woman.

The man and woman under the tree were found, upon examination by the doctor, to be stone dead.

Nick hurried the doctor away, and enjoined him to secrecy on the subject of their afternoon’s adventure.

That night Nick, accompanied by Dr. Abbott, Chick, Patsy, the chief of police and the president of the Scotia{212} Insurance Company, surprised Mackenzie and his guilty wife at their apartments in the hotel where they had secured accommodations in order to be in New York the next morning for the purpose of cashing the Scotia’s check as soon as the banks opened their doors for business.

They admitted everything but the killing of Jason Templin. Both declared he had died a natural death, a statement Nick knew was not true, but which he realized would be hard to disprove before a jury.

While Chick and Patsy kept close guard over the two prisoners, the chief of police, Nick Carter, Abbott and the insurance president retired to another room for consultation.

Two of the conspirators were dead. If Miss Templin yet lived, it would be hard to convict the two survivors of murder. That much was admitted.

Miss Templin could not be found. Mackenzie declared, a few minutes before, that the young woman was alive, but would never be heard from unless he got ready to speak, which, under his present circumstances, he was not willing to do.

Nick and the chief of police both realized that they were dealing with a desperate man, and they finally agreed to compromise with him if he would accept their terms.

They more readily reached such an understanding when Abbott suggested that for Miss Templin’s sake it would{213} be well, if possible, to keep from her the knowledge of the fate of her father.

First, they were to return Miss Templin to her friends without her having suffered serious bodily harm.

Each should plead guilty to a charge of defrauding the Scotia Insurance Company, and take a sentence in the State’s prison of from ten to twenty years.

In return, they were promised that Templin’s fate would never be brought up against them.

To this compromise Mackenzie, speaking for himself and his wife, refused to agree.

It was only after a promise that in addition to a pledge not to prosecute them on a charge of murder, the insurance companies would refund the premiums already paid in that a final agreement was made.

Acting under directions from Mackenzie, Nick found Miss Templin, bound hand and foot, gagged, senseless and almost dead, in a scantily furnished room high up in a half-deserted tenement on Tenth Avenue, where she had been taken by Mackenzie and the latter’s friend, Dent, on the night they decoyed her from the St. James Hotel.

Early in the day on which she disappeared, Miss Templin made a call on a friend whom she had known in{214} Italy, but who at that time was married, and living in New York.

When Miss Templin was leaving her friend’s residence, the two men strolled past and heard the hostess from the step say:

“If Tom comes home to-day, which is not likely, I’ll send him around after you, and you must come back with him to spend the evening. I know he’ll be glad to meet you, and you’ll be sure to like him.”

A forged note, stating that Tom had arrived, after all, and would fetch Miss Templin to the house in a carriage, was written, a livery carriage hired from a public stable, the driver drugged, Dent substituted, and Miss Templin was trapped very easily.

The agreement made with the Mackenzies that night was faithfully carried out, and the couple are serving out a fifteen years’ sentence in Sing Sing.

Louise will never know that her father’s remains were cremated on Long Island, but will be left in the belief that they lie in the vault at San Francisco.

At Elmwood the theory is prevalent that lightning destroyed the Mackenzie residence and killed the two servants; for the body of the dead man was recognized as being that of a person who worked for Mackenzie when the latter first came to the village.

The only mystery that has never been cleared up by the good people of that section is the sudden disappearance of Mrs. Mackenzie and the son.{215}

Many Elmwood people read in their city newspapers the account of Dr. Amos Greene and his wife, who pleaded guilty to an attempt to defraud an insurance company, but none of them even suspect that the two self-convicted criminals were their former highly esteemed fellow townspeople, Mr. and Mrs. Miles Mackenzie.

Louise Templin became Mrs. Lonsdale, as Nick discovered a day or two later, when a dainty card was sent up to his office with this characteristic message written on the back:

“Just off on our honeymoon, Mr. Carter. I felt I must stop long enough to send up my regards and say ‘thank you’ for making our present happiness possible.

No. 1142 of the New Magnet Library is entitled “The Bank Draft Puzzle.” A mystery story full of exciting incidents in which Nick Carter unravels an intricate plot teeming with interest.

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 Hicock, 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 Maurauders 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

BOOKS FOR YOUNG MEN

MERRIWELL SERIES

ALL BY BURT L. STANDISH

Stories of Frank and Dick Merriwell

Fascinating Stories of Athletics

A half million enthusiastic followers of the Merriwell brothers will attest the unfailing interest and wholesomeness of these adventures of two lads of high ideals, who play fair with themselves, as well as with the rest of the world.

These stories are rich in fun and thrills in all branches of sports and athletics. They are extremely high in moral tone, and cannot fail to be of immense benefit to every boy who reads them.

They have the splendid quality of firing a boy’s ambition to become a good athlete, in order that he may develop into a strong, vigorous, right-thinking man.

Ted Strong and his band of broncho-busters have most exciting adventures in this line of attractive big books, and furnish the reader with an almost unlimited number of thrills.

If you like a really good Western cowboy story, then this line is made expressly for you.

ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT
1—Frank Merriwell’s School Days 2—Frank Merriwell’s Chums 3—Frank Merriwell’s Foes 4—Frank Merriwell’s Trip West 5—Frank Merriwell Down South 6—Frank Merriwell’s Bravery 7—Frank Merriwell’s Hunting Tour 8—Frank Merriwell in Europe 9—Frank Merriwell at Yale 10—Frank Merriwell’s Sports Afield 11—Frank Merriwell’s Races 12—Frank Merriwell’s Party 13—Frank Merriwell’s Bicycle Tour 14—Frank Merriwell’s Courage 15—Frank Merriwell’s Daring 16—Frank Merriwell’s Alarm 17—Frank Merriwell’s Athletes 18—Frank Merriwell’s Skill 19—Frank Merriwell’s Champions 20—Frank Merriwell’s Return to Yale 21—Frank Merriwell’s Secret 22—Frank Merriwell’s Danger 23—Frank Merriwell’s Loyalty 24—Frank Merriwell in Camp 25—Frank Merriwell’s Vacation 26—Frank Merriwell’s Cruise 27—Frank Merriwell’s Chase 28—Frank Merriwell in Maine 29—Frank Merriwell’s Struggle 30—Frank Merriwell’s First Job 31—Frank Merriwell’s Opportunity 32—Frank Merriwell’s Hard Luck 33—Frank Merriwell’s Protégé 34—Frank Merriwell on the Road 35—Frank Merriwell’s Own Company 36—Frank Merriwell’s Fame 37—Frank Merriwell’s College Chums 38—Frank Merriwell’s Problem 39—Frank Merriwell’s Fortune 40—Frank Merriwell’s New Comedian 41—Frank Merriwell’s Prosperity 42—Frank Merriwell’s Stage Hit 43—Frank Merriwell’s Great Scheme 44—Frank Merriwell in England 45—Frank Merriwell on the Boulevards 40—Frank Merriwell’s Duel 47—Frank Merriwell’s Double Shot 48—Frank Merriwell’s Baseball Victories 49—Frank Merriwell’s Confidence 50—Frank Merriwell’s Auto 51—Frank Merriwell’s Fun 52—Frank Merriwell’s Generosity 53—Frank Merriwell’s Tricks 54—Frank Merriwell’s Temptation 55—Frank Merriwell on Top 56—Frank Merriwell’s Luck 57—Frank Merriwell’s Mascot 58—Frank Merriwell’s Reward 59—Frank Merriwell’s Phantom 60—Frank Merriwell’s Faith 61—Frank Merriwell’s Victories 62—Frank Merriwell’s Iron Nerve 63—Frank Merriwell in Kentucky 64—Frank Merriwell’s Power 65—Frank Merriwell’s Shrewdness 66—Frank Merriwell’s Setback 67—Frank Merriwell’s Search 68—Frank Merriwell’s Club 69—Frank Merriwell’s Trust 70—Frank Merriwell’s False Friend 71—Frank Merriwell’s Strong Arm	72—Frank Merriwell as Coach 73—Frank Merriwell’s Brother 74—Frank Merriwell’s Marvel 75—Frank Merriwell’s Support 76—Dick Merriwell at Fardale 77—Dick Merriwell’s Glory 78—Dick Merriwell’s Promise 79—Dick Merriwell’s Rescue 80—Dick Merriwell’s Narrow Escape 81—Dick Merriwell’s Racket 82—Dick Merriwell’s Revenge 83—Dick Merriwell’s Ruse 84—Dick Merriwell’s Delivery 85—Dick Merriwell’s Wonders 86—Frank Merriwell’s Honor 87—Dick Merriwell’s Diamond 88—Frank Merriwell’s Winners 89—Dick Merriwell’s Dash 90—Dick Merriwell’s Ability 91—Dick Merriwell’s Trap 92—Dick Merriwell’s Defense 93—Dick Merriwell’s Model 94—Dick Merriwell’s Mystery 95—Frank Merriwell’s Backers 96—Dick Merriwell’s Backstop 97—Dick Merriwell’s Western Mission 98—Frank Merriwell’s Rescue 99—Frank Merriwell’s Encounter 100—Dick Merriwell’s Marked Money 101—Frank Merriwell’s Nomads 102—Dick Merriwell on the Gridiron 103—Dick Merriwell’s Disguise 104—Dick Merriwell’s Test 105—Frank Merriwell’s Trump Card 106—Frank Merriwell’s Strategy 107—Frank Merriwell’s Triumph 108—Dick Merriwell’s Grit 109—Dick Merriwell’s Assurance 110—Dick Merriwell’s Long Slide 111—Frank Merriwell’s Rough Deal 112—Dick Merriwell’s Threat 113—Dick Merriwell’s Persistence 114—Dick Merriwell’s Day 115—Frank Merriwell’s Peril 116—Dick Merriwell’s Downfall 117—Frank Merriwell’s Pursuit 118—Dick Merriwell Abroad 119—Frank Merriwell in the Rockies 120—Dick Merriwell’s Pranks 121—Frank Merriwell’s Pride 122—Frank Merriwell’s Challengers 123—Frank Merriwell’s Endurance 124—Dick Merriwell’s Cleverness 125—Frank Merriwell’s Marriage 126—Dick Merriwell, the Wizard 127—Dick Merriwell’s Stroke 128—Dick Merriwell’s Return 129—Dick Merriwell’s Resource 130—Dick Merriwell’s Five 131—Frank Merriwell’s Tigers 132—Dick Merriwell’s Polo Team 133—Frank Merriwell’s Pupils 134—Frank Merriwell’s New Boy 135—Dick Merriwell’s Home Run 136—Dick Merriwell’s Dare 137—Frank Merriwell’s Son 138—Dick Merriwell’s Team Mate 139—Frank Merriwell’s Leaguers 140—Frank Merriwell’s Happy Camp 141—Dick Merriwell’s Influence 142—Dick Merriwell, Freshman 143—Dick Merriwell’s Staying Power

ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT
1—Ted Strong, Cowboy	By Edward C. Taylor
2—Ted Strong Among the Cattlemen	By Edward C. Taylor
3—Ted Strong’s Black Mountain Ranch	By Edward C. Taylor
4—Ted Strong With Rifle and Lasso	By Edward C. Taylor
5—Ted Strong Lost in the Desert	By Edward C. Taylor
6—Ted Strong Fighting the Rustlers	By Edward C. Taylor
7—Ted Strong and the Rival Miners	By Edward C. Taylor
8—Ted Strong and the Last of the Herd	By Edward C. Taylor
9—Ted Strong on a Mountain Trail	By Edward C. Taylor
10—Ted Strong Across the Prairie	By Edward C. Taylor
11—Ted Strong Out For Big Game	By Edward C. Taylor
12—Ted Strong Challenged	By Edward C. Taylor
13—Ted Strong’s Close Call	By Edward C. Taylor
14—Ted Strong’s Passport	By Edward C. Taylor
15—Ted Strong’s Nebraska Ranch	By Edward C. Taylor
16—Ted Strong’s Cattle Drive	By Edward C. Taylor
17—Ted Strong’s Stampede	By Edward C. Taylor
18—Ted Strong’s Prairie Trail	By Edward C. Taylor
19—Ted Strong’s Surprise	By Edward C. Taylor
20—Ted Strong’s Wolf Hunters	By Edward C. Taylor
21—Ted Strong’s Crooked Trail	By Edward C. Taylor
22—Ted Strong in Colorado	By Edward C. Taylor
23—Ted Strong’s Justice	By Edward C. Taylor
24—Ted Strong’s Treasure	By Edward C. Taylor
25—Ted Strong’s Search	By Edward C. Taylor
26—Ted Strong’s Diamond Mine	By Edward C. Taylor
27—Ted Strong’s Manful Task	By Edward C. Taylor
28—Ted Strong, Manager	By Edward C. Taylor
29—Ted Strong’s Man Hunt	By Edward C. Taylor
30—Ted Strong’s Gold Mine	By Edward C. Taylor
31—Ted Strong’s Broncho Boys	By Edward C. Taylor
32—Ted Strong’s Wild Horse	By Edward C. Taylor
33—Ted Strong’s Tenderfoot	By Edward C. Taylor
34—Ted Strong’s Stowaway	By Edward C. Taylor
35—Ted Strong’s Prize Herd	By Edward C. Taylor
36—Ted Strong’s Trouble	By Edward C. Taylor
37—Ted Strong’s Mettle	By Edward C. Taylor
38—Ted Strong’s Big Business	By Edward C. Taylor
39—Ted Strong’s Treasure Cave	By Edward C. Taylor
40—Ted Strong’s Vanishing Island	By Edward C. Taylor
41—Ted Strong’s Motor Car	By Edward C. Taylor
42—Ted Strong in Montana	By Edward C. Taylor
43—Ted Strong’s Contract	By Edward C. Taylor

RATTLING GOOD ADVENTURE

SPORT STORIES

Price, Fifteen Cents

———
Stories of the Big Outdoors
——

There has been a big demand for outdoor stories, and a very considerable portion of it has been for the Maxwell Stevens stories about Jack Lightfoot, the athlete.

These stories are of interest to old and young. They are not, strictly speaking, stories for boys, but boys everywhere will find a great deal in them to engage their interest.

The Jack Lightfoot stories deal with every branch of sport—baseball, football, rowing, swimming, racing, tennis, and every sort of occupation, both indoor and out, that the healthy-minded man turns to.

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

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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

To be published in July, 1926.
144—Dick Merriwell’s Joke	145—Frank Merriwell’s Talisman
To be published in August, 1926.
146—Frank Merriwell’s Horse	147—Dick Merriwell’s Regret
To be published in September, 1926.
148—Dick Merriwell’s Magnetism	149—Dick Merriwell’s Backers
To be published in October, 1926.
150—Dick Merriwell’s Best Work 151—Dick Merriwell’s Distrust	152—Dick Merriwell’s Debt
To be published in November, 1926.
153—Dick Merriwell’s Mastery	154—Dick Merriwell Adrift
To be published in December, 1926.
155—Frank Merriwell’s Worst Boy	156—Dick Merriwell’s Close Call

1—Jack Lightfoot, the Athlete	By Maxwell Stevens
2—Jack Lightfoot’s Crack Nine	By Maxwell Stevens
3—Jack Lightfoot Trapped	By Maxwell Stevens
4—Jack Lightfoot’s Rival	By Maxwell Stevens
5—Jack Lightfoot in Camp	By Maxwell Stevens
6—Jack Lightfoot’s Canoe Trip	By Maxwell Stevens
7—Jack Lightfoot’s Iron Arm	By Maxwell Stevens
8—Jack Lightfoot’s Hoodoo	By Maxwell Stevens
9—Jack Lightfoot’s Decision	By Maxwell Stevens
10—Jack Lightfoot’s Gun Club	By Maxwell Stevens
11—Jack Lightfoot’s Blind	By Maxwell Stevens
12—Jack Lightfoot’s Capture	By Maxwell Stevens
13—Jack Lightfoot’s Head Work	By Maxwell Stevens
14—Jack Lightfoot’s Wisdom	By Maxwell Stevens