5 Cents. April 22, 1893. per Year, rice, $2.50 >» Me on Pr 31 Rose St., N. Y. P. O. Box 2734, AUTHOR OF 2 SIC UC AIA 7 he be S| i ait ruil Gh i } UH \ t t i NN BY aT ZS Sd. “ae Ee oO LULL a. sey ‘ * e e st 5 Cent Library of Detective Stories. Entered Accoriing to Act of Congress, in the Year 1892, by Street & Smith, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C. Second-class Matter atthe New York, N. ¥., Post Office, april 22, 1893. Issued Weekly. Swbseripti Srrevr & Smirn, Publishers, Nick ‘Carter and the ‘Policy Sharps. LEAVING HisS KNIFE IN THE BREAST OF HIS ADVE RSARY, NORTON ATTEMPTED TO SEIZE THE PAPER. IT VANISHED? ‘The Be Entered as Se Or, > FP oc | < | co | mo | od | | ‘f= | cx | | O| 0} z= | O| 2 0 | Z | s| E | wm | Zi <<. ee - | a} Lud | | O | Ol To | S| ® | NICK CARTER LIBRARY. 9-19-29; ? Nick Carter and the Policy Sharps. By the author of “NICK CARTER.” CHAPTER I. THE DEAD GIG. “You are Nick Carter?” 6 I am. ” As the famous detective spoke he laid upon the table before him the card which his visitor had presented. It bore the name, Henry Nelson Rhodes. “You are well known to me by reputation, Mr. Carter.” “And ia ‘are you to me, sir. I am greatly pleased to meet you.’ It would have been hard to find. a name which com- manded more respect than that of the eminent lawyer who now wished to avail himself of the great detective’s skill. “The matter concerning which I wish to consult you,” gaid Mr. Rhodes, “is of the utmost importance.” “State it, if you please. I shall be glad to listen.” “My son has disappeared.” ° “Richard 2” 6 Yes. ” “Ts he not your son by adoption ?” “Vos: but 1am surprised that you should recall the fact. It is sixteen years since I took.him into my care.” Mg ass “Since you knew that fact you are perhaps aware of the deep loss which led me to——” His voice tailed him. The memory was too painful for him to revive. ‘“‘T know it well,” replie@ Nick. “I would not recall it now except that it may have a bearing upon the present case. Your daughter was stolen when she was two years old. You were a widower, and childless. You took this little boy to fill, so far as might be possible, the vacant place. Ihave heard my father relate the story.” “Tt is true; but I cannot help wondering at your perfect, recollection of so old a story.” “Tt is necessary for me to know this city’s pastan order that I may understand its present. Crimes are born of crime, as serpents are born of serpents. To understand them you must know where they breed.” “And yet I cannot believe that this disappearance of my son has anything to do with the theft of my daughter. That was too long ago.” “Perhaps. But let me hear the facts about Richard.” “The story is one of those which puzzle because they are so simple.” Nick simply bowed. “Richard is now twenty years old. He has been for two years a student in Columbia College. I had intended him for the law. His habits as a boy were always good, so far as I could observe, but of late his conduct has caused me much uneasiness.” “In what way ?” “He has acquired a passion for gambling.” “ How long have you known this?” “Almost a year, but of course I did not immediately discover it. For some months I had noticed the change in him without being able to guess what caused it. He was restless and nervous. His health seemed to be impaired. He grew careless of his personal appearance, and forsook his former associates. I supposed that he must have others of whom I knew nothing.” “You questioned him ?” “Atlast Il did. He owned up ee. He said that he had been gambling for months; that he had lost all the money I had given him, and was considerably in debt. He told me that he had been fascinated by policy—a most abominable swindle.” “Were you severe with him?” “Not in the least. Ido not believe in that method of dealing with boys. I talked kindly with him, and gave him money to pay his debts, and did it willingly.” “Did he pay them ?” “Yes, and for a time I ee that he haa entirely ee saken his folly.” “But he returned to it?” ‘He did, and was soon as bad as ever.” *‘And then?” “Then there was a peculiar change. I think he must have won. You can always tell when a young man is running into debt, and feels poor. I am sure that he ceased at that time to squander his allowance. Some new passion seemed to have taken possession of him. At least }I thought so, but on employing a clerk of mine to watch him I learned that he was still a constant visitor at policy |}shops, and seemed as much devoted to the game as ever. IT then thought that it was only a change in his luck which had affected him.” “Did you question him again?” . “T had set an hour to doso. It was one week ago to- day. I resolved to talk with him in the evening. He did not return to my house, and I have not seen him since.” “What means did you take to find him?” “T informed the police, and a secret search was made by them. But they learned absolutely nothing except that he had been seen in a place on the Bowery supposed to be the headquarters of the down town policy shops, about three o’clock on the day of his disappearance.” “Did the police make any effort to secure information from the men in charge of the place you mention ?” “They could secure no evidence to justify an arrest. The place is apparently a money broker’s office.” “ And you have received no word from your son or from any other person ?” “None except this postal card.” Mr. Rhodes laid the card before the detective. only the date and these words: It bore “Your son has shipped aboard a vessel bound for Aus- tralia. He will never come back.” “What do you make of this?” asked Nick. “Tt is a stupid trick designed to throw me off the track. The writing, you will observe, is evidently that of a woman. _I believe that she has obtained some sort of a hold upon my son, and is detaining him. Perhaps she has led him away from the city.” ‘““You think, then, that he will probably come back to you?” ; Rk i jo NICK CARTER LIBRARY. 8 “Oh, yes; I think so. But ih am terribly anxious about him. There is no knowing into what infamy he may be led. Mr. Carter, if you can rescue my boy and bring him | * . back to me you shall name your own reward. Iam rich, ~ as you are aware, and my gratitude shall not fail when you have accomplished your task.” Nick had been examining the postal card attentively. “ Has this been-out of your hands since you received 1 9?) fs “Have you shown it to any: person 2” “T have not.” “Have you made any mark upon it?” “Certainly not. Why do you ask?” *‘Mr. Rhodes, I do not wish to alarm you, but I regard this case as very serious. I say this in order that you may be cautious.” ‘“What have you discovered? Is there something on the card which I’ did not see? Show it to me.” “My dear sir, be calm. Is it your intention to put this case into my hands?” “Tt is in your hands pee es T dare not trust it to any other person.” “Then let me take my own course.” “T will. But explain——” “Wait. I can tell you only this to-day: your son is held by some of these policy sharks, but he has a friend on the inside.” : ‘Does the card tell you that?” “Tt does.” “Show me how.” ‘“‘Mr. Rhodes, I shall ask you not to aioston. me further to-day. To-morrow night I will call upon you. . In the meantime do not give yourself up to useless alarm.” “Tt shall be as you say,” said the lawyer, controlling himself with a great effort. “Till to-morrow night then.” He rose, shook Nick’s hand with a nervous grasp, and left the room. The great detective walked to the window. He still had the card in his hand. “Tt is the dead gig,” said he. “They mean to kill the boy.” CHAPTER II. ACGLEVER HAND. Nick Carter saw upon the card a mysterious warning which had escaped the shrewd lawyer’s eye, and which might have escaped any eye but that which now read the secret. Inthe upper right hand corner of the card was the date, the nineteenth of September, 1892; expressed in figures thus: 9—19—92. But there was something more. A light line began just to the left of the last nine. It passed under the figure, then up between that and the 2, across the top of the 2, and down upon the other side. That made a sign which printers know. It meant “transpose.” In other words, the 9 and the 2 were to change places, and the whole would read 9—19—29. “The dead gig,” Nick repeated ; “there can be no doubt about it.” . The reader must know that the combinations of three nae in policy are Oa gigs, and that “the supersti- tious players have given them fanciful names. If a policy player dreams of a hat, for instance, he ‘looks in the dream book or consults some veteran of the ‘game, and eventually learns what numbers make the “hat gig.” Orif he dreams of a race-horse he plays the “race gig.” But when he dreams of death, or hears of it in any way to make it notable, he plays the numbers 9—19—29. “Well,” said Nick to himself, “let.me see what {£ can make of this. “In the first place, the message was written by a woman. Mr. Rhodes was right about that. But the words are not a woman’s words. The message is too brief toe be a woman’s. Here then is the first point: a man dictated the message to a woman. “The message is evidently a lie. That is the second point. I don’t believe that anybody intended Mr. Rhodes to believe it. Probably it was merely a hint to him that perhaps his boy had left the city. It was intended to turn his mind to that idea. Therefore the boy is still in New York. “The ‘transpose’ sign which gives me my clew was made by the woman. First, because it is not reasonable to suppose that more than two persons would have had- anything to do with the card, and the man certainly wouldn’t have given the tip. Second, because it is faintly underlined, and underlining is a woman’s trick. “The woman is Richard’s friend. The ‘transpose’ sign and the underline were not dictated by the man. They are put in very lightly, evidently so as to escape the man’s attention. “Then the woman must be in the man’s power, and not a confederate. She is practically his prisoner, because if she were not she could find the opportunity to senda plain message instead of the tip on the dead gig. “Richard is safe for the present. If they had decided to kill him at once the woman would have known that her message was of no use. “But he won’t be safe long, for if the time was weeks or months the woman wouldn’t have resorted to this des- perate scheme. It certainly was a desperate risk she took, for if the man had detected her he would have proven bad enough to kill her, otherwise he wouldn’t be villain enough to plot Richard’s murder. “The man is one of the policy gang, for the woman— who is at least his associate—takes her tips from policy. “And now for the motive. It isn’t blackmail, or Mr. Rhodes would have had the rascal’s terms before this. “Tt may be something connected with policy, but I doubt it. Those fellows are too sharp about their own business to give their professional secrets away to a boy like Richard. “Vet he has stumbled upon some secret, of that I feel sure. He threatens them, or they wouldn’t threaten him. Can it have anything to do with that old crime, the ab- duction of Henry Rhodes’ daughter? Is it personal re- venge renewed after so many years? “TI think not, and yet 1 should not be surprised to turn up the solution of that old mystery in the present busi- ness.” These thoughts, by which the case shaped itself in Nick’s mind, occupied but a few minutes. Almost in- stinctively he arranged his facts, and when he had done so his decision was made. ER TAR FOES EIST SS TSE RN GE ABP III Sa COPE IE LAPIS IE EB EOE SS eee DET SE SE Se as NS Oo ee ee LEE PR ORO TIE 4 Yet he gave a moment’s thought to that unknown woman whose light stroke upon that card had caught his eye. “Tt was a clever hand,” said he, ‘‘that revealed so much with so little. I should like to shake that hand in a friendly way, just to show that I appreciate good work. And perhaps I may before long.” Twenty minutes later a compositor named Willis Rus- sell, employed in a newspaper office on Park Row, re- ceived a message in a single word: “ Disappear.” And Mr. Russell, knowing who sent that message, promptly disappeared. Yet any of Mr. Russell’s numer- ous acquaintances—most of whom played policy, and were always poor in consequence—who had passed along the west side of the Bowery about four o’clock that after- noon would have said that Mr. Russell was plainly visible. For his familiar figure, clothed in his ordinary dilapi- dated garments, might have been seen loitering in front; of the door of an office on the Bowery, in plain view from: a window which bore the sign “Elbert Norton, Broker.” Several persons, and among them the policeman on the beat, nodded to the figure as it stood there, and some of them stopped and exchanged a few words. But they got few words in return. Willis Russell ap- peared to be in a somewhat unsocial mood, a condition which was attributed by most of his acquaintances to the large quantity and very bad quality of the liquor obtain- able in that locality. Presently, however, the countenance of the young man brightened. “Hello, Jim!” he said. “How goes it, Willis, me boy?” responded the man ad- dressed. He was about forty-five years old, and looked as if he had been in hard luck for at least forty of them. “Seen old man Whitton lately ?” asked the first speaker. “Saw the venerable rascal last night.” ‘Where ?” “On Mott street.” “What was h2 doing there?” “He was headed this way. Reckon he was going to see the Prince.” “You mean Norton ?” “Well, it’s generally understood that he’s the man.” “No doubt about it. He’s the boss of the whole policy game in this section.” “Shouldn’t wonder if he was; but the police don’t seem to know it.” “What did Whitton say?” “Oh, nothing of any earthly use to anybody. him where he’d been lately.” “ Has he been away ?” Nick Carter, in the bodily semblance of Willis Russell, asked this question calmly, but the answer meant much to him. “Yes,” replied Jim. scarce.” “Por how long?” “ About a week.” That just fitted into Nick’s idea of the whole infamous Familiar as he was with every criminal in the I asked “ He’s been keeping himself rather business. city, of Richard Rhodes. He had made a mental list of those men, and at the hend of it had been the name of Simon Whitton. His con- nection with the policy gang was well known to Nick. it had not taken him long to decide who were likely | tc be chosen for such work as the kidnaping and murder. NICK CARTER LIBRARY. | No.9, =f Though Whitton passed as a mere hanger-on of the policy shops, a ruined man making his miserable hving — by dirty jobs of small account, Nick knew him for an un- scrupulous villain of a high order, a man with a bank bal- ance which was always growing larger. If this man had been given the task of putting Richard out of the way it had certainly occupied most of his time. Therefore it had been Nick’s desire to learn whether the old rascal had been missed from his accustomed haunts, and he had already established that fact. “ What did Uncle Whit say he had been doing?” asked Nick. “Well, lied.” ‘*That’s nothing new for him.” “No; I reckon that Whit is one of the shrewdest liars in this city.” “So he is.” “He tipped me off to a gig.” ae Ah 1 ‘‘But I didn’t play it.” “Then you’re so much ahead.” “T would have played it though if I’d known when to do it.” “I should say that that was necessary. There ion much use in knowing that a gig is coming out some time between this and he Day of Judgment.” ‘“‘That’s the trouble with old Whit’s tips.” “T’ve noticed it.” “He gives you a tip, and you play it, and it doesn’t come out. Next day you don’t play it, and up 1t comes. Then you meet Whit, and he calls you a fool.” “ He’s a valuable prophet—for the people who back ie e game.” - “But I tell you, Willis, there’s something queer about that old scoundrel.” “So there is.” “T believe that he is in league with the devil; I do, so help me.” “Then Satan is in bad company.” “Whit came to me one day, and said, ‘I dreamed of a horse-race last night, and the horse that came in ahead had a hat on that was three feet wide.’ ‘A big hat on,’ said I to myself, and kept saying it all the way to the races. Then I bet all my money on an old plug because he was ridden by a jock named Hatton—hat on, you see. Ib looked like asure thing. Well, sir, my plug hasn’t got done running yet, and what horse do you think won?” “TI give it upe” “Why, Sombrero, of course. There’s a big hat for you, but I couldn’t see it. You ought te have heard Whit laugh at me afterward.” “Well, I think he had a right to, because you were fool enough to play the races at all.” ‘““Whit knows wnen a gig is coming out if he’d only tell - a fellow.” “But he won’t.” “No; he keeps him guessing. ‘Play so-and so,’ says he to me last night. ‘When?’ saysI. ‘Not to-morrow,’ says he. ‘Day after?’ says I. ‘Perhaps, perhaps,’ says he, and that was all I could get out of him. Anyway, it’s more definite than usual.” “What was the gi¢e?” “The dead one. nine, nineteen, twenty-nine.” Old Whit’s tip was definite enough for Nick Carter. Tt meant that the old man expected a death to occur thaé I forget what he said,” replied Jim, “but he j NICK CARTER LIBRARY. see very night. And the dead gig might be expected the next] _ day. CHAPTER III. OLD WHITTON LOANS HIS VOICE. What Nick had heard was at once a confirmation of his theory and a spur to action. Old Whitton was certainly in the plot, and that plot was near its tragic conclusion. True, he had said **perhaps,” but that was probably to cover the failure of his prophecy in regard to the gig. It did not mean that Whitton was in any doubt about the day of Richard’s death. A person less familiar than Nick Carter with the ways of the class of criminals to which Whitton belonged might have rejected this theory on the ground that it was inconceivably reckless in the old scoundrel to give such a hint ot the black business in which he was engaged. But Nick knew better. The act fitted Whitton’s char- acter exactly. Superstition, a fixed belief in signs and omens was Whitton’s only religion. He posed as a seer. He delighted to give the impression that there was something supernatural about him. He had deceived others until he himself was deceived. He actually believed that the devil whispered in his ear. Nick Carter’s course was now perfectly clear to him. At- all hazards he must secure old Whitton. To arrest him would be sheer folly. His fate must remain a secret. The policy gang must know nothing of it. But where was the old villain to be found? To this question Nick hada ready answer. He could be met at the entrance to the office of Elbert Norton, ‘‘broker.” Not at the Bowery entrance; of course not. There was another which Nick knew all about, though he had never passed through. Near this secret entrance, upon a street running west- ward from the Bowery, Nick stood as the night began to fall upon the city. He waited with perfect confidence in the result, and his patience was not put to a severe test. The stooping form of old Whitton, confidential agent of the Policy Prince, appeared at the hour when he was ex- pected. He was leaning upon a stout cane, like a feeble old man, but in reality he had almost the vigor of youth. “Hello, Uncle Whit,” said Nick, as the gray-haired villain approached. “ Ah, good-evening, Mr. Russell. I trust you are well.” Whitton prided himself upon his gentlemanly deport- ment. He always spoke slowly, and chose his words with care, but his voice had a peculiar, rasping sound as if his throat had been lined with rusty iron. “No; I’m not well, Uncle Whit; far from it,” said Nick. “ What seems to be the trouble?” “T’ve pined with sorrow at your absence. Haven’t seen you fora week. Where have you been?” “Tve been right here,” said Whitton, rather hastily for him; “I’ve been in my old haunts right straight along.” : That the old man should lie about the matter was ad“ed proof to Nick. “‘T hear you’ve been giving the boys a tip.” ‘ute or two. “T? Oh, no, Mr. Russell. I haven’t had a dream of any consequence in ever so long.” “T hear you’ve tipped ’em the dead gig.” “You have been misinformed. I never think upon death. Itisa painful subject to so old a man as I am.” Nick had walked for a few steps by Whitton’s side, but he now turned to leave the man.. He was well aware that the shrewd old man would not so much as glance at the secret entrance if any person were with him. But Nick had accomplished his purpose. His brief talk with Whitton had given him opportunity to observe that the old man had no attendant. There was no “trailer” sent by the Policy Prince to guard against accident to Whitton, as Nick had feared there might be. No sooner had Whitton turned his back than Nick van- ished into the hall of one of the tenement-houses which lined the street. He passed rapidly through the house, and found himself in a small and dirty yard. A high fence separated him from the next, in the direc- tion of the Bowery. He scaled it, and two more like it. Then he turned sharply to the left, and entered a dark and narrow hall. Only a ray of light pierced it from the street beyond, but this was enough, and a few minutes later Nick saw the form of Whitton advancing. In a moment the old man was abreast of him. Then Nick stepped into the middle of the hall. Whiton shrank back with a muttered oath. “Don’t you know me?” said Nick. “Russell !” 6¢ Yes. 99 “What are you doing here ?” “There was something I forgot a minute nee.” ee Well. 99 “T want to borrow—— Whitton interrupted him with a laugh like the croaking of frogs. : “Hrom me? Oh, no; I neither borrow nor lend.” “But you will this time. You’ll lend me——” “What ?” ‘‘Your voice, you old rascal,” said Nick, seizing him by the throat. There was a momentary struggle, but the old man did not cry out. He could not. Then Nick spoke. “T have it. Do you recognize it, Mr. Whitton?” It was indeed the villain’s voice. Nick had “ borrowed” it. It was for the purpose of that imitation he had previ- ously drawn the man into conversation. The detective’s hand left Whitton’s throat and covered his nose and mouth. There was something in that hand that was soft, like a sponge. A peculiar, sweet odor came from it. There was no more struggling now. Whitton’s pak lay like a bundle of rags in Nick’s grasp. Bearing it as if the weight had been nothing, Nick ran out through the yard, and opening a gate in the fence at the rear, passed through with his burden. He was now in a sort of alley which led south, through an archway under the rear tenements, and vhen to the street beyond. : In the darkness of this alley Nick stooped over his un- conscious burden, and his hand moved rapidly for a niin- Then he advanced to where a little light fell on the face. ae ”? See, 6 ‘ : - That face no person who had known Whitton one then have recognized as his. The old man had been bald as a plate, but over his forehead long, matted hair was falling. His cheeks, which had been white as chalk, were now of a bronze hue. His nose looked twice its natural size, and had acrimson tint. He looked like a drunken sailor . Nick carried him a few paces farther, and then laid him down. In another moment Nick was upon the street. A policeman stood by the curb. “There’s a man in the alley,” said Nick. “I think he’s gota fit. You’d better ring for an ambulance.” The policeman advanced into the alley, and touched Whitton’s body with his night-stick. “Don’t look like a simple drunk,” said he. ‘“Worse than that, I guess.” ‘Perhaps I’d better get theambulance. You wait here.” | Nick waited. Ten minutes later an ambulance surgeon stood by Nick’s side. They were practically alone. The policeman was busy keeping the crowd back f10m the mouth of the alley, Nick whispered something in the other’s ear. The sur- geon started. “Do as I tell you,” said Nick, in his natural voice; “take him to my house.” “ But—— ‘““Never mind the buts. Levison.” “All right, if you say so, Mr. Carter, but you must be responsible.” “T will.” The surgeon summoned his attendant, and Whitton’s body was removed. “Where’s the man who found the body?” asked the policeman. ” “In the alley, I guess,” replied the surgeon. “Well, I’d like to ask him a few questions.” He went back into the alley for that purpose, but he did not accomplish it. The man who found the body was not himself to be found. When the policeman reached the street again the ambu- lance was gone, and the crowd was dispersing. He re- sumed his beat with the comforting thought that the case was probably only a “drunk” after all. Meanwhile where was Nick? He had no sooner seen the insensible form of Whitton borne away than he had taken the back track through the aliey. Beyond the archway he paused and assured himself that no eye was watching him. Then he suddenly scaled a fence, and entered a tenement-house fronting upon the street on which he had met Whitton. He ascended one flight of stairs, and opened a door. In a second he had struck a light which revealed a room bare of furniture. It contained nothing but the lamp, anda little heap of rubbish in a corner. Into this rubbish Nick thrust his hand, and drew out a bag, which he opened. For a few minutes he worked busily. It was a wonder- ful scene, there, in the dim light of the smoky lamp. A man vanished and another took his place. For the second time that day Willis Russell disappeared. In his place arose the figure of an old man who stooped, whose head was bald, whose beard was long and white. His cheeks were of the hue of chalk, and his voice, when he spoke softly to himself, was rough, as if his throat had been lined with rusty iron. This is an important case, Dr. NICK CARTER LIBRARY. conversation. As, at last, he bent over the light to srineuicn th on might have seen the face and form of old Whitton, confi- - dential agent of the Policy Prince. CHAPTER IV. A VERSATILE VILLAIN. They stood in the private room of the Policy Prince. It was an apartment to which few were ever admitted. Probably it had not held an honest man before in twenty years. Nick’s accurate disguise, and his ready wit had carried him thus far on his road toward the solution of this dark mystery of crime. Elbert Norton looked at him, and did not for.an instant doubt that he was face to face with his black-hearted agent. Two other men were in the room. One of them Nick recognized as the person who ordinarily received visitors in the outer office, which was open to the publie. He posed as a “partner” in the money broking business, and as arule he was the only member of the firm who could be seen. He was a mere creature of the Policy Prince. Nick had good reason for believing that this man was never trusted with the really dangerous secrets, or the shrewder plots which Norton’s brain evolved. Nick wasted no time upon him, but cast his gaze upon the other companion of the Policy Prince. He was a tall, strong man of forty years, roughly dressed, and with a face like a mask of putty. , Nick at once set him down as a thug in Norton’s pay. @t was this man whom Norton now addressed. “Get out, Jim,” said he. morrow night.” “Jim” arose, and stalked out of the room. “Now you clear out, Rogers,” said Norton, roughly, “and then we can talk business.” Rogers also departed, and his manner was that of a dog that has been kicked very often, and has always deserved it. “Well, Whit,” said Norton, when they were alone, “how’s the boy 2” “There’s nothing new.” es It was Nick’s game to be entirely non-committal in this Subjects were certain to come up about which he knew nothing; as, for instance, this matter of Richard’s condition, Anincautious person might have risked the answer, “all right,” or, “he’s well enough,” but Nick was too wary. For all that he knew Richard’s “T sha’n’t want you till to- capture might have been accomplished with violence, and | the boy might be severely wounded.’ “Tye changed my plans somewhat,” said Norton. “Regarding the boy ?” “Particularly regarding you.” “ Well?” “Tye got another job for you.” At the first glance this looked nearly as bad as possible. ton’s hands, the boy’s predicament was indeed desperate. “Tm going to let Jim attend to that other business. “ About the boy ?” “Veg.” ed uae Ree Tf Norton had decided to take Richard’s case out of Whit- — liga eh 2 ce Do NICK CARTER LIBRARY. | 7 Nick felt that it would not do to show too much anxiety to remain in charge of Richard’s fate. It would be more natural for so prudent a man as Whitton to be glad to be rid of it. So he simply said: ‘'W hat’s the new lay ?” Norton did not reply for several minutes. He seemed to be in some doubt about the proper statement of the case. When he spoke his manner showed extreme caution. Nick knew by this that the new subject was one about which Whitton had never received any intormation. S80 he did not fear to ask questions. “T want you to find two doctors,” said Norton, ‘who will do anything for money.” “That will not be difficult.” ‘Yes, it will, for these doctors must have a fair stand- ing in the profession. The higher they stand the better for me.” ‘What are they to do?” “There’s a person——” “Why not say a woman, and be done with it, Norton? If it was a man you’d say man.” “You're sharp, Uncle Whit.” ‘‘T have to be, to serve you and keep out of jail.” “Well, then, there’s a woman——” “ A young woman, a beautiful woman ?” ‘‘“Come now, that’s none of your business; but she is young, and she looks well enough, if that’s of any inter- est to an old mummy like you.” “Go on.” “T believe that this woman is insane.” “No, you don’t; you want those doctors to swear that she’s insane.” “That’s it exactly, old man Whitton, and I want them to do it right away.” “ And I’m to secure them ?” NOU ATC, | “To-night ?” “That’s impossible. You’ll have to work carefully, old man. No ordinary quacks will fill the bill. These men’s name’s must carry weight.” “Then you'll have to pay for it.” “T’m willing to.” “How much ?” ‘‘ Anything in reason.” “How do you suppose that I can find them ?” “Tt occurred to me, my respected friend, that your ac- complished brother might help you out. He moves ‘in the first circles, but I have always considered him as black an old sinner as you are.” “On behalf of my entire family I thank you.” “I've tried to work this business myself, and I don’t mind confessing to you that I nearly made a break that would have ruined me eternally.” “So you said to yourself, ‘Let Uncle Whitton take the risk and I’ll take the profits.’ ” si “There’s not much risk for you, and there’s good money init. Ill pay you well.” Two things were clear to Nick: first, that the woman referred to was the one whose hand had traced that line upon the postal card ; and second, that Richard had dis- covered some part of the plot which was now being re- vealed, and had paid dearly for it. He could not refuse the commission which Norton had given him; but in order to save Richard he must do the to return to his post as the boy’s jailer and intended exe- cutioner. The problem was not easy. “To return to that boy for a minute,” said he, “ what are you going to do with him?” “You know what’s got to be done with him. He’s got hold of a secret that would simply be the end of me if it got out. There’s no way to shut his mouth, except——” “T understand.” “TI can’t keep him forever.” “‘But the East River can.” “You’re right. It must be done.” “Then what he has discovered——” “Don’t ask me any questions. There’s no need for you to know.” “Well. then, about these doctors.” “Can you find them ?” “T can, but there’s no need of it.” “Yes, there is need of it.” “Not at all.” ‘What do you mean?” “‘T’ve got a better plan, Mr. Norton.” “Tf you have don’t waste any time, but let me hear it.” “T know one doctor who will do the whole business.” ‘‘No, the law requires two.” “Wor your clumsy method, yes; but not for mine.” “Speak up.” “You want this woman declared insane. It’s a question of money, I suppose? While she’s crazy you spend her money ?” “I don’t like these questions, Whitton?” Nick waved his hands in a way to indicate that he would withdraw from the affair. ‘No, no; Uncle Whit,” said Norton, “I can’t get along without you. I don’t mind saying that you've hit it ex- actly.” “Well, then, instead of having her declared insane when she isn’t, why don’t you drive her crazy ?” “But how ?” “Listen. I know a physician who can do it for you. He has spent most of his life in India, and he has more Ori- ental poisons in his laboratory than you have fingers and toes. Inan hour I can bring him to your house——” “No, you don’t, Whitton. I won’t let you in as far as that. My private life has been and always shall bea secret from you, and the others who see me here. You haven’t forgotten the time wken you tried to track me?” 46 No. 9 “Well, be good enough to remember that it nearly cost you your life, and that you failed.” ‘Very well. I’ll bring him here.” “That is different.” “He has drugs that will destroy the human reason in a few hours, and leave no trace.” “Ts he a safe man?” “Yes, but he costs.” “ Would $1,000 fetch him ?” Nick shook his head. “Not for this sort of business,” he said. “By heavens, I’ll make it $10,000 if necessary. But, of course, you needn’t pay more than you have to.” “Say $10,000 for his share and mine too.” “111 do it, if he succeeds. Then I can have her condi- tion certified to by the leading experts. I shall fear nothing.” other job, or pretend to do it, so quickly as to allow him “Right. Shall I bring him here?” un 7 NICK CARTER LIBRARY. ae ee “When?” that specter following him. He could feel the light of “Within an hour. Let him see the girl to-night. He those strange eyes piercing the gloom, and oe to the needs no preparation.” very marrow of his bones. “Whitton, this seems incredible.” | In the lighted street Norton’s courage somewhat re- “Have you never_heard of such things ?” lvived. He walked boldly; and they passed through sey- “Yes, but I thought they were dreams—rank nonsense.” eral thoroughfares toward Broadway. On one of these, “The drug exists; and luckily for you, I should say, for where the light was least, a carriage was standing. your other plan looks very risky to me. Lunatic asylums Ata sign from Norton, the man beside him entered it; are not what they used to be. They wouldn’t guard your Norton followed, and the driver immediately whipped fair young heiress, as we—as we shall guard that a for up his horses. instance.” | The stranger had taken the back seat, Norton facing “No; and speaking of the boy, if you manage this other him. The ride was long, but neither spoke. job as you promise, you can take charge of the othertoo.”| At the last, Norton bent over toward the side of the ii Gan, |earriage and seemed to be busy about something. “Then let it go till to-morrow night. He’s safe? You! There was a flash of light which glinted on the surface keft old Meg on the watch ?’' of a mirror. Cebu. Suddenly the carriage stopped before a great house in **He’s tied up so that he can’t make trouble.” which few lights were visible. The door was opened by a nm eRe grave and stately butler who gave his master good even- “Well, go get that medical devil.” , ing in a solemn voice. Norton uttered no word, but hur- “ Now ?” ried toward the rear of the house, the stranger foNowing. ‘Yes. Whitton, I’m deadly impatient. to get through! They reached a sort of study, furnished at great cost, with this business. It is desperately risky, and it wears but in severe and somber hues. @n my nerves.” “Mr. Norton——” “The stake must be large.” : “Curse you,” whispered Norton fiercely, ‘‘don’t utter “No more questions. Get out.” that name here. Are you mad?” And Nick left the room by the secret door through He faced about, and the stranger saw quite a different which he had come, saying only : man from him whom he had confronted in the Policy “See that the doctor is admitted. He will come alone. Prince’s private office. And yet the visitor showed no 4 will return to the boy.” ‘surprise. Perhaps his keen eyes had long ago read the secret of the other’s disguise. —_— The dvors were closed. They shut heavily. There was no encouragement for spies and eavesdroppers. The two were safe to speak their minds. “Now, man, if you area man, and not a demon,” said Norton, “tell me what you propose to do.” “To drive a woman mad. It is simple.” CHAPTER V. THE PRISONER. fn the same little room which had been the scene of the, “Ts it safe—and sure?” transformation of Willis Russell into old man Whitton “Do you not trust me?” another mystery was enacted within an hour. | “No; why should I?” This time the last flickering ray of the lamp shone’ There was no reply. wpon a hideous, sallow face. About the forehead and “I trust Whitton because his own interests are at stake. the ears clung locks of blue-black hair that seemed tobe “I have offered him an enormous bribe. You are only sodden, like the hair of a drowned man. an instrument, and a strange one to me. But I know The hands were saffron-hued, like the face, and they him.” resembled claws. The eyes shone through great glasses, ‘‘ Very well; let us proceed.” . and were dark and piercing. | ‘You have come prepared ?” Such was the poisoner from the Orient who presently For answer, the seeming Oriental drew from his pocket gained entrance into Elbert Norton's den. a tiny vial whose contents sparkled like the eye of a There was something so mysterious and horrible about snake. Norton regarded it with concealed awe. this man that even the hardened heart of Elbert Norton “This will not kill? If she dies, her wealth escapes me.” érembled in his bosom at the sight of him. It was fully, “It will kill only the mind.” 2wo minutes before he could command his voice. Norton shuddered. “T wished to consult you,” he said. “Shall I go on?” “Let us have no quibbling,” said the visitor, with an! ‘Yes, go on!” cried Norton in a hoarse voice. aecent suggesting foreign birth, vet giving no clew to the | “Then where is the woman?” _ Band which had produced this monster. “I know the | “You shall see her presently, but first let me caution work. I do not know you. I take my commission from you. If it is your purpose to question her, you will ne Mr. Whitton, but I will do what you require.” | Cisappointed. You shall see her only in my presence.” “Then in the fiend’s name,” said Norton, “let us waste’ Norton opened the door of a httle closet in the corner, mo time.” .and took a loose sack coat which he exchanged for that “T await your directions.” which he had been wearing. Then from a drawer of his They went out into the secret passage, Norton leading, desk he took a revolver, which he thrust into the side but, in the darkness, the Policy Prince stepped aside, pocket of the coat. and let the other precede him. He could not bear tohave “My hand,” said he, “will be upon this pistol so long NICK CARTER LIBRARY. 0 as you are in this house. If I see any sign of treachery, you will die on the instant.” “What treachery do you fear?” “Never mind. my secrets. and foul. I will pot have them read by you. tempt to glean anything from this girl, you shall die.” “T will remain silent.” “That will be your safest course. Now listen: some days she has been a close prisoner. She has become dangerousto me. She is nowill. I shall present you as a physician, but she may refuse your offices. If so, force must be used.. Naw follow me.” They passed from the study, and ascended to the third | story of the house. At the end ofa long hall they came to a closed door, upon which Norton knocked in a pecu- liar manner. It was opened by a woman of advanced years, witha hard, cold, avaricious face. She looked at Norton with an expression in which fear and hatred struggled with a sort | of greedy expectation of gain. No other person was visible, but at the end of the room | The woman advanced toward | was acurtained alcove. it, and drew one of the curtains aside, disclosing a bed. A beautiful girl lay there with her face turned toward Norton. She seemed not to be suffering from any illness, but rather to be worn and tortured by care and anxiety. “Why have you come?” she said, addressing Norton. “T have brought a physician to see you,” he said. His manner showed that he had practically abandonéd the idea of deceiving the girl in regard to his designs. She was in his power, and he cared nothing for her resist- ance, which, by the power of the fatal drug, would soon be at an end. Her look showed that she realized her helplessness. She said nothing, as the seeming Oriental advanced to- ward her, though she could not conceal her terror at his sinister appearance. Norton, meanwhile, stood at the man’s elbow, and with his hand in the pocket which held the pistol. The seeming Oriental lifted the hand of the girl in the manner of a doctor feeling the pulse of a patient. Norton’s eyes glared at him, but the other was per- fectly unmoved. He knew that those eyes could not de- tect the slight movement of his finger upon her wrist. But the girl felt it. A strange look came into her face. The finger tapped lightly: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine. Then there was a_ pause. Again the tapping: one, two. Then the finger moved upon the wrist, describing the outline of the transposition sign as it had been made upon the card. Norton did not see that the glasses had slipped down a little, and that the physician’s eyes, which met those of the girl, were no longer threatening and terrible, but gentle and sympathetic in their expression. The girl turned her gaze upon Norton. She could not fail to see with what watchful distrust he viewed the visitor. - Then these two were not in harmony. The secrecy with which the signal had been given proved that, without the evidence of Norton’s attitude. As to the seeming Oriental, he perceived at once that his signal had been recognized. The girl must now know him as a friend. It,is enough that I trust nobody with For years I have kept them by fair means If you at-: For He turned toward Norton, releasing the girl’s wrist as he did so. : “Proceed,” said Norton, hurriedly. The physician withdrew from the girl’s side, and sat down by a small table in the main apartment. He drew forth a scrap of paper, and appeared to write upon it. Norton approached and looked over his shoulder. The paper bore many mysterious characters, and apparently meaningless figures. “What is this?” he asked, in a fierce whisper. “T calculate the amount required,” replied the other ia a scarcely audible tone. He rose and took from his pocket the little vial, and from a case, a hypodermic syringe. As he measured out the proper quantity in the instrument, an observer less blinded by his emotiun than Norton might have seen that the baleful color was not in the fluid but in the glass of the vial. In another moment, the physician stood by the girl’s bedside. He bared her arm, and, pricking the white skin, injected into the blood a minute quantity of the lip between his clenched teeth. liquid. Norton stood by with a face perfectly white, except where it was reddened by a single drop of blood from the It is no ordinary sight to see a human mind destroyed, and Norton quailed at his own villainy. It he had known that the dose consisted of drops of pure water, and that it was administered by Nick Carter, the detective, he would probably have been equally moved, but in a different way. Having performed his office, Nick bowed to Norton, and the two withdrew. The girl lay still for a few minutes, to make sure that her jailer, the woman who had admitted Norton and the physician, did not propose to come to her. Then she drew from a fold of the bed’s covering a bit of paper. It was that upon which Nick had made his appar- ent calculations. The mystic characters were still upon 'one side of it, but upon the other were these words: “Watch the window in the alarmed at what you see there.” alcove, and do not be CHAPTER VI. NICK HEARS A STRANGE STORY. When Nick returned to Elbert Norton’s study he was overwhelmed witb questions about the action of the drug which he had administered. He answered them in the way that seemed most likely to quiet Norton’s nerves. “The poison will act in about forty-eight hours,” said he. “Till then, expect no change.” ‘As soon as possible, Nick left the house. Though it was then past midnight, he at once went to the house of Henry Rhodes, and, according to his promise, made a report of his progress. He felt justified in giving that gentleman strong encouragement, and when the detective took his departure Mr. Rhodes’ mind was eaiser than it had been since his son’s disappearance. There was still work before Nick that night. He must visit Norton’s house once more, and study its secrets further. ‘ There are more ways of getting into a house than by its doors. Elbert Norton guarded his approaches well, but he posted no sentry upon his roof. If there had been one on that lofty post of duty, he might have been in Nick’s way, but the owner of that palatial residence evidently feared no visitors from skyward. However, to gain access to the roof was an easy enough AY 10 NICK CARTER LIBRARY, - matter to a person of Nick’s resources. The fire escape of a neighboring building, and a rope ladder that could be carried in a pocket, were all that he required. Meanwhile the girl whose reason Elbert Norton wished to dethrone, lay as the reader saw her last, with her eyes upon the window. In the room without, the woman with the hard, covetous face, dozed in a great chair. It was three o’clock. Not a sound but the far-away rush of the city’s never-sleeping life disturbed the night. The girl, with her eyes upon the curtained window, had almost ceased to hope. Suddenly the curtains swayed slightly. She felt a breath of air from without. noiselessly raised. Then the curtains were drawn aside, and there ap- peared, in the dim light, not the swarthy countenance she had expected, but a calm, strong face, with a clear and healthy color. Nick was himself again. He raised his hand with a warning gesture, and the girl made no sign. Nick advanced to the curtains which di- vided the alcove from the larger room, and looked out. ‘She is asleep,” he said. ‘‘Wait, she shall sleep more soundly.” He passed into the room, but was back again ina few minutes. “Now,” said he, with less restraint upon his voice, ‘tellwme your story.” ‘Have you come to take me away ?” “Not now. You must remain for’ a day, perhaps longer, but you are in no danger.” “Who are you?” “Tam Nick ‘Carter, detective.” “Ts that man whom I saw to-night, your agent ?” Nick smiled. “Tt was I,” said he, simply. “You!” and the girl’s eyes opened wide with astonish- ment. “Tam employed by Mr. Henry Rhodes to find his son Richard, who has disappeared, as you know, for it was you who gave us the clew.” “ Have you found him? Is he safe?” “T have not found him yet. Do you know where he is?” “IT donot. Ionly know that he is held by the scoun- drels in the pay of Carleton Lake——” ‘Whose other name is Elbert Norton.” “Yes. I know that now, but for years I did not mis- trust that he was other than he seemed. : “Tam his ward. My name is Edith Bland. Iam the heiress of the Bland estate—that which was left by Nor- man Bland, who died when I wasababy. There wasa great lawsuit about it. You may have heard the story.” “Yes. The question was as to your identity.” ‘“‘So I have been told, but it was proven beyond a doubt. Of course I remember nothing ot that time.” “The story was that the real Edith Bland had been stolen by some of the claimants, and had died in their charge. But Carleton Lake, who was named as executor in the will, produced you, and told how you had been recovered. “There was a peculiar birth-mark on the child’s shoul- der, which I think, really decided the case.” ‘Yes; it used to be there. I remember it. now almost disappeared.” “Such a birth-mark as that described never disap- pears.” “But it has.” Nick mused a minute. ‘“‘T begin to see light in this business,” said he. “You think——” “That you are not Edith Bland; that the alleged birth- mark was produced artificially. Who you really are, I do not know; but we will leave that question. How did you come to know Richard Rhodes ?” “T must tell you to begin with, that I was brought up very carefully under Carleton Lake’s eyes. I was fairly well educated, but was kept to a certain extent hidden from the world. I passed much of my girlhood in a con- vent in Montreal. ‘‘Wor the last year, I have lived in this house. It was here I first heard whispers that Carleton Lake led a But it has Surely the window had been idouble life. In a fit of rage, I believe, the woman wh now sleeps outside gave me the hint. iS “Thad no one upon whom to rely. It was useless to question Mr. Lake. I resolved to learn for myself. ° c “Wor weeks I vainly endeavored to trace him when he left this house. Atlast I succeeded. I followed his car-— riage in another; I saw him leave his in a side street near Broadway; and I tracked him to the door of that den of infamy on the Bowery. ; “Of course I did not then know what it was, but I de- termined to find out. I stopped at nothing. Disguised as a poor girl, 1 went to the place, and saw a man called Rogers, the alleged proprietor. “From him I learned nothing; but I was not discour- aged. I made the acuqaintance of the hangers-on about the place. I learned at last that it was the headquarters of the policy infamy—that lottery which robs the poor. “7 then gained all the information that I could about policy. lIeven visited other dens, and saw many poor men and women who had been ruined by this wretched ame. a I was resolved to know for how much misery my guardian was responsible, and I was not long 1n compre- hending it. He was entirely unaware of my pursuit. “But at last I met with insult, not from my guardian’s victims, but from his servants in crime. A hideous wretch whom I have heard called ’Jim’ accosted me at. the door of the Bowery den, and spoke as no man should. “Tt was then that 1 came to know Richard. Although thisman Jimis a brawny villain, Richard struck him senseless with a single blow. “T was trembling with fear, but Richard’s manner was so calm that it quieted me. He courteously offered to es- cort me to my home, and then—I do not know why—but I told him my’ whole story. “He found a carriage at once and brought me to this house. Afterward he came to see me quite frequently, and at last confessed to me that he had well nigh ruined himself by his passion for the miserable lottery, of which my guardian was one of the chief managers. “He told me how he had wasted his time and his money; how he had frequented vile dens where the money of the poor is taken, and had bet heavily, and al- ways unsuccessfully. ‘‘Sometimes the police closed the places where he was accustomed to go, and at such times he bet with men who did business, as the phrase is, ‘in their hats.’ That is, they were walking policy shops. “They took the money of their victims upon the street, and they had ‘runners’ who met them at various places agreed upon, and passed them slips with the results of the policy drawing. : “In those days I learned the game thoroughly; and it was that knowledge which enabled me to send the clew which so fortunately fellinto your hands. It was from a printer whom the game had ruined that I happened to get the hint of the transposition sign which I used. “ After Richard had ceased to play policy, he still fre-- quented the haunts of the villains, for he had accidentally came upon the track of asecret affecting my guardian and myself. What it was I do not know, but he told me that it was something which he considered to be worth a life-time of work.” “Tt was that,’ said Nick to hmself, “which accounted for the change in Richard’s demeanor, of which Mr. Rhcdes spoke.” “T think that Richard must have been rash enough at last to accuse my guardian to his face,” continued Edith. ‘‘Certainly his attempt to fathom the secret was discov- ered. “Instantly my guardian’s treatment of me changed. He made mea prisoner. Then in a ferocious rage he told me that I should see Richard no more. Incautiously, he let me know that Richard was a prisoner, and still alive. “Tt was in pure malice, I think, that he made me write that card which, he said, would throw Richard’s friends __ Since that time, I have known nothing of f off the trail. the affair. “ And now tell me, can you save him ?” “T think go. * man, and now sat with Norton in the innermost retreat No. 90. NICK UARTER LIBRARY. oy ll “When ?” “Probably within twenty-four hours.” “Can I do anything to help you?” “Nothing but to keep up your courage, and remain qui- etly here.” : “T hoped that you would take me away now.” “Tanatis impossible. It would arouse your guardian’s suspicions, and make my work ‘harder.” “Then I will remain.” “TI do not believe that you are in any danger here, but - guard against any desperate act of Lake’s, I leave you this.” Nick drew a revolver from his pocket as he spoke. “Can you use it?” he asked. Voane, : “Then do so if necessary, and if you shoot, shoot to ill. “And now, good-night. Be of good courage. You will be out of this trouble soon.” “Waste no time upon me,” cried the girl, as Nick moved toward the window. “Save him!” « CHAPTER VII. NICK FINDS A GUIDE AND LOSES HIM. “Did my amiable Oriental friend suit you?” The voice was Whitton’s; but the speaker was Nick Carter. He had resumed the form of the infamous old) of that accomplished racal’s Bowery den. “He was the most thorough-going servant of the devil that ever I saw,” replied Norton.” “T thought that he would suit.” “Tt remains to be seen, however, whether this drug will work. Ihave trusted to your knowledge of the man. I simply had to.” “Tt’s a good thing that you did.” ‘‘Now for this other business. I am driving hard, old man; but when this is over, I’m going to quit these dan- gerous games. I don’t go into this sort of thing for the love of it, but because circumstances drive me.” _ “ Are you developing a conscience, Norton ?” ‘No. It would be uncomfortable just now. But to bus- iness. I have decided what to do with the body.” “Well.” “You know the place has a second way out.” * Fas, it?” “Of course it has. You know it as well as I do.” “What of it?” ‘““‘When the job is done, take the body out that way. In the alley you will find Jim disguised as one of those fellows who sell stale bread around the Bend. He will have his push-cart.” “And when IL have delivered the body to him, every re- sponsibility ceases?” ““Ves, Help him get it onto the cart, and well covered. Then the job’s done, so far as you’re concerned. Come to me, and we'll settle.” “Very well.” But in Nick’s opinion it was far from well. He had not yet learned where Richard was. It was somwhere near Mulberry Bend, but that was very indefinite. He, had suspected as much as that at the start. He led Norton into further conversation, but gained nota hint. However, Nick had many devices in reserve for such an emergency. “Ts Jim outside?” he asked. “Yes: but there’s no need of your seeing him.” ‘On the contrary, I think we ought to talk it over. We can’t afford to miss connections in that alley.” | “Very well; let him come in. He’s on the watch in the private way, while Doc. Hall has gone to his supper. : You must have passed him.” “No: Hall was there when I came ine. | “Jim’s there now. You can have a word with him ag. you go out. There’s no need of bringing him in. iA piehb. “And Whitton, don’t let anything stand in your way. ' You’ll make a fortune in. these two jobs—enough to live on in luxury for the rest of your life. Don’t fail.” Nick passed out by the secret door, and found Jim still /on the lookout. : ae my boy,” said Whitton, “so you’re to finish the job? * You bet.” “Will you plant him deep ?” “ Aboutem=vell, never mind.” “You have a grudge against him, haven’t you?” “T have.” Hvidently Jim was notin good humor. His answers were in monosyllables, and his tone was gruff. “You don’t want to make any mistake about this thing.” “T won’t.” : At this moment Doc. Hall appeared in the gloomy pass- age, and interrupted the unpromising conversation. ‘Come with me,” said Nick to Jim. “I want to talk with you.” Jim showed some signs of refusing, but eventually walked along, grumbling. Nick cared nothing for the man’s temper, so long as he consented to come. For if he could keep this man by his side for twenty minutes, the object of all his efforts could be attained. Jim knew where Richard was hidden; he would natur- ally suppose that his companion was going there; there- fore Nick had only to allow himself to beled by this stupid fellow. But that is not so easy as one might think. It was nec- essary to appear to lead while actually being led. Nick must show no hesitation, and yet, at every corner, he must wait an imperceptible fraction of a second for the other to turn. However, this was simple enough to Nick. He kept the conversation running along easily, and managed to re- store something of his companion’s good nature. So they passed through several streets and aproached Mulberry. Jim was taking a sumewhat circuitous way, perhaps from the habit of avoiding the scrutiny of the po- lice, which had been necessary several times in his career. Suddenly Jim halted. “Well, I’?ll leave you here, old man. “Oh, no; come along. What’s the matter with you?” ‘“‘Nothing’s the matter with me.” “Then come ahead. I want to talk with you.” “ About what?” “See here, Jim, I’m a good deal interested in your end of this affair. 1f you make any slips, it is likely to throw the whole thing back onto me. “ What do I care?” “You ought to care. Now I'll tell you what I’d like to know. It’simportant. Perhaps I could give you atip. I want to know what route you’re going to take with that ——that article.” “'That’s none of your business.” Nevertheless Jim again fell to walking, and Nick gained atleast two blocks. He also made some impres- sion on the other’sill nature, which he discovered was due to jealousy. “Tm as good a manon a job of this sort as you are,” said Jim, “and I don’t want any advice from you.” But Nick replied in a conciliatory vein, and succeeded in getting Jim to be considerably more civil. He was at last evidently on the point of divulging his plan, which would, of course, give Nick the location of the alley from which the body was to be taken, “T]] tell you, old man,” said Jim; “this is no fault of yours, and there’s no reason why I should get my back up about it. This is my plan——” He paused, and backed Nick into a dark nook. The promise of the disclosure was encouraging, but Nick would have preferred to continue the walk. — “You remember that Dutchman, Terwiliger——cheese it, there’s a cop!” : There were two of them. They came up somewhat hur- riedly from the direction whence Nick and Jim had come. Suddenly one of them wheeled around and said: “ Jim Blakeman, I want you.” There was a saloon witha little porch about ten steps from where the two were standing. A light door swung quite loosely on the side of the porch toward them. OS 12 * NICK CARTER LIBRARY. When Jim Blakeman heard the policeman’s words, he darted for that door. The movement was made with an agility of which Nick had thought the man incapable. It was so quick that be- i either of the policemen had stirred, Jim had van- ished. « . In a second they were in pursuit. One of them ran to the other door of the saloon, which was around the corner. The other darted inside. Nick remained where he was. There were signs of a rumpus in the saloon which lasted three or fotr minutes. Then the two policemen emerged. “There’s too many ways out of that place. next block by this time.” : He made a movement asif to run. Then he turned to- ward Nick, who had advanced somewhat toward the light. “Whitton,” said the policeman, “I’ve a good mind to run you in.” “What for?” ‘“Well, as a witness.” “Witness of what?” The other policeman laughed. “You can’t do it, Connors,” said he. “ Whitton had noth- ing to do with this business. Come along. We've gota chance to catch that fellow yet.” “Yes, we have a chance—about one in amillion. He’s got too many friends.” “What's he wanted for?” asked Nick. “Oh, nothing much. He hit ‘Pop’ Heaney this after- noon, and knocked out the only tooth the old man had.” They turned away. “Those fellows haven’t done anything to assist the cause of justice,” said Nick to himself. “But, so far as my business is concerned, they’ve done what they could to retard it.” He was left without a guide. He’s on the CHAPTER VIII. NICK FOLLOWS A FAINT TRAIL. If Nick had considered Blakeman’s services indispen- sable, he would probably have joined in the pursuit of him, and would doubtless have been much more success- ful than the two policemen. But he did not doubt his own ability to find Ricbard’s hiding-place without other guid- ance than his own wits. There was only one question to be seriously considered, and that was the question of time. The method he pro- posed to adopt was a long one; and if the task was not done by midnight, the gravest results might follow. If the offense for which the arrest of Blakeman had been attempted had been a serious one, it would have al- tered the conditions. Then Blakeman would probably have fled the city, or have remained fora long time in hiding. So smalla matter as simple assault, however, Nick knew would not keep the man from the business he had on hand. Blakeman would certainly be in the alley at twelve o’clock, ready to receive the body, and if it were not de- livered to him, he might enter Richard’s place of con- sealment by the secret passage, and accomplish the mur- der himself. This would give him a chance