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Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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TWO o'clock A.M.
The sharp crack of a pistol rang out in the private office of banker Fenwick Murray.
A man staggered backward, and with one loud groan, threw up his hands convulsively, and then fell headlong to the floor.
Was he dead?
Another man came out of the darkness of a secluded corner and bent over the body for an instant.
"Quite dead," he muttered. "My aim never fails me, even in the dark."
Crouching down, he passed from the private room into the main business office of the establishment, and crept on his hands and knees to the front door.
There, lying flat, with his ear against the threshold, he remained for nearly a quarter of an hour.
"Good!" he muttered, creeping back again toward the private room. "Nobody heard the shot. I will not be molested."
He reached the private room, closed the door, and stood upright again—for there he knew that he was secure from observation.
Once more he looked down upon the corpse.
"Too bad!" he muttered. "I hated to do it, but needs must."
Turning from the body, he approached the banker's desk, and with a small jimmy which he took from his pocket, quickly pried it open, breaking the lock.
At once he began a diligent search through the pigeon-holes and drawers.
Evidently he was thoroughly familiar with the object for which he was looking, for he scarcely bestowed a glance upon many of the papers that he handled, casting them disdainfully behind him upon the floor.
Some of them fluttered to the body and fell upon it, but he did not notice—or, if he did, he cared not.
Pigeon-hole after pigeon hole was emptied, and the contents cast upon the floor.
Perhaps he did not find what he sought. At any rate he took nothing away with him from the desk.
Then he turned and carefully examined a small safe which stood in one corner.
Suddenly he drew a burglars' drill from his pocket and attacked the safe.
He worked rapidly and with great expertness.
In a very short space of time the hole was deep enough to suit him, and he pocketed the drill and prepared his blast.
There were portiere-curtains in the little office, and he tore one of them from its fastenings and wound it around the safe to muffle the sound of the explosion.
A few minutes later there was a dull report and the safe-lock was destroyed.
In a trice he opened the door.
The contents of the safe were served as those of the desk had been, with the exception of one package of papers, which he placed carefully in his pocket.
There was a grim smile upon his face as he did so, but he said nothing.
Again he looked at the body; then he went and felt it, placing his hand over the heart.
There was no answering flutter.
"Quite dead—quite dead!" he murmured.
Evidently he wished to be very sure of that fact.
Again he crept into the main office, keeping well behind the counter in order to escape observation from the street.
There was a large safe there, beside the big vault, and with his drill, he attacked that.
For several moments he worked diligently.
Suddenly he paused and seemed to listen—or to think.
Then he replaced the drill in his pocket and crept back again into the secluded room where the dead man was lying.
Again he carefully examined the body, seeking the spot where the bullet had struck him, and studying it narrowly.
"Quite dead—quite dead!" he muttered.
He left the body where it had fallen, and returned to the dark corner from which he had fired the shot.
There was a door there, and he opened it.
Presently it closed, and he was gone.
There was no sound to tell which way he went out.
The dead man was left there, the sole guardian of the bank.
The roll of wheels upon the pavement and the customary night sounds of a great city were the only interruptions to the silence.
FENWICK MURRAY, banker and broker, well known in Wall street, and recognized as a daring operator and a very wealthy man, had earned the sobriquet of "Father Method," among his fellow-brokers.
He did everything by rule.
He invariably reached his office at exactly 9:45 A. M., and was never known to be a minute early or a minute late.
At 12:15 he went to lunch.
He always went to the same place and sat at the same table.
The process of eating consumed forty minutes. At five minutes of one he left Delmonico's and returned to his office.
At 1:30 he left his office for the day, no matter what the flurry might be in "the street" or the excitement on change.
His home was in Fifth avenue near Twenty-eighth street, and he was always driven there in his cab.
He was known to be a bachelor and an excessively odd one at that.
Three or four times each year, he appeared at his club in the evening, but that was all.
Whenever there was an extra attraction in the operatic line, he attended the performance, never missing one by Patti; otherwise he was a recluse who never went into society and politely but firmly refused to admit it to his house.
His business methods were like himself, conservatively methodical. Among financial men he was considered exceptionally sound and reliable.
In the matter of years, he was of the "uncertain" kind. Somewhere between forty-five and sixty.
The reader will pardon this long description, inasmuch as it will account for the banker's conduct when at 8:15 on the morning of June 27, his butler disturbed him at breakfast.
The banker frowned.
"Beg pardon, sir," said the butler, "but your book-keeper wishes to see you at once."
The banker looked at his watch.
"I will be through in ten minutes," he said, calmly.
"He said it was of the utmost importance, sir."
The banker waved his hand and the butler vanished.
Two minutes later there was a disturbance at the door, and a young man hurriedly forced his way into the breakfast-room.
"Mr. Murray," he began, but the banker, looking up, frowned and said, harshly:
"Leave this room; sir."
"But, sir—"
"Leave the room!" repeated the banker, not as harshly as before, but in a tone which effectually interrupted the book-keeper, and he hastily complied. Fenwick Murray calmly continued his breakfast. At the end of ten minutes he arose and went into the library.
The book-keeper was waiting there, and he rose as his employer entered.
"Mr. Murray," he said, excitedly, "the bank was robbed last night."
"Eh? What? My bank? robbed?"
"Yes, sir."
"And you have waited all this time to tell me of it!"
"You wouldn't let me speak, sir."
"True; I was breakfasting; hadn't finished; true. Bank robbed, eh? What, the vault?"
"No, sir; your desk and the little safe in your private office. The burglars tried to get into the big safe outside, but gave it up."
"No money stolen?"
"No, sir—but—but—"
"Well?"
"Baxter is dead."
"Baxter, eh? Too bad, I'm sure. What did he die of?"
"The burglars killed him, sir."
The banker bounded from the chair into which he had sunk on entering the room.
"Murder?" he exclaimed.
"Yes, sir; he was shot,"
"This is serious, Fuller. Tell me all you know in a very few words."
"I reached the office at 7:30 this morning, sir, because my work has gotten behind, and I wanted to catch up—"
"Yes—yes."
"Baxter was not on the door-step as usual at that hour, and so I admitted myself with the key you permitted me to take a week ago."
"Humph!! yes. Well?"
"The books upon which I was especially engaged were, with the cashier's consent, put into the big safe last night so that I could get them this morning early—"
"Wrong. Go on."
"For the combination of that safe is known to me.
"As soon as I touched the safe, I saw the drill-hole made by the burglar, and realized that something was wrong."
"Naturally."
"I looked around the office, but nothing there seemed to have been disturbed. Then I went into your private room and there I found everything in confusion. Your desk had been rifled, the little safe had been blown open and emptied, and the watchman, Baxter, was lying in the middle of the floor, dead.
"I immediately gave the alarm, and the officers quickly came.
"When the sergeant of the precinct arrived and took charge, I at once came here to notify you."
"Quite right. You may return now and I will come right down."
Fuller withdrew, and a few moments later Fenwick Murray ordered his cab and drove rapidly to his office in Wall street.
It was an unprecedented occurrence that he should reach his place of business before 9:45, and people who knew his cab and saw it on its way down town, looked at their watches in consternation, shook their heads, and compared their time with the first friend they met.
If Murray was methodical, he was also a shrewd, keen business man. Everybody gave him credit for that.
The clerks had nearly all arrived when the banker reached his office.
Detectives from the central office were there, and a ripple of importance set everything to trembling.
Murray went at once into his private office.
Nothing had been disturbed since Fuller had made his discovery. The body of Baxter remained where it had fallen when struck by the bullet of the assassin.
The banker called his cashier.
"Nevins," he said, "who is the best detective in New York?"
"Nick Carter, sir," answered Nevins, promptly.
"Send for him."
"At once?"
"Yes; or better still, go and get him if you know where he lives. Make haste."
"Yes, sir."
While Nevins was away, upon his errand, the banker began to rearrange his papers, sorting everything carefully and methodically.
"Is anything missing that you can discover?" asked one of the central office men.
"I have missed nothing yet," replied the banker.
Presently the coroner came and viewed the remains of the watchman, and the dead man was then removed to his home.
One officer was left at the bank to represent the central office, and the others withdrew.
The theory of the police was that the burglars, of whom there were doubtless two, had intended to rob the vault.
Believing that the banker kept considerable money and valuable securities in the little safe, they had attacked that after rifling the desk.
Surprised in their work by the watchman, they shot him, and fearing that the report of the pistol would attract attention, they had decamped without completing their work.
It was supposed to be the work of two burglars because of the attack upon the big safe in the main office, the two operations having been conducted at the same time.
When Mr. Murray's examination of his papers was complete, he turned to the detective who had been left there.
"I have missed but one article," he said, "and that is a paper from my safe. I prefer not to talk about it just now. I wish you would go to Inspector Byrnes and say that I will call upon him at 1:45 precisely."
"What is the nature of the paper that you miss?" asked the officer.
"I will explain that to the inspector."
The detective took his departure.
Five minutes later Nick Carter arrived, dressed as a middle-aged man, with gray whiskers, and a general air of stupidity about him.
He was conducted at once to the banker's presence.
"Mr. Carter?" asked the banker.
"Yes."
"There is a case of murder and robbery here for you to solve."
"All right."
"My watchman, Baxter, was shot last night, in this room. My desk was rifled and my little safe blown open by the burglars."
"What was stolen?" asked Nick.
"Nothing but a small bundle of papers from the safe."
"what were they?"
"They were private papers which were of considerable value to a customer of mine to whom they really belonged."
"They were all that was stolen?"
"Yes."
"Describe them, please. They seem to be an important element in this affair."
"I cannot describe them."
"Why?"
"Because I never saw them."
"Ah!"
"My customer brought them to me nearly a year ago, and asked me to keep them for him. They were done up in a bundle and sealed. On the outside was written in red ink: "Private property of Horace Gardner.'"
"You have no idea what they were?"
"None whatever."
"Where is Mr. Gardner now?"
"In Europe."
"How long has he been there?"
"He sailed the day following that on which he left the packet in my charge."
"Have you heard from him?"
"Frequently."
"Where is he now?"
"In Paris."
"You will advise him of the loss?"
"Certainly. I have already cabled him."
"Will he think the matter of sufficient importance to return here and conduct an investigation?"
"I think so, but am not positive."
"What did he say when he left the papers with you?"
"I remember his words exactly. He said: 'Murray, here is a packet of papers that I want you to keep for me. They are of no value to anybody but myself, but I would not lose them for the world.'"
"I told him that I would keep them for him, and placed them in that safe, intending to transfer them to my private box in the vault. I neglected to do so, however, and now they are stolen. I do not know how to replace them for I am totally ignorant of their value."
"What did you say in your cable?"
"This: 'Robbed last night. Your packet taken. Will you return? If not, instruct me by cable.'"
"You will doubtless receive a reply this afternoon."
"Yes."
"I wish to know what it is when it comes."
"Certainly."
"In the meantime, acting on the hypothesis that Mr. Gardner will not return, you had better write him for full particulars regarding the papers."
"MR. CARTER, do you think that the papers were the object of the burglars' visit?"
"Without doubt."
"And therefore indirectly the cause of Baxter's death?"
"Certainly."
"Then wrapped up in that little bundle is the real clew to this double crime?"
"Yes."
"Then instead of writing as you say, I will cable Gardner again and tell him he must come home."
"Do so."
"The burglars were very expert."
"Marvelously so, Mr. Murray, for as yet you have said nothing regarding the manner of their access to this room. How did they get in?"
"The central office detective decided that they were in possession of a duplicate key."
"What is your opinion?"
"I have none unless that is it."
"How many keys are there to the bank?"
"Four."
"Where are they?"
"Baxter had one which was found in his pocket; my cashier, Nevins, has one; Fuller, the book-keeper has one, and I have one."
"Is there any other means of entrance to the bank except by the main door?"
"No, sir."
"Then the burglars must have had a key."
"There seems no other way."
"Where is your key?"
"In my pocket, I have not used it since it has been in my possession, for the bank is always opened and closed by the cashier, and I never remain here after the others have gone."
"Nor come when they are not here?"
"Never."
"What kind of key is it?"
"A Yale."
"Let me see it."
The banker drew a bunch of keys from his pocket and began sorting them to find the right one.
He was a long time about it, and a puzzled expression dawned upon his face.
"I guess I've forgotten how it looks," he muttered.
Then he began naming each key on the bunch as he sorted them.
He succeeded in naming every key, and yet did not find the one which fitted the lock in the front door.
"The key is not here," he said, presently, looking up blankly at Nick. "I distinctly remember that I had thirteen keys on this ring; now there are only twelve."
"And the front door key is the one that is missing?"
"Yes."
"When did you last notice that you had it in your possession?"
"I do not know. I never used it. It might have been gone several months without my missing it."
"Indeed! Has the bunch been out of your possession lately?"
"No."
"You are positive of that?"
"Oh, yes; that is, not out of my sight."
"What do you mean by that?"
"They were lying upon my desk yesterday when I put on my coat to leave the office. Nevins came in at that moment to hand me a letter that had just come, and I asked him to pass me the keys, and close the desk."
"He did so?"
"Yes."
"Let me see the key ring. Ah! it is one of the kind from which a key snaps off. Nevins, you say, has a key of his own?"
"Yes."
"Please call him in."
The cashier was called, and Nick questioned him.
"You have a key to the bank, Mr. Nevins?"
"I have; yes, sir."
"How often have you had occasion to use it?"
"Never."
"Indeed!"
"Baxter always anticipated me when I arrived in the morning, if I happened to be ahead of the clerks. I have frequently worked here hours, but the key is not necessary in locking the door."
"You always carry your key?"
"Yes."
"Let me see it, please."
Nevins drew out his bunch of keys and began sorting them.
"It is gone!" he exclaimed, suddenly,
"Gone!" ejaculated the banker.
"Yes, sir. The key is not here."
"When did you last notice that you had it?" asked Nick, calmly.
"Yesterday morning."
"In what manner? That is, how did you happen to notice the fact that it was in your possession?"
"Fuller wanted a key, and I was about to give him mine. Then I remembered that there was one in the safe, so I got that one instead."
"But you distinctly saw that you had yours?"
"Oh, yes."
"Did you take it from the ring?"
"No."
"Where do you carry your keys?"
"In my pocket."
"Has the bunch been out of your possession?"
"It has not."
"Can you account for any time when the key in question might have been taken from your bunch without your knowledge?"
"I cannot."
"Where did you spend last night?"
"With my family."
"Very good. Thanks. I do not think of any more questions at present."
Nevins withdrew and Nick again addressed the banker.
"We are at a stand-still," he said.
"Why so?"
"Because the contents of the stolen papers represent the motive for the robbery of which the murder was a consequence."
"What is to be done?"
"Wait until you hear from Gardner."
"That is your advice?"
"Yes."
"Will you then pursue the case?"
"Certainly."
"If you will call at my house this evening, I will let you know what Gardner cables, if I hear from him in the meantime."
"Very well."
At 1:45 precisely Mr. Murray called upon Inspector Byrnes and related the same story about the papers that he had told Nick, and there the matter rested.
At 8 o'clock that evening, Nick presented himself at the Fifth avenue mansion.
The cable from Paris had arrived.
It was from Mr. Gardner's banker there, and stated that the gentleman had sailed nearly a week before for New York on the steamer La Champagne.
Nick made inquiries on the following morning, and discovered that the steamer had just arrived.
He hastened to the wharf, but Mr. Gardner had already gone to the Fifth Avenue Hotel, where Nick at once followed him.
The detective was shown immediately to Mr. Gardner's rooms.
"I am a detective, sir," said Nick, "and I have lately been retained by Mr. Murray, of Wall street, to work up a case of robbery and murder."
Gardner bowed somewhat coldly, and said:
"I know Mr. Murray very well, but I fail to see how the circumstance concerns me."
"A package of papers belonging to you, which you had left in Mr. Murray's charge, was the only thing stolen from the bank."
"What!"
The man leaped to his feet with an expression of the greatest consternation on his face.
Nick repeated the statement.
"Was nothing else taken?" asked Gardner.
"Nothing."
"This is terrible, frightful!" exclaimed Gardner.
"Were the papers valuable?" asked Nick.
"Enormously valuable—to me, and utterly worthless to anybody else."
"You say anybody; do you mean everybody?"
"No."
"There was one other besides yourself to whom the papers were of value?"
"Yes."
"The robber went to that bank for those papers, and for nothing else; I am satisfied of that, therefore I am con-strained to ask you who it was besides yourself who had an interest in them?"
"Wait, Mr. Carter. Why are you so certain of the statement you have just made?"
"The natural law of cause and effect."
"The man's name is Stanley. I know positively that he knew nothing about the papers."
"You mean where you had placed them?"
"Yes, and more."
"Do you mean that he did not know that you had them?"
"Yes."
"He knew that they existed?"
"No—that is, he believed that they had been destroyed."
"Are you sure of this?"
"Positive."
"What is Stanley's full name?"
"Roger M. Stanley."
"Where does he live?"
"Here, in New York. I will give you his address before you leave."
"Thanks. When did you last see him?"
"Just prior to my departure for Europe."
"Where?"
"Here, in this hotel."
"He called upon you?"
"Yes."
"Regarding those papers?"
"Upon matters relating to them; yes."
"Did he then think that they had been destroyed?"
"No. I told him."
"He may not have believed you."
"Possibly not."
"Will you tell me what the papers were?"
"No, sir; not even to aid justice. Not even to hang Stanley, whom I hate and despise."
"Will you tell me how they affected him?"
"No, sir."
"Nor how they concerned you?"
"No."
"Suppose Stanley has secured possession of those papers, how will the fact affect you?"
"I cannot answer that question now, Mr. Carter. Later I may, but not now."
"You say you hate Stanley; is he a rogue?"
"In my opinion he is, but I am not in a position to prove it. Here is his address. Go and interview him for yourself."
"You will call upon Mr. Murray?"
"Certainly."
"Will you tell him more than you have told me?"
"No."
"You are strangely reticent Mr. Gardner, and I feel very much disposed to tell you something."
"What?"
"That I will find those papers before I am through with this case."
"Well?"
"If I do find them, you may rest assured that I will expose their contents to the first reporter I meet."
"I forbid it!"
"Do you? I will do it just the same, unless you give me the information I seek."
"Look here, Mr. Detective, this threat of yours sounds very much like blackmail, and I warn you that I am not a man to be trifled with."
"Good-day, Mr. Gardner."
"Wait, sir."
"Good-day."
"Wait, I say. If you insist upon carrying out your threat, I will pursue you to—"
Nick closed the door and heard no more.
There was a quiet smile upon his face, as he descended to the main corridor of the hotel.
Scribbling a note he gave it to a messenger, with instructions to make haste.
Then he disappeared for several minutes, reappearing presently in an entirely different character.
Five minutes later Chick entered the hotel.
He was a veritable city dude, cigarette, cane and all.
Nick was smoking a cigar on one of the side seats, and Chick crossed over and sat down beside him.
"Fellow named Gardner in room 44," said Nick. "Tall, slender, black hair, and whiskers cut to a point. Squints a little with one eye. Just arrived from Paris. Watch him."
Having delivered his instructions, Nick left the hotel. He glanced at the card that Gardner had given him.
The address took him to Ninth street near Fifth avenue, for the card read:
ROGER M. STANLEY,
HOTEL GRIFFAN.
"A Bohemian resort," murmured Nick.
"Mr. Stanley has not been here for several months," said the clerks in reply to Nick's inquiries.
"Do you know where he went when he left here?"
"No. He left no address. He is in town, though."
"How do you know that?"
"I saw him the day before yesterday."
"The day before yesterday, eh? Where?"
"On Third avenue near Eleventh street. He was just going into a Pawnbroker's place."
"Did you notice the name?"
"Yes, Reubenstein."
"Thanks. Good-day."
"I want to see Reubenstein himself," said Nick, when a shrewd looking clerk came forward to find out what he wanted to know.
"Not here," answered the clerk.
"When can I see him?"
"Can't say. To-night, maybe, after nine o'clock."
"What time do you close?"
"At ten."
"I will be here at nine sharp."
Nick left the pawnbroker's establishment.
It was then just three o'clock in the afternoon.
He hurried at a rapid pace down Third avenue as far as Tenth street, where he turned the corner.
Walking rapidly, he drew some false whiskers from his pocket and adjusted them.
A pair of spectacles came next.
Then a little grease paint changed his expression, while the crushed hat he wore was replaced by one of the slouch pattern, and the other was thrust into the mysterious depths of his pocket.
His necktie followed the hat, and so did his collar.
The cigar he was smoking was put out, and the blackened end rubbed several times over his shirt-bosom.
Then he turned and walked rapidly back to the pawnbroker's.
When he re-entered the place, he had been absent from it just six minutes, as he saw by his watch, which, in a preparatory way, he was drawing from his pocket, having previously disengaged it from his chain, which was now hidden.
He slouched up to the counter in a hang-dog fashion, and looking anxiously around him, laid the watch down.
Some one peered at him from the rear of the place.
It was the clerk who had previously answered his questions.
"You'll have to wait a minute, ole man," he said; then he turned and shouted:
"Yes. Wait a minute. Customer here."
A moment's silence, and then—
"Old man."
He was talking through a telephone, and evidently Nick's appearance was not prepossessing enough to warrant an interruption.
The one-sided conversation continued:
"Don't know.
"No.
"Wouldn't state his business to me.
"About forty, I should say.
"Yes.
"Told him you'd be here at nine.
"Said he'd be here.
"Good-by."
The clerk came forward to the counter.
"Well, what do you want?" he asked.
"Is that a spaking-tube ye have there at all, at all?" asked Nick.
"No; it's a telephone. What d'ye want?"
"Ter hock this ticker, begorra."
"Ten dollars," said the clerk, examining the watch.
"What!" cried Nick.
"Oh, well; say fifteen."
"Say, ye spalpeen, d'ye take me fur a fool" inquired Nick.
"No; but I take you for a thief," replied the clerk, coolly. "I'll tell you what I'll do. You can have twenty-five dollars on the watch, or keep it."
"Thin begob, I'll kape it, so I will."
He reached out his hand for the watch, but the clerk coolly drew back out of reach.
"Oh, no, my light-fingered friend," he said, laughing coarsely. "The watch is worth about fifty dollars, and we'll divide profits."
"It's worth two hundred and fifty," replied Nick. "Give it back."
"Not much. I'll give you forty dollars, and no more."
"Give me the watch."
"No—no."
With one bound Nick leaped upon the counter.
He seized the clerk, and, pulling him toward him, dragged the watch from his grasp.
"There, begorra!" he said; "mebby I'm a thafe, but begob, yer another, so ye are, an' ef ye make a noise 'r say a worrud, by the ghost av Saint Patrick, I'll lay ye out!"
"I'll make you sweat for this, curse you," growled the clerk.
"Ye will, eh? How? By settin' a cop onto me? Don't ye dare, for ef ye do, I'll jest set one onto Ruby, see? I'm onto you, sonny, I am."
Nick turned and walked out of the place, noticing that the clerk made no effort to stop him.
He had obeyed a sudden impulse in changing his disguise and returning after his first call.
The place had looked like a "fence" to him, and he believed that the proprietor was in all the time.
Fortunately, he had returned just in time to hear the clerk talking with his employer over the telephone, and he knew that the conversation referred to his call.
"I'll kill time between now and evening by calling upon Fenwick Murray at his residence," he thought, and he hurried to the banker's house.
Just as he drew near, he saw Gardner walking rapidly ahead of him, and sauntering carelessly on the opposite side of the avenue was Chick.
"Good," muttered Nick. "Gordon is on his way to have it out with Murray. I wish I could hear that interview, but I can't, and besides, the banker will tell me all about it when I see him."
He hung back until he saw Gordon enter the banker's residence.
Then he managed to attract Chick's attention, after which they slowly drew nearer together.
The detective kept himself out of sight from the house by standing just around the corner, while he motioned Chick to keep an eye on the banker's door.
They were near enough to talk to each other.
"Is this the first time that Gardner has been out?" asked Nick.
"No. He went out in less than ten minutes after you did."
"Where did he go?"
"To a pawnbroker's."
"Ah! Where?
"Third avenue, near Eleventh street."
"Reubenstein's?"
"Yes."
"How long did he stay there?"
"Twenty-one minutes."
"Did you go in?"
"Yes; and hocked my watch for seven dollars. Had to."
"Well?"
"Gardner was talking to a cheeky looking chap with a red mustache."
"Yes—what was said?"
"I heard him ask for Reubenstein, and Cheeky told him he'd have to call in the evening after nine o'clock. Gardner said he couldn't; Cheeky said he'd have to if he wanted to see Ruby; Gardner said he'd leave a letter; Cheeky said all right; Gardner wrote the letter and left it, then he came away and I followed."
"Where did he go then?"
"Back to the hotel; then here."
"Don't lose him, Chick."
"No, Sir."
Instead of calling upon the banker, Nick went home.
He remained there until eight o'clock.
Then, made up as a loud young man of the "flash-cracksman" order, he sallied forth, and took himself to Reubenstein's.
The clerk whom Chick had christened Cheeky was still at his post of duty, but he did not, of course, recognize Nick as the same one who had called that afternoon.
"Say, young feller," said the detective, "is Ruby in?"
"What d'ye want of him?"
"That's my biz an' his; it's yourn to answer. Shall I ax ye ag'in, or will you speak up?"
"Yes, he's in."
"Well, jest mosey in an' tell him that a gent from across the water wants ter see him. Say!"
"What?"
"Git a move on you. I ain't got no time to waste here."
Cheeky complied.
There was something in the manner of the man who ordered him about thus which compelled him to obey in spite of himself.
He returned in a moment and told Nick he could step' up stairs.
The back part of the establishment was separated from the front by a thin partition of wood.
Behind that was a spiral staircase which led to the floor above, and in climbing it, Nick emerged into a room which was dark, dingy, and half-filled with bundles and boxes arranged on shelves.
In one corner of the room was a table-desk, behind which a shrewd-looking but very old Jew was seated.
"Hello, Ruby," said Nick, boldly, as he entered the pawnbroker's sanctum. "All alone in yer glory, eh?"
"Vat you vants, mine frient, heigh?' asked Reubenstein.
"I'm lookin' fur a feller wot comes here to see you once in a while."
"Who was dot?"
"Stanley."
"Heigh?"
"Didn' t ye hear me, Ruby?"
"Ya; I vas hear you. Stanley; who vas Stanley?"
"None o' that, Ruby, cos I happen to know that you know him, see?"
The Jew shook his head.
"Dot vas a mistook, mine frient. I not know dot feller Stanley, but I vas hear oaf him."
"Oh, you have, eh?"
"Yah."
"Well, what have you heard of him?"
"I hear dot he vas von great traveler; dot he vas discover Africa, ain't it?"
"Look-a-here, Ruby, d'ye think I'm a blarsted fool?"
"Mebby so, bimeby."
"I want to find Roger Stanley."
"Vas you know dot man?"
"No."
"Den for why you vants to see him?"
"That's my business."
"So. Vell, it ain't mine, und I know noddings about dot already."
"Look-a-here, my worthy Israelite," exclaimed Nick, putting on the swaggering air that belonged to the part he was playing; "do you know who I am?"
"I do," replied Reubenstein.
"Maybe you'll tell me, since you know so well."
"Vould you like to haf me tole you?"
"Yes."
"You vas a detective named Nick Carter."
For once in his life Nick was thoroughly astounded, but he was too shrewd to let it appear.
"Very good, old man," he said, changing his tone. "You're a hummer. You are right too; I am Nick Carter, and I am very anxious to see your friend, Mr. Stanley."
"I don't vas know him."
"That's a lie, Reubenstein, and you know it."
The Jew simply shrugged his shoulders.
NICK leaned forward, and looking the pawnbroker squarely in the eyes, which, by the way, were well concealed behind enormous spectacles, said:
"Reubenstein, I am a man who generally has my way, and I give you fair warning that the simplest way for you is the best. Where can I find this man Stanley?"
"Vell, Mister Nick Carter, I vas a man who vas efery times do vot I says I vill do, already. If a man vas comes to see me, I know him vile he vas here. Ven he vas go avay I don't know him any longer already. If you comes here ven Stanley vas here, all righd. Odervise, I don'd know him. I don'd know you ven you go oud. If you like to leaf von message for Meester Stanley, I see dot he gets it. Dot's all."
Nick knew that he could pounce upon the old man and compel him to give up the information that he coveted, or he could threaten to expose him for conducting a fence, but a moment's thought convinced him that it would be better to temporize, so after an instant of hesitation, he said:
"All right, Reubenstein. The message that I will give you concerns another man that you know also."
"Who vos dot?"
"A man named Gardner."
"Dere vas a man vot called to see me to-day, whose name vas Gardner. Vas dot de feller?"
"Yes."
"Vell?"
"Didn't you ever see Gardner before?"
"I see him vonce in my whole lifetime."
"When was that?"
"Von year ago."
"Ah!"
"He vos came to me mit some stones dot he vant money on."
"Diamonds?"
"Yah."
"And he called to-day to redeem them?"
"Yah."
"Did he get them?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Dot vas his peesness und mine. His peesness vas von ting, my peesness vas von ting, und yours vas another already, ain't it?"
"You lend money on securities of all kinds, don't you?"
"Yah."
"Without asking unpleasant questions?"
"Vy should I ask kvestions, heigh? Oaf you vas pring me—but say, vot has all dot to do mit de message for Meester Stanley?"
"I want you to ask him to meet me in this room at this hour to-morrow night."
"Vot! here?"
"Yes."
"Say; I can't haf a detective coming by here efery nighd. Dot vas ruin my peesness, young man."
"That's the message. Good-night."
Nick descended the spiral staircase, and leaving the shop, started away.
Ere he had gone a block he discovered that he was followed, and by no other than Cheeky.
Presently the detective turned a corner, and there he paused and waited.
The next moment Cheeky came hurrying around the corner in quick pursuit, and before he knew what had happened, he was seized in a giant-like grasp, bound hand and foot, gagged, and laid snugly away in the body of a dump-cart that had been left near the curb-stone.
"There," said Nick, "you are rather uncomfortable, I suppose, but I will have to leave you there for a little while."
Then, changing his disguise somewhat, Nick retraced his steps until he stood opposite the pawnbroker's place once more.
Nearly an hour passed before there was any sign of life about the place, but Nick was satisfied that Reubenstein did not live in his place of business, and knew that he would make his appearance sooner or later.
It was just midnight when the Jew came out, and then he started away at a rapid, shambling gait which got him over the ground at an astonishing rate for one so old.
The Jew went through Tenth street to Fourth avenue, thence down that thoroughfare, and sons the Bowery to Houston street.
Turning westward through Houston, he presently disappeared through the front door of a lager beer saloon.
Nick at once followed, but when he entered the place, the Jew was nowhere to be seen.
Where had he gone?
The detective's only idea in following the pawnbroker was in the belief that he would take him to Stanley, to whom he had promised to deliver the message.
"This is probably where Stanley holds out now," thought Nick, "and unless I am very greatly mistaken in the character of the old Jew, he is up to considerable crooked work."
The detective ordered a glass of beer, and seated himself at a table.
He seemed to sink into a state of semi-slumber, but he was keenly observing everything that was going on around him.
Presently he noticed that one of the men in the saloon left by a rear door.
Five minutes later another went out by the same way.
Then another and another, until four had gone.
"That settles it," thought Nick. "There is some place of rendezvous in this building where a lot of crooks meet. It is more than likely that Stanley is among them, or is affiliated with them in some way, and, on general principles, I think I will investigate."
He noticed that the men left by a door which in all probability opened into the hall which ran along one side of the saloon.
Paying for the beer he had ordered, he left the place and darted into the hallway.
It was very dark there, but he made his way carefully toward the rear of the building until he reached the door which opened into the yard.
In many parts of New York there are houses built in the middle of the block, and Nick found that such a house stood just back of the beer-saloon.
It was a small, square, frame structure, and while Nick was studying its appearance, he heard a door open behind him.
With one bound he reached a dark corner, and, crouching there, waited, wondering if he had avoided being seen.
He presently became satisfied that he had, for a man walked rapidly past him, and entered the rear house.
"There are six there now, that I know of," mused Nick; "that is, five besides old Reubenstein. I wonder how many more are coming."
He waited a half-hour, but no one else appeared.
Then he cautiously approached the building.
He tried the door very softly.
It was locked, but he brought the little instrument that he kept for such occasions into requisition, and the lock soon yielded.
Then he passed through and entered the building.
Everything was dark and silent.
He listened, but not a sound came to acquaint him with the exact locality of the men whom he knew to be in the place.
Then he touched the button of his lantern and opened the slide a very little.
Instead of being in a hallway, as he had supposed, he found that he was in a large, square room.
One glance sufficed to familiarize him with the place, and he again closed his lantern, and crept softly toward a door he had selected in that brief glance.
As he had suspected, it opened upon a flight of stairs, but instead of ascending to the upper floor of the house, they led downward into the cellar.
He was just about to throw a little light upon the scene, when he heard a gruff laugh from the darkness ahead of him.
"So they are in the cellar," he muttered. "Good! I am upon the right track."
Using great caution, for nobody realized the consequences of being discovered spying in such a place better than Nick Carter, he descended the stairs to the cellar floor.
Not a sound had reached him since the laugh, but he placed his ear to the cellar-floor, and then plainly heard the murmur of voices.
It was impossible to determine from which direction the sound came, but he could see no evidence of a light any where, and he therefore argued that his could not be seen by the men he was trying to find.
Accordingly he opened the slide of his lantern.
Instantly he heard a quick, swishing sound, and quicker than thought he leaped aside.
The act saved his life, for a keen-bladed knife flew past him, and struck quivering in an upright timber which supported the floor above.
When Nick had opened his lantern, the ray of light had fallen full upon the face of a man half-crouched in an angle of the wall, knife in hand.
People think quickly under such circumstances, and even as Nick leaped forward and seized the man who had attacked him, he thought it strange that he gave no alarm to warn his friends that danger menaced them.
The man endeavored to dodge, and so avoid Nick's attack, but he did not succeed.
Then, for a moment there was a fierce struggle, for the man was possessed of unusual strength.
He was, however, no match for Nick Carter, and in less than two minutes he was lying upon the floor, securely bound.
During the time he had not uttered a sound, although Nick had expected every instant that he would raise a yell which would bring the whole gang to his rescue.
But no yell came.
Nick threw his light in the man's face, and saw that he was old and shrunken, but that he was evidently one of those men who seem to grow stronger and more wiry as they grow older.
"Who are you?" he whispered, bending over him. "If you dare to speak above a whisper, I'll cut your throat for you."
The man made rapid signs with his fingers, in reply.
IT was the deaf-and-dumb alphabet which Nick's prisoner was employing to answer the question.
Nick understood it perfectly.
"Silence," was the reply which the man spelled out.
"Silence, eh?" said Nick, still in a whisper. "Well, I am in luck. If you had possessed the powers of speech, my friend, you would have brought the gang down on me in a trice."
Silence nodded vehemently.
"Oh, you need not assure me of it. I see that you are not deaf, if you are dumb."
Silence shook his head.
"Where are your friends?" whispered Nick.
"I ain't got no friends," spelled the dumb man.
"Haven't, eh? Who are those fellows in there?"
"I hate them," gestured the fingers, rapidly.
"Do, eh? I'm glad of that. Perhaps we can strike a bargain."
"Mebby."
"What's your name?"
"Old Silence."
"All right. Is Reubenstein in there?"
"Yes."
"And Stanley?"
"No."
"Do you know Stanley?"
"Yes."
"Where is he?"
"Gone away."
"Where?"
"Don't know."
"When did you see him last?"
"Month ago."
"Does he come here?"
"Uster."
"But not for a month?"
"No."
"Are Reubenstein and Stanley friends?"
"No."
"Eh?"
"They hate each other."
"I think you're misinformed there, Silence. Did you ever see them quarrel?"
"No."
"Then what makes you think that they hate each other?"
"Each one tried to hire me to kill the other."
"Did, eh? What is Reubenstein to the men here?"
"The boss."
"Good! and Stanley?"
"He's boss when ole Rube ain't here."
"I see. How many are there in the gang, counting yourself?"
"Ten."
"What are you to them?"
"A slave; a crawling thing; a beast that they kick and abuse. I hate them! I hate them!"
"What are they?"
"Burglars; murderers; thieves; pick-pockets; villains."
"Fine lot, eh? You would like to see them all done up, would'nt you?"
The way in which Silence nodded in response to that question was convincing.
"Is there a place here where I can overhear what they are saying?"
"Yes."
"If I will let you loose will you betray me?"
"No; if you will promise not to give me up to the police."
"I'll promise, Silence."
"Cut me loose."
"Have you got any more knives about you?"
"No."
Nick undid the cords which bound the dumb man and set him free.
"There!" he said. "Now be quick, Silence. If you stand by me, you will not regret it; if you betray me, you will."
The old man was but little more than five feet high, and nearly as broad as he was long, but he moved about with wonderful quickness, and as soon as Nick freed him he darted away in the darkness so quickly that the detective had to throw his light upon him in order to follow.
Silence led the way into the very corner from whence he had thrown the knife.
There he stooped and raised a roughly made trap-door.
Stepping back, he motioned to Nick to descend.
"You go first, Silence," said Nick. "I can keep one eye on you if you are in front. Lead the way; I'll follow."
An ordinary ladder was the means of descent, and without more words the dumb man stepped upon it, and went quickly down.
Before descending, Nick directed his light into the opening, but he could see nothing except a black hole, and the ladder leading down into it.
In the meantime the dumb man had reached the bottom, and stood there, waiting for Nick to follow.
The detective half-suspected that old Silence was leading him into a trap, but he was willing to risk the danger incurred if by so doing he could accomplish his purpose.
At the bottom of the well-like hole there was an excavation which led off to the right, and through that Silence made his way, closely followed by the detective.
After traversing about fifteen feet, they stopped at the bottom of another hole exactly like the first, and from overhead Nick plainly heard the sound of voices.
There was a room up there, and the men were in it.
Before Nick was another ladder, and whispering to the dumb man to wait for him, he mounted it.
In a moment more he could hear everything that was said in the room above, although he could not see who was in the party.
Reubenstein was speaking, for Nick recognized his voice and accent perfectly.
"-must be laid oud right away quick," he was saying. "Dot feller vas schmardt; mooch schmardter dan I tought him already, und oof we dond look oud, bimeby he nab us all, heigh?"
"Who's goin' ter do the layin' out, Rube?" asked a gruff voice.
"Vell Isaac, I tinks dot you vas de righd man for dot leetle job."
"Oh, you do, eh?"
"Yah."
"Murder ain't in my line, Rube, an' you know it," growled Isaac.
"I know dot it is very mooch in your line, und I prove him, mebby."
"Prove it an' be—"
"Hol' on, Ikey. I tell you who I prove him by."
"Well, who?"
"Vere is Stanley, heigh?"
Nick heard an angry oath, and then the Jew's voice saying:
"Sit down, Ikey. Dis ting might go off, ain'd it?"
"Curse you!" growled Ike. "I believe you know everything."
"I vas know enough to hang you fellows vot vas here, und I know dat you fired de bullet vot hit Stanley. You vas sooch a goot marksman dat I tink you better do for dis detective feller."
"Where is he? How'll I find him?"
"I fix dot, see?"
"Yes. You fix everything, you do! I wouldn't be surprised to hear that you were a detective yourself."
"Mebby I be, sometimes, bimeby. Now I vants to know vot you fellers haf been doing ladely. Who vas it dot rob a Murray's pank, heigh?"
Nick pricked up his ears.
"How the devil do I know?" asked another voice.
"Vasn't dot a job dot I set out for you to do?"
"Yes."
"Vell, did you do him; did you do him?"
"No. Somebody got ahead of us, an' killed the watchman, too. He must have been drunk at that?"
"Who de vatchman?"
"No, the duffer wot cracked the crib."
"Vy?"
"Cos he didn't take anything worth takin'. But I say, Rube!"
"Vot?"
"What did you ask us to come here to-night fur, anyhow? We've been here an hour, an' you ain't said anything yet, except to set Ike onto the fly cop."
"Vell, aind dot enough?"
"No."
"All righd. I vas gif you somedings besides righd away kevick."
Nick heard a chair move, and then, before he had any idea what was about to happen, the trap door beneath which he was concealed was suddenly lifted from its place, and he was exposed to the gaze of them all.
The instant that the door was raised, Nick knew that Silence had in some manner betrayed him.
A volley of pistol shots rung out even as the door was raised, but Nick dropped out of sight just in time to avoid them.
He struck on his feet at the bottom of the hole and in an instant darted out of immediate danger by hiding in the passage-way that connected the two wells.
"Did we hit him?" Ike asked.
"Hit him! Didn't ye see him drop?" cried another.
"He's got four or five holes in his carcass," said a third.
"Ikey," murmured the bland voice of the old Jew, "you go down in de hole and see."
"You go to—"
He never finished the sentence.
There was another sharp report, followed by a loud cry, and a heavy fall.
"Dere," said the Jew, calmly. "I tole Ikey several times dot dis pistol mighd go off, but he vould not pelieve me already. Mebbe he tinks so now, heigh?"
NICK knew that he could expect small mercy from one who would shoot down one of his companions in that cold-blooded fashion, and he deemed it best to at once make himself scarce in the old cellar.
Rapidly he made his way back to the ladder that he had descended when Old Silence had shown him the way.
The ladder was gone.
"Trapped!" muttered Nick, "and by a mute!"
He examined the sides of the well and found that it was simply a round hole that had been dug there for the gang's accommodation.
They had not taken the trouble either to cement it or stone it, and drawing his knife, he at once began work upon the clay-like soil.
Now and then he paused to listen, but since the shot which had killed Ike, he had heard no sound, and none came while he was engaged in the work.
Finally, when he had worked his way nearly to the top of the well, by digging holes in which he could cling with his feet and hands, the silence became so oppressive that he descended and went once more to the other well-hole and listened.
One flash of his lantern revealed the fact that the ladder upon which he had stood while engaged in listening was also gone.
In an instant the full realization of his position rushed upon him.
He had been deliberately led into the trap, and he was a prisoner in that underground passage beneath the cellar and the only exits were by the two trap doors, both of which were securely fastened down, without doubt.
Slowly he returned to the well-hole where he had dug the steps in the sides.
He climbed up to the place where he had ceased laboring, and once more began to work.
In a half hour he had completed the task, having dug the top holes much larger than the others so that he could brace against them, for he relied upon his great strength to force the trap-door upward and so escape.
Having made every arrangement, he gathered all his strength for one mighty effort.
With his shoulders against the trap door, and his feet braced in the crevices he had dug in the sides of the shaft, he strained every muscle in the effort to lift.
Nothing started.
To all appearance the house itself had been piled upon the door to keep him down there, a prisoner, where he would slowly perish by starvation.
Nick Carter knew when he could not do a thing as well as he knew when he could, and he quickly saw that the raising of the trap-door was a feat beyond his strength, great as it was.
There was one other chance.
The other door where the men had been talking, and where Reubenstein had shot down the man Isaac, might not be so securely fastened.
He went there and again set to work digging steps in the sides of the well-hole.
At last he reached the top, and using the same method of procedure, he tried to move that door.
It resisted his efforts exactly as the other one had done.
"There is just one way left, only one," mused Nick, throwing his light upon the door, and examining it critically, "and that is to dig my way through the door itself."
He saw that it was made of hard wood, and that the work of cutting through would take hours, if not days, but there seemed to be no other course open, and so he began.
He worked two hours steadily, cutting and digging with great care in order to avoid breaking his knife.
At the end of that time he paused and reviewed his work.
Then he smiled bitterly.
"Well," he murmured, "I have been in places that seemed worse than this before now. I have always gotten out all right, and I guess I will this time. Patience and perseverance will do anything, and if I don't get even with old Reubenstein for this my name is not Nick Carter—and I think it is."
He looked at his watch.
It was seven o'clock.
"Morning," murmured Nick. "The rogues have gone by this time, sure, and I think by night I can—"
He paused suddenly, for he plainly heard a step over his head.
Quick footfalls passed rapidly back and forth above him.
It has been said before that Nick could recognize a person's step as quickly and as surely as a voice.
When he first heard the sound of this one, he paused and listened.
Then he smiled, and with the haft of his knife rapped upon the hard-wood door. Instantly the steps ceased, and an answering rap came from the other side.
Again Nick smiled.
Then, taking the blade of his knife between his thumb and forefinger, he pressed it against the wood, and seizing the handle with his other hand, he began a rapid tattoo upon the door.
If a telegraph operator had been listening, he would have distinguished the following:
Dash dot, two dots, two dots space dot, dash dot dash, two dots space dot, dot dash, dot space two dots, dash, dot, dot space two dots.
Translated, they formed the words "Nick Carter."
Then came a rapid reply, telegraphed in the same way.
"Wait," it said," and I will have you out of there."
"O.K," telegraphed Nick.
Then he climbed back down to the bottom of the hole, and waited.
He had recognized Chick's step the moment he heard it.
How he had got there was as yet a mystery, but Nick did not bother himself in the effort to solve it just then.
He was there, and his presence meant freedom for the detective; liberation from a place from which escape had seemed next to impossible.
Nick could hear his protege at work over his head.
He seemed to be engaged in moving heavy objects.
Then came the noise of hammering, and finally the twist-twist of a screw as it turned in the wood.
There were many of them, and the detective smiled complacently as he thought how securely the scoundrels had fastened him in that hole beneath the cellar.
At last the obstacles were all removed, and Chick raised the trap-door and peeped down into the blackness.
The next moment, however, Nick climbed up and sprang into the room.
"Did you come alone?" he asked.
"No. I have got a half-dozen cops with me."
"Did you find anybody here?"
"Not a soul. The place was as deserted as an old church."
"Tell me how you happened to come."
"I was told that you were here, and that the fellows who had you meant to kill you. I wasn't very slow about getting here when I heard that."
"Who told you?"
"An old fellow who either could not or would not speak. He gave me the whole thing on his fingers."
"Old Silence!" exclaimed Nick.
"Yes," he said, when he got through: "tell him Old Silence sent you."
"How did he find you?"
"He came to the house at four o'clock this morning. Gardner was safe in bed for an hour or two, so I ran home to change my disguise. I hadn't been there but a few minutes when Old Silence came."
"I thought that he betrayed me," mused Nick, "and instead he saved me. I will have to see that old man again. Go on Chick. You got the officers and came right here. What did you find?"
"Nothing but an empty house. I had been all through it twice, and was just on the point of tearing up this floor when I heard you rap."
"There was a murder in this room last night, and old Reubenstein, the pawnbroker, was the murderer. Have you found any traces of the crime?"
"No."
"What became of Old Silence after he warned you that I was in danger?"
"I guess he dissolved in the darkness, for he said he would guide me, but in some way he walked off before I knew it."
"Did he know that you were going for help?"
"Yes, I told him."
"Now tell me exactly what he told you on those fingers of his."
"Why, simply that you had sent him to find me and tell me of your predicament."
"Ah! go on."
"He said that you told him that if I was not at home, I might be found at the Fifth Avenue hotel,"
"I see. Yes. Well?"
"I asked him who it was who had got you in the fix, and he said 'Old Rube,' whoever that may be.
"He gave me the address and said that he could guide me so that we could easily set you free."
"CHICK," said the detective, "if you had not taken the precaution to bring some officers with you, these fellows would have done for us both.
"First they got me foul by a very cute trick, and that same fellow who calls himself Old Silence, and who probably is no more dumb than I am, is the one who played it on me.
"In some way, they know all about you. They knew that you were shadowing Gardner, and more than that, were posted as to your disguise.
"When they had me where they believed that I could not get away, they sent Old Silence to lure you here, intending to serve you in the same way, and get rid of us both at the same time.
"Reason: the fact that you are associated with me assured them of two things. First, that you would leave no stone unturned to find me, and second, that you would know almost to a certainty who had made away with me.
"It was a clever scheme, my lad, and proves that we have fallen upon a gang of men who will stop at nothing to accomplish their ends, and who are led by a man who is wonderfully sagacious.
"We have two revelations to face. One is, they know all about you and the other is that in some incomprehensible manner, they keep posted as to what we are doing.
"Now, have you searched this place thoroughly?"
"Yes."
"And found nothing?"
"Nothing."
"Then we may as well go. Old Silence hurried here ahead of you, and gave the alarm as soon as he found out that you were going to bring help with you. Then they lit out, and they will not come back here again, sure."
In the yard were the officers who had accompanied Chick to the rescue.
There was not one of them who was not proud to have been of service to Nick Carter, and they were greatly pleased when in a few well-chosen words, he thanked them.
Nick, accompanied by his protege, went directly home.
"Now, Chick," he said, when they were alone together.
"I'm going to change places with you for a while."
"In what way?"
"I want you to personate me as thoroughly as you can.
Fix yourself up in the costume that I have worn; call upon banker Murray at his office in Murray street, and tell him that you have decided to give up the case."
"Oh!"
"He will probably offer you a large sum to continue, and you may then tell him that you will consider the matter, but that you will not make another move until he gets your answer, at all events."
"May I ask why you do this?"
"Certainly. First, this man Gardner is a very smart one, and I am convinced that he is in some way connected with the gang who tried to murder me. Second, as Gardner, he is a friend and customer of Fenwick Murray. Third, being such, he will naturally hear through Murray that Nick Carter has abandoned the case.
"Now; fourth, if he is associated with the gang, mixed up with old Reubenstein, and playing a deep hand with banker Murray, he will naturally feel more or less pleased to learn that he need have no further concern for Nick Carter—that is if he believes the yarn, of which there is some doubt.
"Skip along, now. I will take care of your end of the game, and you play mine."
In half an hour from that moment, Chick left the house by the other street, en route for the banking house of Fenwick Murray.
For many minutes, Nick remained lost in a brown study.
"The story about Stanley's death that I overheard last night," he mused, "is false. Either it was said for my especial benefit, or the man Ike was fooled by Reubenstein. I do not believe that Stanley is dead. That is point one.
"Point two: Why, if Gardner has anything to do with this same gang of which Stanley is a member, does he not—no that won't do. I must go deeper than that, for I am certain that Gardner is in some way connected 'with this gang, if not its real chief.
"That being true, why were the papers belonging to him, stolen from the banker's safe, when he could easily have gone there at any time and got them for asking?
"Why were they stolen when he was abroad, or rather on his way home?"
"Was he just on his way home? Could he not have concocted some scheme to deceive the banker, and may he not be the burglar himself, having some deep motive for obtaining possession of the papers in that way?"
"Humph!"
Nick smiled broadly.
"This is what might be called guesswork," he muttered, "for I have no foundation for all these suspicions, except that Gardner called upon Old Reubenstein since his arrival, and that those devils knew that Chick was shadowing him.
"They could only have known that through Gardner himself, and in one of two ways from him.
"One way is that he told them, and the other, that if Reubenstein's story about the diamonds is true, he may have let the fact drop to the Jew in their interview, which must have taken place—wait! I have it. If Gardner is the villain I begin to suspect he is, he has rung in a double on Chick, and was in the room with Reubenstein when I was there.
"Either that, or they communicated with each other in some way after I saw Chick yesterday afternoon.
"I walked from Reubenstein's to the banker's house when I met Chick, and I walked very slowly, for me.
"Hum! I begin to think that I have lighted upon a mare's nest."
When Nick left the house a half-hour later, he was a respectable-looking old man, who bore many outward signs of being the possessor of a comfortable bank account.
His destination was the office of the French line of steamers.
There, he carefully inspected the passenger list of the steamer La Champagne, but could find no Gardner upon it.
"That's funny," he thought, and following the clew thus obtained, he went back over the lists of all the arrivals by that line for a month.
There was not a Gardner recorded among them.
"I guess I'll go down to the pier and look for the fellow who gave me my information about Gardner the other day," he thought, grimly.
The superintendent of the wharf was busy chewing a tooth-pick when Nick arrived.
Nick went directly to him.
"Do you remember that you were asked if the passengers had all gone ashore, by a man about my age, who gave you a good cigar the day before yesterday?"
"Yes, sir."
"You said you thought they had, and asked the gentleman whom he wanted to find."
"Yes, and he said he was looking for a man named Horace Gardner, and I said I'd find out for him, and I did. I came back and told the old gent that Mr. Gardner had gone to the Fifth Avenue Hotel."
"Precisely. Now I would like to know where you got the information that you gave the old gentleman."
"From the purser."
"Where is he?"
"Just went aboard; I saw him only a moment ago."
"Help me to find him, please."
"Certainly."
The superintendent led the way, and they went aboard the steamer.
The purser was soon found, and Nick was introduced.
"Did you have a passenger over on the last trip, named Gardner?" he asked.
"I do not remember such a name; the lists—"
"Yes, I know. I have seen the lists."
Nick turned to the superintendent.
"Will you explain?" he said.
"By Jove, I can't."
"But you said that you asked the purser for the information."
"Well, I didn't, you know. I was busy, and after looking for the purser I sent one of my men on the errand."
"Which one?"
"Clark was his name."
"Where is he?"
"I discharged him only yesterday. I am very sorry, I—"
"What is your name, Mr. Superintendent?" asked Nick, sternly.
"Simmons."
"Permit me, Mr. Simmons to give you a little information. First, I am a detective; second, you have told me several deliberate falsehoods; third, I am the same man who questioned you the other day; fourth, unless you tell me the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, here and now, I will report you without delay; fifth; if you deceive me again, I will arrest you for aiding and abetting a very serious crime."
Simmons was thoroughly frightened.
"Who told you to give me that information?" asked Nick.
"A young fellow with a red mustache."
"Red necktie also?"
"Yes, and a big diamond horse-shoe in the tie."
"Good; I know him."
"He gave me ten dollars for my trouble."
"Did, eh?"
"He said they were playing an innocent joke on a friend who would call here to inquire for a man named Gardner."
"And you believed him?"
"Certainly."
"I was passing you when I paused to ask for the purser, and you wanted to know my errand. Do you remember?"
"Yes."
"Did you know then that I was the man who was looking for Gardner?"
"Yes."
"Ah! how did you know that?"
"Because you had been described to me."
"By the red mustache?"
"Yes. I knew you before you spoke to me."
"Very good. Be careful how you enter into innocent jokes in the future. You have just given me some valuable information; and I will not trouble you again."
Nick turned and walked away, leaving the superintendent to make any further explanation he chose to the purser.
The case was assuming several very puzzling features.
The young man with the red mustache who had interviewed Simmons, was Reubenstein's clerk.
"Serve him right," thought Nick, "if nobody has found him, and he is in that cart yet, where I left him last night."
"How could Reubenstein have known that I would come here to inquire for Gardner?" he mused. "Not only that, but he knew how I was disguised, while the fact is, only two men knew that I had anything to do with the case at that time.
"One of those men was the banker himself, and the other was his cashier, Nevins.
"The banker knew that I would look for Gardner, but how could Nevins know it also?"
"MY next call must be at the cable offices," said Nick to himself, and he lost no time.
It is a very difficult undertaking to get information from cable and telegraph companies unless they choose to give it, but when Nick presented himself, he was armed with the proper authority to have his questions answered without delay.
His questions were very few.
First he gave the date of the day he wished investigated, and then he asked:
"Is Fenwick Murray, banker, a subscriber?"
"He is," was the reply.
"Did he send a cable message to Paris on that day?"
Investigation failed to discover one.
"Did he receive one on that day from Paris or from any part of Europe?"
"No," was the answer.
"Humph!! Now make the same search, covering the preceding day."
"Nothing. We delivered a long message to him a week ago, but nothing since."
"Where was that message from?"
"London."
"Thanks."
Nick went out, stopped for a few moments in a retired place, and changed himself into a young man about town. Then he hurried to Murray's bank. It was two o'clock in the afternoon, and the banker had gone.
Nick entered the place and at once inquired for the cashier.
"I wish to see you a few moments privately Nevins," he said.
"Who are you?"
Nick whispered his name in the cashier's ear.
"Take me into the banker's private office," he said. "I want to talk to you there."
"Very well; come in."
They were soon seated in the private room.
"Now, Nevins, take your mind back to the day before the murder of Baxter, and answer my questions as shortly as possible, and without asking any in return."
"Fire away."
"Were you in this room that day?"
"Yes."
"When the banker was not here?"
"No."
"How many times while he was here?"
"Three or four."
"Where do you carry your keys?"
"In my coat pocket."
"The coat that you wear here in the bank?"
"Yes; I change them to that when I change my coat."
"And change them back again at night?"
"Yes."
"You did so that day?"
"Yes."
"Did you take your coat off during that day?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
"In here."
"For what purpose?"
"I was doing up a package for Mr. Murray, and I caught my coat on his chair and tore it."
"Was your back toward him at the time?"
"Yes."
"What did you do then?"
"Took the coat off to look at the tear."
"And then the banker suddenly wanted something from the main office, didn't he?"
"Why, yes; how—"
"You went for it, leaving your coat here?"
"Yes."
"Very good. Now I would like to examine this room a little if you will help me."
"Certainly, but—"
"First let us move this wardrobe."
"It is very heavy."
"Never mind. I notice that there is a crease in the carpet as though the article had been frequently moved. Do you see it?"
"Yes."
"Never noticed it before, eh?"
"Never."
"It has been there, for I saw it the first time I was here. I think the wardrobe will move very easily."
Nick put out one hand, and, as he suspected, the heavy piece of furniture was moved away from the corner with ease.
Then Nick stepped behind it.
"Come here, Nevins," he said.
Nevins followed him.
"Did you know there was a door here?" asked Nick.
"Never, sir."
"Yet there is. Very cleverly made, too. Have you had your key replaced yet?"
"I have the one that Fuller had."
"Let me take it."
Nevins handed the key to Nick, for he had noticed that the little secret door was also fastened by a yale lock, and suspected that the regular bank key would fit it.
It did.
In a moment more the little door swung open, and Nick peered through.
He found that he was behind another wardrobe in another private office.
Carefully he pushed the article of furniture aside, motioning to Nevins to remain where he was.
The office was empty, but there was a glass door leading from it to the hallway of the building.
"9." was the figure on the door, and he knew the next one or principal office of that suite was "10."
He drew the wardrobe back into place, and passed back through the secret door, closed it, and rearranged the furniture in the banker's room.
Nevins was pale with astonishment, and nervousness.
"What does it mean?" he gasped.
"It means that if you whisper to a soul a word of what has happened this afternoon, until I give you permission, I will lock you up for the murder of Baxter!" said Nick.
"But—"
"I know you are innocent, Mr. Nevins, as well as you do, but I could make you lots of trouble, and I will, if you are indiscreet."
"I won't say a word."
"See that you do not."
"Will you tell me—"
"Nothing at present. Go about your business as though I had not been here. Do not let the banker know that I called—"
"He knows that you were here once to-day."
"I refer to this time. If he hears that you entertained somebody in his private room, pass it off any way you please, but don't let him know that it was I."
Nick left the bank and hurried around to the main entrance of the building.
Passing in at the door, he went at once to room 10.
"Jeremiah Sargent," was printed in large letters on the glass, but there was nothing to denote Mr. Sargent's business.
Nick opened the door and entered.
A young woman was engaged in reading a novel near an unemployed type-writing machine.
Otherwise the room was unoccupied, except by the sumptuous and rather flashy furniture.
"I wish to see Mr. Sargent," said Nick.
"He is not in. Will you leave a message for him?"
"When will he be in?"
"Between three and four, usually."
"Every day "
"Yes; his office hours are from three till five, but he will not be here to-day."
"Ah! Thanks. I will call to-morrow as my business is not of great importance."
"Who shall I say called?"
"Mr. Noyes of Albany."
"Very well, sir."
"Now I will go home and see Chick," thought the detective. "I am rather curious to know the result of his call, this morning."
Chick was at the house awaiting him when the detective reached there.
"Well, did you see Mr. Murray?" asked Nick.
"I did."
"Was he sorry that you gave up the case?"
"Very."
"Really?"
"Blamed if I know. There seemed to be too much of it, to be genuine."
"Did, eh? What did he say?"
"Offered to let me name my own price if I would go ahead with it."
"Did you temporize?"
"At first I utterly refused. Finally, I said that I would let him know to-morrow morning."
"And in the meantime—"
"I would do nothing."
"Good."
There was a moment's silence, and then the detective said suddenly:
"How is your muscle, Chick?"
"A. 1."
"Think you could handle me?"
"Not yet; I'm getting there, however."
"You're a regular young Hercules, sure enough."
"Thanks."
"Think you could down your friend, Cheeky?"
"I should smile!"
"Good! come with me."
Nick led the way at once to the Fifth Avenue Hotel, and inquired for Mr. Gardner.
"Just went to his room," said the clerk; "front."
"No; I won't send my card up just yet," said Nick.
"Allright. He's paid his bill and leaves to-night," and the clerk turned away.
Nick drew Chick aside.
"Now my lad," he said, "go to old Reubenstein at once. Walk right past Cheeky, and go up the spiral staircase you will find back of the partition.
"Cheeky will try to stop you, but manage to get up the stairs without a row. He will follow you.
"Jump on his neck; lay him out; tie him good and tight, and then make yourself up to play his part; can you do it?"
"You bet!"
"Well, do it, and when Reubenstein comes, do it well, for he's as sharp as a steel trap, and—"
"What?"
"You will never come back alive, if he finds out the cheat."
"Won't I!"
"Meet me at home at midnight."
"I'll be there."
IT did not occur to Chick until after he had started on his errand, to ask Nick Carter how he knew that the old man Reubenstein would not be in his sanctum to give assistance to Cheeky when the assault took place.
Nevertheless his confidence in his master was so unbounded, that he did not hesitate.
He stopped at home long enough to provide himself with the things necessary for the make-up he needed, and then continued on his way to the pawnbroker's office.
It was nearly seven o'clock in the evening when Chick entered the place, and Cheeky was there, as impertinent in appearance as ever.
He stepped forward when Chick entered, but the lad paid no attention to him, continuing on his way toward the rear of the store.
"Here! What d'ye want, anyhow?" demanded Cheeky.
"Old Rube," replied Chick, shortly, never slackening his pace in the slightest degree.
"He ain't in," shouted Cheeky.
"What are ye givin' us!" drawled Chick, passing behind the counter and hurrying toward the door in the partition.
"Come out o' that!" roared Cheeky. "Where are ye goin', anyhow?"
Chick put his thumb to his nose and wagged his fingers saucily.
Then he disappeared through the door.
With one jump he reached the spiral staircase, and ran up it.
But Cheeky was in hot pursuit.
Chick kept on.
So did Cheeky.
The young detective reached the Jew's sanctum with Cheeky a close second.
"Say, young feller!" exclaimed the pawnbroker's clerk, accompanying his remarks with a string of oaths; "you're too fresh, you are. Pile out o' this now, or I'll—"
Chick turned and struck out with all his might.
The blow was a fearful one, and was worthy of Nick Carter himself.
It caught Cheeky squarely upon the nose, and he went down beneath it like an ox beneath the ax.
In an instant Chick was upon him, and with wonderful celerity he bound and securely gagged the hapless youth, so that he was as inoffensive as a babe.
"Now, sonny, I'll proceed to make myself like you, and I think I can do it to the Queen's taste," said Chick.
The room was an excellent place for the task, and Nick Carter's pupil worked very rapidly.
He was a worthy student of a most expert master, and this being the first time that he had ever put his abilities in that line to the test, he exerted all of his ingenuity to render the job a perfect one.
"There!" said Chick, when he had finished. "Now I'll find a place to store you, and then to business."
He finally deposited the luckless clerk in the cellar, and just as he returned to the shop a customer entered.
A woman wanted some money on a watch.
Chick examined it critically, and then looked carefully at the woman.
He saw that she was thin and hungry-looking, and he asked her how much she expected to get on the watch.
"Very little," she replied; "not half what its worth, sir; but give me all you can."
"What is the trouble?"
"I must buy some medicine for my husband."
"Has he been sick long?"
"Over a year."
"The watch is his, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir."
"Do you know how much he paid for it?"
"Forty dollars, I have heard him say, but I'll be happy if I can get five."
"Well, the watch is worn, but I guess its worth twenty dollars. Here's the money, madam."
She had scarcely left the shop, speechless with amazement and gratitude, when Reubenstein entered.
He only cast one glance at Chick, and continued on past the partition, and up the spiral staircase to his own den.
Presently a bell sounded under the counter, and Chick hastened to obey the summons.
"Peter," said Reubenstein, when Chick entered, "I vas sold de place to Samuels. De pargain vas struck to-day, an' he vas come in de mornin' to pay de monish und took de goots. He says dot you vas stay here mit him shust de same as mit me."
"Keyreckt!" replied Chick.
"Shut de door now, Peter," continued Reubenstein, "an' go vay. Dot detective vas bodder us no more bimeby; he vass gif oop de sponge."
"Who told you?"
"Dot vos my peesness, Peter. Ven Samuels comes by here in de mornin', you vas tell him dot Meester Reubenstein vas called avay on peesness, und dot he half to come about nine o'clock to-morrow nighd to close de pargain. Dot vos all."
Chick descended the spiral stairs and was just leaving them when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
Instinctively he felt that it was Nick, and he was right.
The detective tiptoed in front of Chick, and fearing that the quick ears of the Jew would hear even a whisper, he employed his fingers, and the deaf and-dumb alphabet in giving the lad a few hurried orders.
"Obey the Jew," wrote his fingers; "close the place and go out; leave me here; wait outside somewhere till I come out, then follow me."
Nick got beneath the counter while Chick closed the store.
When everything was secure, he went to Reubenstein, and told him that he was going.
Nick, peeping from his place of concealment, saw the old Jew watching his clerk to see that he did leave the place.
Then all was silent, and Nick crept softly toward the stairs.
Mounting them with great caution, he secured a position where he could watch Reubenstein, and many a grim smile broke out upon his face at what he saw.
Believing himself secure from observation, the Jew began humming a popular air.
"I think I can work better as my natural self," he muttered presently, and then with a quick motion he divested himself of the wig and beard which were the Jew's.
Then off came his coat, effectually destroying the half hump-back appearance that he had worn, and there stood revealed a young man not past thirty, rather handsome, but with a cold, cruel face.
He at once began work, for it was evident that he wished to accomplish a great deal in as little time as possible.
Box after box was emptied of its contents upon the floor.
Some of the papers he tore in half, but most of them he simply cast into the big heap.
He opened a small safe which stood in one corner, and abstracted all the money from it. That he deposited in a little satchel.
"There is room there yet for such valuables as I care to keep," he said in an undertone.
Suddenly he started toward the stairs, and Nick had barely time to glide out of sight.
The pseudo Jew went to the big safe down stairs, and hurriedly got together the most valuable of gems and watches that had been pledged to him.
Soon the satchel was full.
He closed it with a snap, and, placing it on the floor near the front door, returned to his den.
Then came a revelation.
With the aid of a key he unlocked a closet door.
The next moment he dragged something out, and Nick saw that it was the body of a man.
But the man was alive, although bound securely, and gagged so that he could not speak.
"Pretty nearly dead, aren't you?" asked the pawnbroker, removing the gag from the captive's mouth.
"Kill me, Cal, and have done with it," groaned the bound man, feebly.
"For once, I'll do as you wish me to, Stanley," retorted the other. "I'm going to kill you. That's what I'm here for to-night. Shall I tell you how I'm going to do it?"
"Yes."
"I'm going to put this wig and beard of Old Rube's on you. Then I'm going to chloroform you, and set the place afire."
"Fiend!"
"Tut-tut! Not when I am kind enough to chloroform you first; that's a kindness, Stan. see?"
"Have you no feeling?"
"Bah! Why do you talk of feeling? Haven't you been with me in every crime that I have committed for ten years? Didn't you hold Old Reubenstein while I rapped him on the head, that we might have this business? Haven't you been as deep in the mud as I?"
"But why do you treat me in this way?"
"Because I do. I want the whole boodle. I'm through now, and I'm going to retire. That infernal Baxter ruined me, and I'm going to quit much sooner than I intended. But I've got a comfortable fortune. It'll clean up about half a million before the night is over.
"To-morrow I'll be plain Jeremiah Sargent, and I'll keep that up for a year. Then I'll go abroad—and then— but I tire you, Stan."
He laughed mockingly, and stepping to a mirror, began to make himself up.
In thirty minutes he was completely transformed and looked like a plodding, middle-aged man in easy circumstances.
Not in the least did he resemble either Reubenstein, or the young man who had just been talking to Stanley.
"That detective will collar you yet, Cal Furness," groaned Stanley.
"Oh, no he wont. He got scared the night you played the mute so well. Lucky you followed him as well as Peter, that night, Stan.
"Now I'm ready. I'll fix you up in Rube's whiskers, and than give you the chloroform. Shall L remember you to Banker Murray?"
"Curse you, Cal Furness!"
"All right, Stan. Curse Callendar Furness all you please. I don't mind. I'm Jeremiah Sargent now, see?"
The wig and beard were quickly adjusted, and then the chloroform was administered.
Soon the form of Roger Stanley was limp and senseless.
"Let me see; how many does he make?" mused Furness.
Then he began counting on his fingers, giving each one a name.
"Twelve," he said, finally. "Stanley makes the twelfth man I've done for. "Thirteen might be an unlucky number, so I'll stop here."
Then he piled papers and inflammable stuff everywhere.
Soon all was ready, and he touched a lighted match to the papers—and, after watching them until they were well ablaze, turned and fled.
Nick let him go, because he knew where he would go to, but Furness was scarcely out of the room before the detective was scattering the fire and stamping upon it.
It had not gathered much headway, and he soon extinguished it.
Then he raised the unconscious Stanley in his arms and carried him down stairs.
Leaving him there, he went out and found Chick, who was still awaiting.
A messenger was quickly sent to the station-house, and, after telling the officers what he wanted done, the detective left the pawnbroker's shop and its contents in charge of them, and started down town.
He went directly to the building in Wall street where Fenwick Murray's bank was situated.
Followed by Chick, he quietly entered the main door, it being necessary to pick the lock first.
That was soon accomplished, and they were inside.
Nick paused before the door of room 10, and listened.
There was not a sound, and he opened the door and entered.
Passing to room 9, they found that vacant also, but the wardrobe had been moved out of place, and Nick knew that his man was in the bank.
Nick and his protege both seated themselves in the pitchy darkness and waited.
Presently they heard a noise.
Then the wardrobe moved, and Nick knew that his man was in the room.
With a quick motion he opened the slide of his lantern, throwing the light squarely into the villain's eyes, at the same moment pointing his revolver at him.
"I want you, Callendar Furness," he said, quietly.
The fellow leaped back with a quick bound, and uttering a deep curse drew his revolver.
But a quick blow from Chick's fist knocked it from his grasp, and the next instant he was stretched upon the floor, securely handcuffed.
Then Nick lighted the gas, and sitting down quietly, said:
"Mr. Callendar Furness, I congratulate you on being the most infernal and most accomplished scoundrel I ever knew.
"I'll tell you why. I followed a man named Gardner from the Fifth Avenue Hotel to banker Murray's residence to-day. Then I rang the basement bell, bribed the servant to let me in, and learned that Gardner was in the library, playing chess with the banker. I went to the library; it was empty, but the marble mantel had been disturbed. I examined it and found that it moved. There was an opening behind it. I passed through and emerged into a house in Madison avenue, just in time to see Reubenstein, the Jew, going out. I followed him to Houston street, and saw him give a package to a policeman. The package contained evidence to betray his friends who meet to-night at the old place. Then the Jew went to his pawnshop and I went too. I saw everything that took place there—"
"You lie!"
"Do I? Well, the fire is out and Stanley is alive. It was Jeremiah Sargent who left the pawnshop, and so I naturally came here to his office.
"Mr. Callendar Furness, alias Reubenstein (whom you murdered), alias Fenwick Murray (whom you murdered), alias Horace Gardner, (whom you created), Jeremiah Sargent, (whom the hangman will interview), I arrest you for the murder of watchman Baxter, of Fenwick Murray, of Jacob Reubenstein, of Isaac Gray, and eight others; also for robbery, larceny, incendiarism and a hundred other crimes!"
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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