After Nick’s cross-examination of the nurse he had an interview with Inspector McLaughlin.
He was still conversing with the inspector when Chick appeared.
“Benton is your man,” said Chick.
“Not Ellis Benton?” asked the inspector, quickly.
“That’s he.”
“Has that crook set up in business again?”
“No doubt of it. I have been in his place this afternoon,” said Chick.
Perhaps the reader does not know Ellis Benton so well as the three persons who were present on the occasion described.
Therefore, it may be necessary to explain that Benton is an Englishman, about fifty years old, who has been notorious at various times, as a receiver of stolen goods.
He is undoubtedly one of the sharpest rascals in his line of business, and has made a great deal of money dishonestly. It does not do him much good, however, for he plays faro and never wins.
His enormous losses at the game make him all the more daring and grasping. His success in disposing of stolen jewels is especially remarkable.
“I’ve been in his place,” said Chick, “and I’ve learned that he has important business for to-night.”
“How did you find that out?”
“I offered to bring him a lot of stuff at midnight. He wouldn’t hear of it. His answers to my questions made me sure that he has something big on hand.
“What do you suspect?” asked the inspector.
“I’ll tell you my opinion and my plan,” said Nick. “You know that Helstone’s gang holds its plunder till it shifts its quarters. Then it turns loose upon some ‘fence.’
“When the gang was driven out of East Tenth Street, you remember, its plunder was turned over to old man Abrahams.”
“Yes,” said the inspector, “my men got a tremendous lot of it.”
“The stuff, you will remember,” said Nick, “was all turned in the night before Abrahams’ place was raided.”
“True.”
“And Abrahams maintained that at least a dozen persons had brought it.”
“Yes.”
“Well, I conclude from that that Helstone’s gang does not intrust its plunder to any one person. When it is to be disposed of the whole gang is present.
“There’s no other way of understanding Abrahams’ story which was as near the truth as anything he ever said. It was all right except his descriptions of the men. They were drawn from his imagination.”
“Yes,” assented the inspector, “he was too shrewd to put his customers in quod. He may need them when he gets out himself.”
“Just so,” said Nick, “and now for my plan. I believe that Helstone’s gang is just on the point of disposing of its plunder.
“None of Lusker’s stuff has shown up anywhere yet, nor Alterberg’s either. The gang still holds it.
“But now that attention is directed to them they’ll want to turn their swag into cash. Greenbacks are the things to have if sudden flight is necessary. Yes; some ‘fence’ is going to get Helstone’s stuff very soon.
“Now, in my opinion, Benton is the man they’ll go to. He is just the man for them. I’ve had Chick look over the field, and he agrees with me that there are ten chances to one that Benton will get their plunder.
“What I propose to do, therefore, is to capture Benton’s place on the quiet. Not a whisper must be heard on the outside.
“When that is done I’ll wait in the old thief’s place. I’ll disguise myself as Benton, and receive his customers.”
“Very pretty,” said the inspector. “You’ll bag a lot of game.”
“We ought to get a good part of the gang.”
“I think so, but you won’t get Helstone himself.”
“Why not?”
“He’s too shrewd to put his head into the trap.”
“I don’t agree with you.”
“Well, Nick, I have perfect confidence in your skill. Go ahead. I hope Helstone will be among our mice, but I can’t think so.”
“Inspector,” said Nick, quietly, “when my trap is sprung, Doc Helstone’s neck will be pinched harder than that of any other mouse in it.”
“Good. Do you want any men?”
“No; Chick and I will do the job.”
“Where is Benton located?”
“At No.—Sixth Avenue.”
“In the rear?”
“Yes.”
“I know the building. It runs back so far that it cuts into the cross-town lots.”
“That’s it. There’s a little square yard just back of it. An alley runs from the yard to the street below, and there are other near entrances.”
“With a sentry guarding each.”
“No doubt of it.”
“And you’ve got to get in without alarming any one of them.”
Nick nodded.
“Well, if it was anybody but you, Nick, I’d say it couldn’t be done. Of course we have sprung traps of that kind, but not when men like Benton were inside. Take care of yourselves, and if there’s any cutting or shooting, let the other fellows get it. The community can spare Benton or any of his crew better than it can spare you two.”
With this piece of good advice, the inspector wished Nick and Chick success, and they left the office.
They walked along in the direction of the Bowery. Suddenly Chick said:
“We are followed.”
He spoke without moving his lips and his voice was like a ventriloquist’s. The whisper seemed to be at Nick’s ear, perfectly distinct. And yet a person on the other side of Chick could not have heard it.
“So I perceive,” responded Nick, in the same tone.
Neither gave the faintest sign of having discovered the pursuer.
He was an ordinary-looking young man whom neither of the detectives remembered.
“He does it pretty well,” said Chick, after an instant’s pause.
“Which of us is he after?” said Nick.
“We must find out.”
They paused on the corner of Houston Street and the Bowery and exchanged a few words.
Then Chick went up the stairs to the elevated station, and Nick walked along the Bowery, northward.
The shadow followed Nick.
The detective was dressed on this occasion in a dark blue sack suit. He wore a soft hat, and carried over his arm a light-brown fall overcoat.
Keeping fifty feet or more behind Nick, the shadow walked up the Bowery. Suddenly Nick turned sharply to the left and entered the swinging door of a saloon.
As it closed behind him, and before he passed the main door, he passed his hand over his soft hat, and it took a wholly different shape.
Then he turned the overcoat wrong side out, and slipped it on. Instead of a handsome brown overcoat on his arm he now had a shabby black one on his back.
This was done in less time than it takes to read aboutit, and without attracting the notice of the bartender or the two or three people in the saloon.
At the same time Nick’s shoulders seemed to grow narrower by about six inches. His figure changed utterly, lost its erectness, and its athletic appearance.
And his face—— Well, Nick Carter can do anything with his face.
When the shadow entered the saloon Nick was partaking of the free lunch. He seemed to stand in great need of it.
The shadow looked at each of the people in the saloon, and then hurried out by a side door.
The positions were now reversed. Nick followed the shadow.
On the street, the trailer tried desperately hard to get upon the scent again. Nick lounged on a corner and watched him.
The detective knew that for a little time the shadow would stick to the place where he had lost the trail.
When at last the hopelessness of it dawned upon the young man, he struck off at a rapid pace up the Bowery.
Nick kept him in sight. Thus the chase continued up to Eighth Street.
Here the shadow—now shadowed in his turn—walked up to a carriage that was standing beside the curb, and spoke a few words to somebody within.
Then the shadow passed along, and Nick followed for a little distance. As soon, however, as he could shield himself from the observation of the driver on that carriage, he dodged into a dark corner and came out transformed.
Nick wore now the semblance of the young man who had attempted to follow him. The likeness might not have deceived the young man’s mother, but in the evening and upon the street it seemed good enough to answer Nick’s purpose.
Thus disguised, Nick returned hurriedly to the carriage. He was determined to get a sight of the person within.
The coachman made no sign of suspecting anything was wrong. He sat like a statue on the box.
There was a deep shadow on the side of the carriage which Nick approached, for an electric lamp was on the opposite side of the street near the corner.
Nick went straight to the door and looked into the carriage. It was empty.
He put his head in to make sure.
As he withdrew it again, the driver, with a sudden movement, leaned over from the box and struck Nick a tremendous blow on top of the head with a blackjack.
The detective fell like a log, and the coachman, whipping up his horses, drove away rapidly.
The man who first came to Nick’s assistance was Chick.
It may as well be said at once that Nick was not badly hurt. His hat was not exactly what it seemed to be.
One would have taken it to be soft felt. In reality, it was a better helmet than those which the knights of the Middle Ages wore.
He had fallen under the blow because he believed that course to be the best policy.
Somebody had planned to kill or at least disable him, and he thought it wise to let that person suppose that he had succeeded.
Chick carried him to a drug store with the aid of a policeman.
An ambulance was summoned; Nick was put into it.
But when the ambulance reached the hospital there was nobody inside it except the surgeon, who winked to the driver and went to his room.
Nick and Chick presently met again.
“Did you see the person who got out of that carriage?” asked Nick.
“I caught a glimpse of him,” Chick replied. “He was a tall man with a light-brown beard. I have no doubt he is the same man whom you saw last night.”
“Then we’ve gained a point. We have worked downto the man who is directing all these operations. Three times he has appeared. This settles it.”
“In other words,” said Chick, “we have seen Doc Helstone.”
“Exactly.”
“He is a slippery rascal.”
“What became of him?”
“He executed one of the finest disappearances that I ever saw. It was just at the moment when the coachman’s club was over your head. I had to keep the coachman covered, and when I took my eyes off him, the other man had vanished.”
“It’s of no consequence,” said Nick. “At present we want him to be at large. We want to take his gang with him in order to secure the evidence we need.”
They walked a short distance in silence. Then Nick said:
“I must go home to receive Ida’s report. At eleven o’clock I will meet you at Twenty-eighth Street and Sixth Avenue. Then we will descend upon the ‘fence.’”
Nick heard the report of his clever young assistant, Ida Jones, and then proceeded at once to his rendezvous with Chick.
It was eleven o’clock exactly when they met. They had assumed the characters of well-known thieves.
Chick was the exact image of “Kid” Leary. Nick was Al Hardy, the notorious second-story thief.
“Pat Powers wanted to take me in,” said Chick, indicating a policeman who stood on the opposite corner. “Hesays that if I tell any of the boys at the station about it he’ll commit suicide.”
“He doesn’t need to be ashamed of it,” said Nick, surveying the perfect make-up of his friend.
They walked over Twenty-eighth Street to Seventh Avenue, and then downtown until they were nearly opposite the “fence” on Sixth Avenue.
Then Nick took one of the cross streets and Chick the other. Nick was to enter by the alley, and Chick from the front.
At the mouth of the alley Nick encountered a negro whose face was as black as the darkness behind him.
“Heah, you! Whar you goin’?” cried the negro, as Nick tried to pass him.
“Shut up, Pete,” said Nick, in a voice exactly like Hardy’s. “Don’t you know me?”
“That you, Al Hardy? When did you get out?”
“I haven’t been in, you black rascal.”
“Yer oughter be.”
“Look here, Pete, I can’t stand here chinning with you all night. I want to see old man Benton.”
“Yer can’t see him.”
“Why not?”
“He’s got pertic’lar business to transact.”
“Come off, you coon.”
“Well, to tell ye the troof, Mr. Hardy, Mr. Benton ain’t in this evenin’.”
“You can’t give me any such steer as that. I know that he’s in.”
“Go ahead then, if ye know so much,” said the negro.“Ye’ll find I’ve been givin’ it to yer straight. Everything is locked up.”
Nick had known that he could get by the sentinel. Benton could not keep people away by force.
That would make too much noise and attract too much attention.
But Nick knew equally well that it would do him no good to get by unless he was welcome. The negro unquestionably had some means of signaling to Benton.
He was, of course, instructed to pass only those who had the countersign or whose names had been given in advance.
For these Pete was to make a favorable signal, and they would get in all right.
In the case of others he would signal unfavorably and they would find “everything locked up.”
Understanding this perfectly well, Nick kept a watchful eye on the negro while passing him. He saw Pete back against the wall of the alley.
Certainly there was some signaling apparatus there—probably an electric bell.
In an instant Nick had the burly negro by the throat.
“Signal right,” he said, in a voice which showed that he meant it. “Signal right or this goes through your heart.”
Pete could feel a sharp point pressed against his breast. It pricked him, and a few drops of blood began to flow.
He dared not struggle. He was in mortal terror. Thegrip on his throat was choking him, and the knife was at his heart.
“Fo’ de lub er Heaven, Mr. Hardy,” he gasped, as the pressure on his windpipe relaxed, “don’t cut me an’ I’ll do what you say.”
“Wait a minute, Pete. Hear what I’ve got to say, before you do anything.”
Nick’s hand left Pete’s throat; the dagger point was withdrawn, but before the trembling negro could take advantage of his improved condition, he found himself worse off than before.
He was handcuffed, and a pistol was thrust into his face.
“Now, Pete, look here. There’s a bell behind you.
“Yes; I thought so. Here it is in the space where this brick has been removed.
“If you ring that bell the right way I shall be admitted when I knock at Benton’s door. If you don’t I shall have to break it down.
“I prefer to get in quietly. I’m going to gag you and take you up to the head of the alley. If the door is open, I shall go in. If it isn’t I’ll come back and blow your head off.”
“Who are you?” gasped Pete, for Nick at the last had spoken in his usual voice.
“Don’t bother about that. Ring the bell.”
Nick brought Pete’s fingers in contact with the button, and the signal was made.
“Four times is all right. Very well. Now come with me.”
Seizing the negro by the shoulder, he ran him out into the deserted street, and about a third of the way to Seventh Avenue.
Then he whistled in a peculiar manner. A form appeared out of the darkness.
“Patsy,” said Nick, “bring up the carriage.”
It was brought. Peter, gagged as well as bound, was bundled into it.
“Take him home,” said Nick to the driver. “Now, Patsy, follow me.”
He darted off in the direction of the alley.
“Stand here, as if on guard,” he whispered to Patsy. “When anybody who may by any possibility be one of Helstone’s gang comes along, press this bell four times. Don’t shut anybody out unless you’re perfectly sure we don’t want him.”
Having spoken these words, Nick ran up the alley. He feared that Benton, having heard the favorable signal, would be impatient for his customer.
In the little yard behind the house in which was the “fence,” there was no light whatever.
Nick found two or three steps leading up to a door which, by daylight, seemed to be frail, but was in reality strengthened by iron bands.
On this door he knocked cautiously four times. It was opened, disclosing a perfectly dark hall.
Nick entered. He could not see the person who admitted him, but he supposed that it must be Benton.
When the door had been closed a light was suddenly flashed in his face.
Then a voice said:
“Al Hardy! When did they let you in?”
“Never mind, old man Benton, I’m in the ranks now,” said Nick.
“Well, it’s none of my business. Come this way.”
Nick might have seized the rascal there, and he meditated doing it. But he desired to see all the formalities of the place.
He wished to know how the thieves were received, because it would soon be his turn to receive them.
Moreover, the hall was so dark that he might easily make a mistake in his calculations. If he fell upon Benton and failed to shut off his wind instantly, the outcry would ruin his plans.
Then, too, for all he knew there might be somebody else in the hall. He could see nothing. Half a dozen men might have been standing there without his knowing it.
The flash of light had come so suddenly and been so speedily withdrawn that it had dazzled him without disclosing anything.
Nick decided to bide his time.
“Come this way,” said Benton, and he took Nick by the arm.
A door opened. Nick knew this by the current of air, though he could not see the door, nor did he hear it move upon its hinges.
The hand upon his arm guided him into a perfectly dark room, where he was presently told to sit down. Hefound a bench behind him, and he sat upon it because there did not seem to be anything else to do.
Ten minutes passed and absolutely nothing happened.
Nick heard nothing of Benton. He could not be sure that the old man was still in the room.
By close listening, however, Nick satisfied himself that he was not alone.
There was a sound of suppressed breathing, the faint noise made by persons who are trying to keep still.
Whether there were two or a dozen men in the room, Nick could not say.
Presently there was a ring at the bell. The faint sound made itself audible, but it was impossible to say from what direction it came.
Nick would have guessed that the bell was under the floor.
It rang four times.
Then came a faint sound which Nick took to be the departure of Benton to let in his visitor.
Presently there was another faint sound. The visitor had been admitted.
How long was this thing going to last?
Was Chick the last arrival?
How could Benton be captured secretly in this dense darkness?
Would it be possible to make a light without stirring up such a tumult as would alarm the whole city?
These were the questions which ran through Nick’s mind.
All this darkness and mystery did not surprise Nick. He knew that Benton was a great man for hocus-pocus.
He had signs and passwords, and surrounded himself with precautions which looked childish.
There was a purpose in all this, however. By keeping a good many silly mysteries in motion he managed very often to cover up the real mystery and direct attention elsewhere.
Nick knew Benton for a desperate man at heart. Was he playing a deep game here?
It was just like him to collect the whole Helstone gang in the dark for no other purpose than to show them what a mysterious character he was. By and by he might bring a lamp, and then the business would proceed in the most ordinary way in the world.
But, on the other hand, he might have a deadly trap concealed in this gloom.
Nick wondered whether it was possible that he had been recognized. If so, he knew that Benton would never let him get out of the place alive, unless he couldn’t help it.
Presently the bell rang again. This time, by listening with the deepest attention, Nick made sure that Benton went to the rear door—the one by which Nick himself had been admitted.
Then Nick was sure that something out of the commoncourse had happened. It would be hard to say just how he knew it. Only his great experience enabled him to interpret the faint sounds which he heard.
The caller, whoever he was, was not ushered into the room in which Nick sat. Of that Nick felt certain.
Benton, however, returned. By straining every nerve in the most rigid attention, Nick ascertained that.
Afterward it seemed to him that Benton had touched some other person in the room and was leading him out.
A second time this occurred, and then a third.
Nick began to be anxious. He made a sign which should have elicited a response from Chick if he had been present, but only silence ensued.
For the fourth time Benton entered the room.
Nick could not see him, of course. The darkness was as profound as ever. But by this time he had learned to recognize the old man’s stealthy tread.
Then dead silence ensued.
Nick listened intently. He seemed to know by instinct that Benton was listening also.
“Something has gone wrong, sure,” said Nick to himself. “I must act quickly or all is lost.”
He stirred his foot upon the floor so as to make a faint noise.
Then, for a second, he listened.
Surely Benton was creeping up toward him.
And another sound now began to be audible. It was the faint noise of impeded breathing.
Nick knew that sound. In the midst of that perfectdarkness he recognized the person who was breathing as plainly as if he had seen the man by the light of day.
It was Pete, the negro.
Nick had known Pete for some years. The negro had a slight asthmatic affection, which made his breathing just the least bit more difficult than a healthy man’s.
He also had a peculiar habit of drawing in his breath with a faint rattling sound once in about two minutes.
These noises Nick recognized, and he grasped the whole situation instantly.
Pete had escaped. He had returned and had probably disabled Patsy.
Then he had informed Benton that Nick Carter had got inside the house disguised as Al Hardy.
The wily old man, on receiving this information, had quietly removed the other persons from the room in which Nick was, and had then come in with the negro to take vengeance upon the detective.
There was no time for delay. The two murderers were creeping down upon him.
Again Nick made a slight movement to attract their attention.
He set down his pocket lamp on the bench beside him.
This lamp was arranged to be used as a bull’s-eye or by removing the coverings from the sides it could be made to throw its light about as an ordinary lamp does.
Nick removed the side coverings. At that moment he could hear the two assassins very close to him.
Suddenly he pressed the spring of the lamp, and leaped to one side as agile as a cat.
The flame flashed up in the faces of his assailants.
It revealed the evil countenance of Benton, with his thin, cruel lips, and habitual sneer. It shone upon the brutal face of the negro.
Each of them held a knife in his hand. They were bending forward, and were just ready to strike.
The bright flame dazzled and confused them for an instant.
Then they turned toward the spot to which Nick had sprung.
The sight which met their gaze was not reassuring.
In each hand Nick held a revolver. There was death in the glance of his eye.
Neither Benton nor the negro could summon up the courage to stir.
Every crook in New York—not to go further—knows Nick Carter’s reputation as a pistol shot.
Probably there is not a criminal in the whole city who would dream of making any resistance if he found himself covered by a revolver in Nick’s hands.
It would be suicide and nothing else.
Ellis Benton ground his teeth, but he dared not move.
“Lay those knives down on the floor carefully,” said Nick. “Don’t make any noise or I’ll make a louder one.”
The two villains obeyed, Benton with hatred and chagrin visible in every movement, the negro with the alacrity of perfect submission.
Of Pete, at least, Nick felt sure. The man was an arrant coward, and Nick’s only wonder was that he had been induced to assist in murder.
Doubtless he had intended to leave the real work to Benton.
“Now hold up your hands,” said Nick.
These directions he gave in a low voice, which could not be heard beyond the limits of the apartment.
“Pete,” he continued, “face round.”
The negro obeyed, turning his back to Nick.
“Now walk straight to the wall and put your face against it. If you look round, you’re a dead man.”
“I’ll do it,” whined the negro, whose terror was doubled when his back was turned to the object of his alarm; “don’t you go for to shoot, an’ I won’t make no trouble.”
“Benton, come here,” said Nick.
The old man advanced, grinding his teeth.
Meanwhile Nick put one of the revolvers into his pocket, and drew out a pair of handcuffs.
As Benton held out his hands, Nick, for an instant, removed the pistol’s muzzle from a direct line with the other’s head.
Benton’s eye was quick to see this. Instantly he leaped forward to seize Nick’s hand, at the same time calling upon Pete to help him.
But the first word barely escaped his lips.
The hand in which Nick held the fetters leaped out and struck Benton on the point of his jaw, and he fell like a rag baby.
Pete turned at the sound of his name, but his head spun round again without any delay.
He saw Nick holding Benton’s unconscious form across his arm, as one might hold an old coat.
And Nick’s free hand leveled the revolver straight at Pete’s head.
“I ain’t doin’ nothin’,” protested the negro. “Don’t trouble ’bout pointin’ that gun at me.”
“You behave yourself and you’ll be all right,” said Nick. “Keep those hands up.”
Assuring himself that Pete was thoroughly intimidated, Nick bent over the form of the “receiver” and fettered him securely. He added a gag, which would keep him quiet in case he should regain consciousness before he could be put in a safe place.
It was Pete’s turn next, and he was bound in a way which made a second escape impossible. He, too, was gagged.
“I believe, Mr. Benton,” said Nick, addressing the “fence,” who, however, had not sufficiently recovered to hear him, “that there is a cellar under this apartment.”
With little trouble Nick found a trapdoor which could be raised. He lifted it and discovered a ladder leading down into the darkness.
He lowered Benton down into this place with a piece of rope, and then steadied Pete so that the negro made the descent, although his hands were tied behind him.
Nick followed with the light.
The cellar was a damp and unwholesome dungeon, but it extended a long way in the direction of Sixth Avenue.
This was what Nick had hoped, for it gave him an opportunity to dispose of his two captives at such distance from the rooms which Benton occupied that their cries, muffled by the gags, could not be heard.
A partition divided the cellar, and there was a door in it. Nick made his prisoners secure on the other side of this door, and then he returned to the room in which he had captured them.
Here he speedily, but very carefully, disguised himself as Ellis Benton.
Then, extinguishing his light, he put it into his pocket, and made his way along the hall toward the rear door.
He passed out into the little yard, and thence to the alley where he had left Patsy.
The fate of his young assistant was a black problem in Nick’s mind. He greatly feared that Patsy had been murdered.
Therefore his satisfaction was great when, in the mouth of the alley, he found Patsy leaning against the wall.
Nick disclosed himself.
“They pretty nearly did me up, Nick,” said Patsy. “I guess they left me for dead. But I’m worth half a dozen dead men.”
“How did it happen, my boy?”
“I don’t exactly know. The negro must have crept up along the wall. The first thing I knew he was on top of me, and he got in a chance blow with a sandbag.
“Why it didn’t kill me I can’t understand. It lit fair enough. Is the game up, Nick?”
“I don’t think so. How do you feel?”
“Dizzy; but it will pass away.”
Nick examined Patsy carefully.
“You’ve had a narrow escape, my boy,” he said, “butyou don’t seem to be much hurt. Do you feel well enough to go on guard again?”
“Sure.”
“Well, I’ll let you do it, since the case is so desperate, but if your head troubles you too much, just push the bell six times as a signal to me and then drop into a carriage on the avenue and go to see Dr. Allen.”
“Don’t you worry about me, Nick,” replied the boy. “I’m only ashamed to have him get the best of me.”
“That’s all right. I’ve got him safe.”
Nick returned to the house. In the dark hall he paused.
Voices could be heard. Men were talking in subdued tones in a room on his left.
The room where he had met with the adventures already narrated was on his right.
A moment’s thought convinced Nick that the voices were those of the men who had been in the room with him, and had been led out by Benton.
He resolved to join them. Therefore he threw open the door on his left and entered a room.
It was not perfectly dark, as the other had been. A small bead of gas flame struggled with the shadows.
In its light Nick saw three men, whom he instantlyknew to be crooks. One of them, Reddy Miller, had been suspected of belonging to Helstone’s gang.
Nick, it will be remembered, was disguised as Ellis Benton.
“Come, Ellis,” said Miller, the instant Nick appeared, “we’ve had enough fiddling round. Tell us what’s the object of all this mystery.”
These words delighted Nick’s heart. He saw the lay of the land at once.
Benton had evidently given no alarm to these fellows when Pete had brought the news of Nick’s presence.
He had been confident that he could put the detective out of the way, and he had reasoned that if he did it without letting the thieves know, they would stay, and he could do a good stroke of business with them. On the other hand, if he let them know that a detective had got in, they would clear out at once.
If Benton had seen any signs of a police trap, he would not have tried this game, but he was shrewd enough to infer from the circumstances that Nick was not the forerunner of a squad of police.
All these thoughts passed through Nick’s brain in a flash as Reddy Miller spoke.
Counterfeiting Benton’s voice and manner exactly, Nick replied:
“Mystery? Well, why not? This isn’t the sort of business to be proclaimed from the housetops.”
“Rats!” replied Miller, in a tone of disgust; “you go through all these monkey tricks because you’re a cussed old crank. Now come down to business.”
“But we can’t come down to business yet,” said Nick. “Our friends are not all here.”
“What I want to know,” said Miller, “is whether you’re ready to make the big deal. Can you take all of the stuff off our hands?”
“Don’t be so fast, Reddy,” said one of the other crooks. “Wait till the others get here. The Doc himself is coming.”
“Don’t you believe it,” said Miller. “The Doc is going to lay mighty low for a while. Things are pretty warm for him.”
“Shut up, Reddy,” said the third crook, and they all relapsed into silence.
The bell rang again. Nick had learned to distinguish the alley bell from the other. This time he was summoned to the front of the house.
The person whom he ushered in was Chick.
“I’ve had a fearful time getting in,” said Chick. “Sixth Avenue seems to be plastered with Benton’s lookouts.
“I tried to get by the sentry, but he wanted a password. I said ‘Helstone,’ at a venture, and it didn’t go.
“My game was to pretend that I was too drunk to remember the password. Finally I went around to the alley where I met Patsy, who had learned the password from a crook whom he had let in.
“Of course I might have gone in that way, but I thought it best to pass the other sentry, convince him that I was all right, and thus quiet any suspicion which I might have aroused.”
In reply Nick rapidly sketched his own adventures.
“I’ve got three of them in the room at the rear. I think we’d better secure them now, and then take the others singly, as they drop in.”
Chick signified his readiness.
The two detectives went at once to the rear room, and before the three crooks had time to suspect any danger, they found themselves covered by revolvers in the hands of Nick and Chick.
They were secured without trouble.
It was now a little after midnight. For half an hour the members of Doc Helstone’s gang arrived rapidly.
Each man was secured as he came in.
While Nick answered the bell, Chick stood guard over the captives, revolver in hand.
A strange spectacle was presented in that room.
Eleven criminals, every one a specialist in some line of theft, sat in a semicircle, facing a sort of desk which Benton ordinarily used when he had business on hand.
Nick had found a lot of heavy wooden chairs in one of the rooms, and in these the crooks sat, every one handcuffed and fastened to his chair.
The infernal regions could hardly furnish such a row of scowling faces. The crooks saw themselves trapped, and their rage was boundless.
On the desk and around it was spread out the plunder which they had brought. Its value went up well into the tens of thousands.
A richer haul had not been made in New York in many a day.
It had been arranged that Inspector McLaughlin should come at three o’clock. He wished to see the mice in the trap.
Exactly at that hour he arrived. Chick met him on the outside.
The crooks had stopped coming by that time, and so Benton’s sentries were gathered in and sent to the station.
Inspector McLaughlin smiled when he viewed the semicircle of fettered crooks.
Several of them were men whom he had long desired to have in exactly this position.
“Your mouse trap was a great success, Nick,” said he.
“It has caught a fair lot of vermin.”
“Shall we take them to headquarters?”
“Not yet, inspector. I wish them to remain here.”
The inspector drew Nick into a corner.
“Is Doc Helstone among them?” he asked. “There are two or three of these fellows whom I don’t know. Is he one of them?”
“No; Helstone is not here, but he is coming.”
“Coming?”
“Yes; but before that I have something to do.”
“What?”
“I am going to call on Morton Parks.”
“Right; he should be here to look over this plunder. And more than that, he has a right to see the capture of his wife’s murderer.”
“I am going to him,” said Nick.
A light was burning in the library of the residence on Madison Avenue when Nick rang the door bell.
Parks himself came to the door. He had sent his servants to bed.
“Mr. Parks,” said Nick, “I have something of great importance to say to you—so great that I would have roused you at this hour, but I see that you have not retired.”
“No; I am in no mood to sleep.”
These words were spoken while Parks led the way to the library.
“In the first place,” Nick said, when they were seated in that apartment, “let me ask what you have heard regarding your wife’s condition?”
“I have secured hourly reports,” Parks replied. “There has been no change.”
“You can hardly wish, believing what you do of her, that she should recover. Her fate might be worse than death.”
Parks pressed his hands to his forehead.
“Nevertheless,” Nick continued, “you cannot be indifferent to the arrest of the assassin.”
Parks sprang to his feet.
“Has he been taken?” he cried.
“Not yet; but he will be in custody to-night.”
“Who is he?”
The question was asked in a voice that was like a groan. The man’s eyes blazed.
“I will not answer that question now,” said Nick, “but come with me and in an hour at the furthest I will set you face to face with the cowardly villain who struck that blow.”
The two men left the house immediately.
A carriage was in waiting, and it conveyed them rapidly to the “fence” on Sixth Avenue.
Nick guided Parks through the dark halls, but he did not take him to the room where the crooks sat chafing in their fetters.
Instead, the two went into the room on the other side of the hall. Nick struck a light, and they took chairs.
“I am simply following you,” said Parks. “I do not understand what we have come here for.”
“To meet the assassin,” said Nick; “but before we do that I wish to impose one condition on you.”
“Name it.”
“I wish you to be disguised.”
“For what reason?”
“I do not wish you to appear as Morton Parks.”
“That is only saying the same thing in other words.”
“True; I had not finished. It is important that when you face the assassin you should not do it in your own character.”
“That is hardly more definite. But why should I argue the point? It is immaterial. I am willing to assume a disguise.”
“I will disguise you now. You have heard, perhaps, that I have skill in such matters.”
“Do as you wish.”
It was wonderful to see the change which Nick produced in Parks’ appearance. It was not done so quickly as would have been the case with the detective’s own face, but it was done with amazing skill and care.
At last Nick held up a looking-glass before the other’s gaze.
Looking into it Parks beheld a dark, bearded countenance. Paints, cleverly applied, threw such shadows upon the eyes that though they were really gray they looked black.
The hair was black; the beard was black; it was indeed a swarthy face.
“Do you think that anybody would recognize you?” asked Nick.
“Never,” said Parks, and there was something of relief in his tone.
Nick replaced the mirror and resumed his seat.
“We were speaking, some minutes ago,” he said, “of the character of your wife, as these tragic events have disclosed it.”
“Is it necessary to speak further on that subject?”
“It is, as I believe.”
“You must be aware that it is very painful to me.”
“It should not be.”
“What do you mean?”
“Mr. Parks, your wife is a pure and innocent woman, the victim of brutal wretches.”
Parks sprang to his feet.
“Mr. Carter,” he cried, “in Heaven’s name, present the proof quickly, if you have any.”
“You believe that your wife stole her own jewels in order to pawn or sell them.”
Parks bowed in assent.
“She must have had a motive,” said Nick.
“I have already told you that she gambled in stocks.”
“With what brokers did she deal?”
“I cannot tell.”
“How do you know that she gambled in stocks?”
“She confessed to me when she had wasted her own fortune. She promised to reform.”
“How long ago was this?”
“Over a year.”
“And she did not reform?”
“No; she continued to speculate.”
“How do you know?”
“The theft of the jewels proves it.”
“That was on August 3d?”
“Yes.”
“She obtained money as well as jewels?”
“Yes.”
“A considerable sum?”
“Twenty-four hundred dollars. I happened to have an unusual amount of money in the house that night.”
“If she stole that money for speculation, it is reasonable to suppose that she used it immediately for that purpose, is it not?”
“I suppose so.”
“Well, Mr. Parks, I have traced your wife’s movements for almost every day of last August.”
“You have?”
“Yes; by means of one of my assistants, a very clever and well-taught young lady.”
“What have you learned?”
“That she did not speculate.”
“How can you be sure of that? A person does not have to go to Wall Street in order to dabble in stocks.”
“I know it; but a person whose fate is on the turn of that dreadful game does not spend her time as your wife did.”
“How?”
“In the noblest works of charity; in the homes of the poor on the East Side. It was there that she spent her days, not hanging over a stock ticker in some resort of fashionable women gamblers.”
“This seems incredible.”
“It is true. I know of one family which she visited every week day between August 3d and August 21st. I know several others where she was a regular visitor.”
“You amaze me.”
“She spent a great deal of money in these charities, too. That does not look like the work of a ruined gambler.”
“But how do you account for her association with thieves?”
“I will tell you. Let us suppose a case. You mentioned your nephew.
“Let us suppose that your wife was deeply attached to him. Let us say that after long watching, and years, perhaps, of dark suspicion, she discovered that he was a thief.
“Unwilling to believe any other evidence than that ofher own eyes, she follows him. She sees him enter a den of thieves. She learns that he is their leader.”
“Is my nephew, then, the thief?” cried Parks.
“Wait. This is all supposition.
“Let us say that she enters this den of thieves. She has found their private way.
“They are thunderstruck when she appears, though only the leader knows her. She walks up to a table on which lies the plunder which they are dividing.
“She seizes some of it in her hands. She is mad with the horror of the scene, perceiving one she loves in such a place.
“They do not dare to kill her, for they have no means of disposing of the body. She does not see that she is in great danger.
“She threatens them. She urges upon this man—your nephew, let us say—to make restitution and reform.
“It is what a woman might do though a man would smile at it. He curses her. She seizes some of the jewels and rushes out saying that she will expose everything.
“The rank and file of the thieves’ gang would murder her rather than permit her to leave the room.
“But the leader is more wily. He knows that she must die, but not there.
“He follows her; stabs her in the street, and escapes.”
“In the name of God, did my nephew do this?”
“The villain who did this is called Helstone. He is the leader of a gang of thieves. His real name has been unknown to the police.”
“And my nephew——”
“Wait. That was only a supposition. Let us see if there is not somebody who was bound to her by a closer tie.”
“What!”
“Had she no near relatives?”
“None.”
“She had a husband.”
“Liar! Do you dare to say——”
“That you, Morton Parks, are Helstone. It was not your nephew, it was you she followed. Yes; I say it, and I shall ask you to test the truth of it.”
“How? I am ready, and I think I know the test.”
“In this house, at this moment, I hold the most of Helstone’s gang of thieves. Dare you face them?”
“Certainly.”
“You are disguised, it is true. I have purposely changed your appearance as much as possible. But it will not serve.”
“I will face them instantly.”
“Then come.”
Nick walked to the door, and Parks was at his side.
They passed into a room which opened into that in which sat the fettered thieves.
There they found Chick.
“Keep your eye on this man,” said Nick, but in a tone so low that it could not be heard in the other room.
“You need not be afraid that I shall run away,” muttered Parks in reply.
Nick entered the large room where Inspector McLaughlin sat with a revolver in each hand, facing the semicircle of crooks.
“Now, gentlemen,” said Nick, briskly, “you probably give me a great deal of credit for having trapped you so neatly.”
A volley of oaths was the reply.
“I am too modest, however,” he continued, “to take glory which is not my due.”
Again he paused, and this time the crooks appeared to take more serious interest in what he was saying.
“Another man has really done the work,” Nick went on. “Without him you would never be in the predicament in which you now find yourselves, with Sing Sing prison open before you.”
“We’ve been sold out,” growled Miller. “Did Benton do it?”
“I am happy to clear Mr. Benton of that imputation,” said Nick. “He did not do it.”
“Somebody did,” yelled Miller, and again the oaths broke forth.
Evidently the gang had no very cordial feeling toward its betrayer.
“Bring in Mr. Jones,” called Nick to Chick.
Parks and Chick entered on the instant. Nick could not help admiring the man’s nerve.
His one chance in the world was that the gang would not recognize him.
And he had seen his disguise—the most utterly impenetrable which ever shrouded the face of any human being.
He remembered the swarthy skin, the flashing black eyes, the beard of the color of a raven’s wing.
Yet when he appeared a cry broke from every crook’s throat in that criminal assembly.
“Helstone! Helstone!” they shouted.
Miller and one other actually burst their bonds in the frenzy of their wrath against the man whom they believed had betrayed them.
And Morton Parks stood there utterly at a loss for a defense. The recognition was too sudden and unanimous.
How had it happened? How could they have seen through that wonderful mask?
“Mr. Parks,” said Nick, stepping forward, “I promised that within the hour I would bring you face to face with the coward and villain who stabbed your wife.
“I will keep my word. Behold Doc Helstone!”
With a sudden movement Nick raised a mirror which he had held concealed behind him and thrust it before Parks’ face.
Parks leaped back as if a thunderbolt had struck him.
In that mirror he saw his face wearing the exact disguise which he had led his gang of thieves to believe was the real countenance of Doc Helstone.
There was the light-brown beard parted in the middle, there were the gray eyes and light eyebrows, and rather pale skin.
“Surprised, are you?” said Nick. “Why, it was the simplest thing in the world.
“When I made your face up half an hour ago I useda false beard colored with a substance which is black when it is moist, but light-brown when it is dry.
“Your eyebrows were colored with the same substance. It dries very quickly. Five minutes after I showed you the dark face in the glass you had begun to look like Doc Helstone. Every black line was fading into brown.
“The tint which I used on your skin acts the same way. It turns from a tan color to a pale flesh tint by simply being exposed to the air.
“It was very interesting to watch your face change into the character you so much wished to avoid. Of course you couldn’t see it yourself. It was changing almost all the time that we were talking.
“When you entered this room you fancied that you were disguised. In reality, your face was exactly as you now see it—the face of the man whom I saw walking away from the woman who had been stabbed.”