It was seven o’clock when the remains of the dead man from Elmwood reached New York City. On the train, Nick yielded to Abbott’s request to accompany them to the crematory.
So reluctantly did the pretended Mr. Ketchum agree to become one of the small funeral party, that Abbott was far from suspecting the fact that his new acquaintance left Elmwood with the determination of seeing the remains in the coffin placed in the furnace, and not lose sight of them until they were reduced to ashes.
It took two hours for the hearse bearing the remains and the carriage in which sat the widow, Dr. Abbott and Nick to cross the city to the Thirty-fourth Street Ferry, reach Long Island City, and make their way to the crematory.
They found the furnace ready for the reception of the body. The manager suggested that the widow had better not remain during the process of incineration, but she insisted in not only remaining, but also in viewing the process.
Much to Dr. Abbott’s surprise, but not to Nick’s, the widow witnessed the cremation without fainting, and without even going into an hysterical condition.
Indeed, her interest in the process was marked and unconcealed. The ceremony seemed to fascinate her, and while her eyes followed every movement of the men whowere handling the corpse, Nick’s eyes were watching her just as intently.
Without the twitching of a muscle, she saw the body placed on the reception slab; she saw it covered with the cloth soaked in the acid used for that special purpose; she saw the doors of the retort flung open; she saw the slab containing the body hastily pushed into the incandescent oven; she saw the doors hurriedly closed forever between the world and the mortal form of the man with the long, white beard. Through the place prepared for the purpose, she watched the outlines of the body under the medicated cloth without a shriek of horror—without even so much as a sob she stood there, and saw the covered form on the slab slowly sink, quiver and finally settle down into a thin layer of ashes.
The cremation was finished; the earthly remains of the man in the white beard were nothing but a handful of ashes; the manager of ceremonies gave Abbott a knowing look.
Dr. Abbott drew Mrs. Mackenzie’s arm still closer through his own, and turning, led her away to the waiting carriage. Nick followed, and heard the sigh which at last escaped from Mrs. Mackenzie’s lips.
Dr. Abbott’s construction of the sigh differed materially from that which Nick put upon it.
So they returned to New York City.
At the first opportunity, Nick left them and hastened to the St. James Hotel.
It was nearly eleven o’clock when he sent up his card to Miss Templin’s room.
The boy returned with the information that the lady was not in.
“I might have told you that much before your card was sent up,” exclaimed the clerk, “had not something else been on my mind at the time. Miss Templin has not been at the hotel since last night.”
“Not been here since last night!” repeated Nick, in surprise. “Why, where did she go?”
“Excuse me, sir, but if I knew, I think I should not have the right to answer for her whereabouts to everybody who called, unless I was sure the inquisitor had a right to receive the information,” replied the clerk.
“You are quite right,” assented Nick. “When I tell you who I am, I believe you will not hesitate to give me what information I need.”
The clerk looked at the card Nick had sent up.
“Carter,” he said, as he read the name written thereon. “You are Mr. Carter.”
“Yes. Nick Carter.”
“What!” cried the clerk; “Nick Carter, the detective?”
“That is I,” smiled Nick.
“Well, you beat the dickens in disguising yourself so your best friends don’t know you,” muttered the clerk.
“It’s part of my business,” Nick explained.
“Working for Miss Templin?”
“Yes.”
“Well, there’s something queer about her disappearance. By the way, here’s a telegram came for her to-day.”
Without so much as saying “by your leave,” Nick tore off the envelope and read the message.
It was, as he expected, from San Francisco, and merely read:
“Seventy-five thousand dollars cash.”
“Seventy-five thousand dollars cash.”
“I’ll keep that,” said Nick, putting it in his pocket.
“But it is her telegram.”
“It is in answer to a message she sent for me,” explained the detective. “Now, what is there strange about her disappearance?”
“There is our house detective. He’ll tell you. I’ll call him.”
“Don’t let him know who I am,” whispered Nick, as the hotel detective came forward, in answer to the clerk’s beck.
“This gentleman is a friend of Miss Templin, the young lady who has been absent so mysteriously,” explained the clerk to the local detective. “Please tell him what you know of the circumstances surrounding the affair.”
Nick and the “local” walked over to a seat near the entrance to the restaurant and sat down together.
“You see,” began the local, “the first suspicious thing about the affair that attracted my notice happened yesterday.”
“What was that?”
“I saw her sending a telegram by the hotel wire yesterday afternoon. My attention was attracted at the time, by the queer actions of a man who came in at theBroadway entrance while Miss Templin was writing out her message.
“The fellow passed behind your friend, and I am sure he looked over her shoulder and endeavored to read what she was writing.”
“You don’t know if he succeeded?”
“No; he scarcely stopped at Miss Templin’s back a moment. Then he passed on, and left by the Twenty-sixth Street door.”
“What do you make of it?”
“Nothing out of that alone. But there is more.”
“More?”
“This man passed on up Broadway to the Coleman House, where he joined another fellow—a man older than he, who wore a full, close-cropped sandy beard. I heard him call this fellow Dent.”
“You followed him?”
“Only that far. The two men walked north on Broadway, when they left the Coleman House, and I came back to the hotel.”
“That was suspicious.”
“But now comes the most surprising part of my discoveries. Last evening those two men came back.”
“Here to the hotel?”
“Yes. The man with the sandy beard was on the box—was driving a spanking pair of horses, to a fine-looking carriage. The other fellow rode inside.
“The latter, without getting out, called the bell boy to the carriage, and sent a note up to Miss Templin. Ten minutes later, the young lady came down, equipped as iffor a call, went out, was helped into the carriage and was driven away. That was the last of her, the carriage or her two companions.”
“Can you describe the person who came to the hotel and took her away—the man who rode with her, inside?”
“Like a book.”
And the hotel detective gave Nick a minute description of the man.
“Thank you very much,” said Nick, as he started toward the street.
“Nothing seriously wrong with your friend, I hope?” called the detective.
“No, I think I know who took her away, and what the man’s object was.”
But as Nick went out on the street, he muttered, under his breath:
“If Miss Templin fell into that fellow’s trap, I can do her no good now. I must not risk spoiling the whole case in an attempt to find her at present, especially as such a search would be extremely difficult to prosecute from the points I have to start with.
“This sudden disappearance of Miss Templin will make my work somewhat more difficult, and change my plans materially. With her to accompany me to Elmwood and confront Mrs. Mackenzie and her woman, Emma, my task would have been easy from this point. Now, I am forced to take a new tack, and sail up against the wind.”
He went to another hotel, registered and retired for the night.
But he was up and about his business early the next morning.
When the president of the Scotia Insurance Company arrived at his office that forenoon, he found Nick on hand waiting for him.
“Ah! Mr. Carter,” he cried, “I am glad to see you. What news have you to report?”
“You must pay the money on that premium, sir!”
The president sat down with a decided look of disappointment on his face.
“Then it’s a straight case, after all.”
“I did not say so.”
“You said we’d have to pay the policy?”
“For the purpose of saving your own money and the money of the other four companies.”
“Your words sound queer and paradoxical.”
“It is only part of my scheme to capture the most consummate band of scoundrels who ever plotted to rob insurance companies.”
“Ah! then it was a plot to defraud?”
“Yes. Now, will you trust me fully in the management of the case?”
“Certainly I will.”
“Then please notify the widow that if she will call here at the company’s office at two o’clock to-morrow, and furnish the necessary proofs, a check for the amount of her policy will be given to her.”
“But you don’t want us to give the check?”
“Yes, I do. You will delay that part of it until after the banks have closed. I’ll promise that it will never be cashed.”
“Do you object to telling me more about the case than I already know?”
“Not at all. Listen.”
Nick remained in earnest conversation with the president for nearly an hour. The two men then parted on the best of terms.
Half an hour later he was on his way to Philadelphia.
He went straight from the Broad Street Station to the office of the chief of police, with whom he was closeted for twenty minutes.
When he left the chief’s office, the latter was with him.
The two men took a carriage and were driven to No. 1871 ——th Street, where Madame Reclaire had her rooms.
Nick knocked, while the chief of police stood at his back.
The door was opened slightly by a woman.
Nick didn’t waste a word in parleying, but pushed his way in—the chief of police following.
The woman made a vain effort to stop them, but she was helpless to stay their entrance.
In half a minute they had locked the door, and led her into a better-lighted room beyond.
“What means this outrage?” panted the woman.
The chief of police showed his insignia of office, and replied:
“It means, Madame Reclaire, that you’ll give us some information which we want, or go to jail, charged with being accessory to murder.”
Madame Reclaire’s face grew ghastly. Her attempted bravado faded away in an instant. She caught at a chair for support.
“Murder!” she gasped.
“Yes, murder! You must make proper explanation or go to jail.”
“What do you want me to explain?”
“A label from one of your bottles has been found in a case where life was taken unlawfully. It may be you are innocent of wrong in the affair, but your bleaching devices were used in a plot which has, as I said, resulted in murder.”
“As Heaven hears me, I am not a party to the crime.”
“That remains to be seen. It behooves you to speak the truth to us. About two years ago a man with a long, black beard called at this place and purchased some bottles of a wash to bleach his beard and his hair snow-white.”
“I remember him well.”
The chief of police shot Nick a quick triumphantglance. Madame Reclaire saw it, and properly interpreted the meaning of that look. She bit her lip till it almost bled. The shrewd woman knew in an instant that she had been trapped; that her two visitors had no knowledge of any such visit from a customer such as they had described.
The chief had stated a suspicion as a fact, and she admitted its truth.
“Now, we are getting on,” said the chief. “Who was with him?”
“Nobody.”
“There your memory fails you, madam, and I see we might as well take you with us, where we can refresh your recollection with faces.”
“Well, then, he was accompanied by another man.”
“Of the same age?”
“No. Older, I should say.”
“Had he a beard?”
“Yes.”
“Its color?”
“Very light—almost yellow.”
“And hair to match?”
“Of course.”
“You doctored him, also?”
“Yes”—reluctantly.
“What hue?”
“Made his beard and hair sandy.”
“And have supplied both with enough of the washes since then to keep those colors up?”
“Yes.”
“You did not ask what purpose they had in view by changing the color of beard and hair?”
“No. That was none of my affair.”
“Hereafter you had better make it your business. We will leave you now, madam. Until I see you again, do not go to the bother of trying to leave your apartments. You’ll be watched, and it would only lead to your landing in jail. Good-day.”
Her visitors left as abruptly as they had arrived.
Nick went direct to the Broad Street Station, and took a train at that point for Elmwood, where he arrived about nine o’clock at night.
From the Elmwood Station he went straight to Dr. Abbott’s office.
Fortunately he found Abbott in and alone.
“Hello, Ketchum! I’m downright glad you’ve come. Had you been ten minutes sooner, you would have seen Mackenzie’s son, who just left my office. He came in yesterday, and was awfully cut up over the unexpected news of his father’s death.”
“Was the dog, Rover, with him?”
“Why, no. That is a strange question, Mr. Ketchum.”
“Is it? What is there strange about it?”
“Why should you ask whether the dog was with him?”
“I’ll tell you, Dr. Abbott. I was at the hotel yesterday when young Mackenzie arrived. Rover found him there, and took a great fancy to him. I thought, perhaps, the dog might be following him around.”
“There was something more than that to the meaning of your question.”
“Again I ask why you think so?”
“Because somebody killed the dog last night.”
“The news does not surprise me.”
“You know who killed him?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“Wait a moment, doctor. What did Mackenzie want just now? To tell you his stepmother had been summoned to go to New York to-morrow by the Scotia Insurance Company to get the money on the policy of that company?”
“Why, yes; but——”
“And he wanted you to go along to furnish proofs of death, and to identify the widow?”
“Yes. Were you eavesdropping?”
“Not at all. I came straight from the depot.”
“Then how on earth do you know so much?”
“I’ll tell you, presently. First, let me ask whether you promised to go to New York with Mrs. Mackenzie?”
“I did.”
“Is this son going, too?”
“He is. And I’ll be obliged if you’ll help them out with your evidence.”
“Oh! I’ll help them out, never fear. But neither you nor I must go with them.”
“What in the world are you driving at?”
“Are we alone?”
“Entirely so.”
“Safe from interruption?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’m going to astonish you; probably shock you.”
“How?”
“First, by telling you that the poor dog, which was killed last night, was not so easily deceived as you were.”
“Deceived. Why——”
“Had your perceptions been as clear as the dog’s, you, too, might have met his fate.”
“Ketchum, this is mummery. What are you trying to say?”
“Please don’t call me Ketchum.”
“Why?”
“Because it is not my name.”
“Then, in Heaven’s name, who are you?”
“I am Nick Carter, the detective!”
“What!”
Abbott jumped to his feet, as he made the exclamation, and stood looking at the man before him like one entranced.
“You must have heard of me?” said Nick, dryly.
“Heard of you! Who has not heard of Nick Carter?”
“Would you believe me if I made a plain statement of facts?”
“That depends.”
“Well, I’m going to risk it, and rely on your good, sound common sense. I believe I know you well enough to trust you with an astonishing secret.”
“A secret? What secret?”
“Let me ask you a question. That dog, you told me, was very fond of his master, Miles Mackenzie?”
“Yes.”
“Went with him nearly everywhere; followed him about?”
“That’s true.”
“Wasn’t it strange that the dog did not recognize his master’s corpse in the coffin when he looked at it night before last?”
“Why, I didn’t notice.”
“Then I did. An intelligent dog like Rover would have known even his master’s corpse.”
“Why, you don’t mean——”
“Wait. Perhaps you noticed that the dog was almost constantly searching for something.”
“Well, yes. There was certainly something of that kind in his demeanor.”
“He was looking for his master.”
“That may be.”
“And he found him. That is where Rover, the dog, was shrewder than you, the friend.”
“Found him? How? Where?”
“Listen. I’ll tell you.”
Then Nick described the scene at the hotel when Rover surprised the landlord, and aggravated the newly arrived son.
“Good heavens, man! What is this you are telling me?”
“That the dog could not be deceived. He knew the corpse in the coffin was not the remains of his master as well as he knew the pretended son was Mackenzie himself, without white whiskers, without white hair, without dye on the upper part of the face.”
Abbott sank back into his chair, speechless with amazement.
“Incredible!” he gasped, finally.
“It seems so, but I have the proofs to back up the murdered dog’s cute perceptions—that instinct which cost him his life.”
“Oh! this is beyond belief.”
“No. Even incredulous as you are determined to be, you shall soon agree that you have been wonderfully deceived. Shall I tell you the strange story?”
“As you please.”
“Well, some years ago, a certain Dr. Greene owned a private sanitarium near Oakland, Cal.
“Among his patients was a rich man, who met with a peculiar affliction. The man’s name was Jason Templin.
“His affliction left him helpless, speechless and without the power of thought. He was a living man with a dead brain.
“Templin had a long, white beard, snow-white hair, and a florid face.
“Dr. Greene had a beard equally long, but it was black.
“Among the attendants at the sanitarium was one of Templin’s nurses, a handsome, scheming young woman.
“It was she, I suspect, who conceived the plan to obtain great wealth, and at the same time become the wife of Dr. Greene, whom she, in her way, loved.
“She made the discovery that if Greene’s beard and hair were white, and his face a little more florid, he would be almost the counterpart of the strange patient—Jason Templin.
“Then a plan was probably laid which had in its aim the substitution of Greene for Templin, whereby they might obtain the latter’s great wealth.
“Subsequently, circumstances undoubtedly changed the plan somewhat.
“One day a man met his death in such a way that only Greene and his scheming aids knew anything about it. This man’s body was dressed in Templin’s clothes, the body was laid with the face in the grate fire of Templin’s room till it was burned beyond the power of recognition, and the helpless Templin was put in perfect concealment.
“The mutilated body was delivered to Templin’s friends, who buried it, under the belief that they were burying the unfortunate man’s corpse.
“Shortly afterward Greene sold out, receiving seventy-five thousand dollars cash for his property.
“He announced that he was going to Australia.
“When we investigate further, it will be found that Templin’s handsome nurse and several other of his associates disappeared at the same time, and were seen no more in California.
“Some time later, Miles Mackenzie appeared in this town of Elmwood. With him was his young wife and a stout servant woman.
“This Mackenzie was such a living image of the awfully afflicted Jason Templin that the latter’s daughter, a few weeks ago, caught sight of Mackenzie’s white beard and hair, and mistook him for her father, whose remains she had believed were lying in a vault at San Francisco.
“When Miss Templin saw the disguised Mackenzie,he had just paid a premium on a one-hundred-thousand-dollar life insurance policy.
“Her mistake led to an investigation.
“The fact turned up that Mackenzie had five one-hundred-thousand-dollar policies.
“A little further investigation showed that in two years he had paid, in premiums, over sixty thousand dollars.
“There was not enough left of the seventy-five thousand dollars to pay another year’s premiums, and still the unfortunate, helpless Templin, hidden away by the man who was masquerading as his able-bodied double, didn’t die, and give them a chance to collect the insurance.
“So a crisis in their plans approached, and the murder, which they had hoped to avoid, seemed to be inevitable.
“Meanwhile, Mackenzie had singled out a physician in high standing at Elmwood, as his chosen friend and confidant.
“He succeeded in winning this doctor’s friendship, and by correctly describing the symptoms, so well known to him as a doctor, of a deadly disease, prepared the deceived friend for the news of his sudden death.
“Then the helpless Templin’s life was sacrificed——”
“No! No! Great heavens! No! This Templin may have died a natural death,” cried Abbott.
“But he didn’t, as I’ll convince you soon. Templin was killed—poisoned, probably—and his body was produced before the Elmwood people as that of Mackenzie.
“Even you were deceived; but it didn’t deceive the dog.
“Meanwhile, Greene disappeared. He cut off his beard, cropped his hair, removed the dye from his face, and appeared in his real character as a comparatively young man.
“He had prepared for his advent in Elmwood in the character of his own son, by showing letters from the supposed young man written in London, Paris and other foreign cities.”
“Who wrote them?”
“One of his companions in crime—a man whose beard and hair of yellow hue had been dyed a sandy color. A man named Dent.”
“Where is he?”
“I haven’t found him yet, but expect to.
“So the false son came home at almost the hour when the remains of the supposed father were being taken away to be cremated.
“But the brute instincts of a dog nearly betrayed the well-laid plot. It so thoroughly frightened the arch-plotter that he concluded to take no further risks in that direction, and while the pretended widow was witnessing the incineration of the remains of Jason Templin, the rejuvenated Miles Mackenzie, alias Dr. Greene, killed his loving dog.
“Do you remember how persistently the supposed widow insisted on seeing the remains cremated?”
“Yes, yes!”
“And did you not wonder at her great nerve during the trying ordeal?”
“Good heavens, how blind I was!”
“Do you know why she would not leave till she saw the body in ashes?”
“I can guess, now.”
“She took no chances on an autopsy ever being held. That is why I am so sure Jason Templin did not die a natural death.”
“Where did they keep Templin all this time?”
“I don’t know, but we will find out.”
“We?”
“You and I. That is why I said you must not go with them to New York to-morrow. I want you, in their absence, to go with me and make a search of their house.”
“And yet I am not blind, nor a fool!” ejaculated Abbott.
“Do you still think it is beyond belief?”
“No. The only thing which is almost beyond belief now, is that I should have been so easily deceived.”
Abbott and Nick Carter remained locked up together in earnest conversation nearly all that night. A train left Elmwood for New York at a few minutes after five o’clock in the morning, and it carried away the famous detective on his return to the city.
He went at once to his own house, where he was fortunate in finding his two assistants, Chick and Patsy.
His first move, after having dispatched a hearty breakfast, was to take Chick up to his “den” and remove his disguise as Wylie Ketchum, the lawyer. Then he proceeded to assist Chick in assuming the same character, until another Wylie Ketchum stood forth.
Nick looked critically at Chick thus disguised, and then remarked:
“You’ll do. Mrs. Mackenzie saw me only by lamplight, and through her crape veil, and you are so nearly like I was, that the difference is not discernible to an unpracticed eye.”
“I guess there’ll be no trouble in deceiving her, Nick. The man never saw you?”
“No. Now, remember you are to be at the Scotia Insurance Company’s office at two o’clock prompt.
“Patsy will be on hand to shadow them when they leave the office, and never lose sight of the couple till I return, to-morrow morning.”
About noon Nick went to the Scotia office, and received the following telegram, which had just arrived:
Elmwood, Pa., July 9, 18—.“To Wylie Ketchum, care Scotia Life Insurance Company, New York City: Impossible for me to accompany Mr. and Mrs. Mackenzie to-day. Have sent certificates of cause of death and identification of widow. If necessary, I can come down to-morrow. They leave at ten o’clock.Abbott.”
Elmwood, Pa., July 9, 18—.
“To Wylie Ketchum, care Scotia Life Insurance Company, New York City: Impossible for me to accompany Mr. and Mrs. Mackenzie to-day. Have sent certificates of cause of death and identification of widow. If necessary, I can come down to-morrow. They leave at ten o’clock.
Abbott.”
“It’s all right,” said Nick, as he handed the telegram to the president. “My assistant will represent me here as Mr. Ketchum, and I’ll be off to Elmwood again.”
Fifteen minutes after Mrs. Mackenzie and her pretended stepson had reached New York, Nick, in the new disguise of a farmer, was once more on his way to Elmwood, carrying with him a huge carpetbag.
His train left directly after the Elmwood express arrived, and he had the satisfaction of seeing his party disembark, and start toward the ferry before he stumbled up the steps into the smoking car of his train.
When he was once more in the presence of Dr. Abbott it was necessary to introduce himself anew.
But when Abbott realized that in the old farmer who stood before him he saw the great New York detective, he was not slow in posting Nick on the way the case lay at Elmwood.
“When I pleaded my duty to a sudden very dangerous case, wherein my services were demanded for this afternoon, Mrs. Mackenzie and her pretended stepson were very much disturbed. But when I assured them that you were a personal friend of the president of the insurance company, and had promised me to be on hand for the purpose of proof and identification, they agreed to go on and try it without me.”
“Well, now that the coast is clear, let us lose no time. Are you ready?”
“At your service.”
“Then come on.”
They went straight to the Mackenzie residence.
The stout servant, Emma, met them at the door, and there was a scowl on her face.
“Why, Dr. Abbott, I thought you had such a seriouscase on hand this afternoon,” she said, placing her large body in the doorway, and thus barring their entrance.
“So I had, Emma—so serious that death has already resulted.”
“Who was it?”
“An old man with a long, white beard; a man who looked as much like your late employer, Mr. Mackenzie, as if they had been brothers.”
The woman’s face grew deadly white, and for a moment Nick believed she was going to faint.
But Emma was not of the fainting kind. By a great effort, she regained some of her courage, and attempting a laugh, which was a dismal failure, she said:
“Do you expect me to believe that? Where does your important patient live?”
“We think he did live in this house, and have come to investigate a little, to satisfy ourselves.”
Emma had slowly thrust one hand into the folds of her dress skirt. Suddenly, and with a movement as quick as thought, she stepped back, raised her arm and flashed a pistol in Abbott’s face.
She was not quick enough for the detective, however. His large carpetbag swung through the air and hit the weapon just as she pulled the trigger.
There was a report, but the bullet went wide of the mark. In another minute, Emma was securely bound and gagged.
“Now, for a search of the house,” said Nick. “First, I want to see if any changes have been made in the building since Mackenzie moved in.”
“There have been none made on this floor, as I told you, for I’ve been all over it dozens of times,” replied Abbott.
“But you’ve not been upstairs since they took possession?”
“No.”
“Then let us go up and take a look around.”
He led the way first to the front room over the parlor. They no sooner entered than the doctor walked across to the dividing wall opposite the front windows.
“Here is something, Mr. Carter,” exclaimed Abbott, staring at the blank wall.
“What is it?”
“There was a large clothes closet at this place when I rented the house to Mackenzie.”
“And now it is a solid, blank wall?”
“Looks that way.”
Nick tapped against the place indicated.
“Brick!” was his decision.
“Brick!” exclaimed Abbott. “Why, the whole house is wood.”
“Not this part, surely. It is brick, covered with plaster, and neatly papered. Did Mackenzie buy any brick after he came here?”
“No. But I now remember he asked permission to remove a small outbuilding, and that was built of brick.”
“That is where he got them, then. Was there a corresponding closet on the other side?”
“Yes.”
“Let us go around and look at it.”
They went into the apartment over the sitting room, and there, too, the closet had been sealed up by a solid, brick wall.
“Now, we’ll go below and take a look into the closet where Rover’s investigations were so rudely interrupted by the toe of Emma’s shoe,” remarked Nick.
The closet was dark, but Abbott produced a lamp, lighted it, and brought it to Nick’s assistance.
A long stepladder leaned against the wall of the closet.
Nick’s eyes made a careful examination of the ceiling.
Then he moved the ladder to a place about the center of the closet, and mounted the steps until he could place both hands against the board surface over his head, which he did.
He pushed against it without avail.
Meanwhile, Abbott stood below holding the lamp, an interested spectator.
“There is a trapdoor here, I am sure,” said Nick, “but it is somehow secured by—— Ah! Let’s try this.”
He pressed his thumb against the head of a nail, which had a slightly different appearance from the rest; at the same time he maintained the upward pressure of the other hand.
There was the noise of a sharp click, and then a section of the ceiling, about four feet square, began to rise from one side.
Nick had found the secret trapdoor.
Pushing the trap open as he went, the detective continued to ascend the ladder until his head protruded through the opening.
For a moment he stopped to look around. Then he drew himself up to the floor above.
A few moments later he called down:
“Leave your lamp below, doctor, and come up. There is plenty of light.”
Abbott obeyed.
The two men found themselves standing in an apartment about ten feet square, inclosed by four solid walls. The roof of the house, twelve feet above, opened into the glass-inclosed cupola, which surmounted the building, and thus, as Nick and Abbott saw, in an instant, was furnished the medium for light and ventilation.
The floor and walls were deeply padded, and covered with white muslin.
The only furniture in the small room was a single bed, of iron, a chair and a small, rough table.
Indeed, there was little, if any, room, for anything more; though a hole in the side next to the chimney showed plainly that some kind of a stove had been used during the winter.
A hand glass, a pair of scissors, shaving utensils, a basin of water, and two or three bottles lay promiscuously on the table, and scattered over the floor was a mass of white hair.
“Behold all that remains of your friend’s venerable whiskers,” said Nick, pointing to the telltale material at their feet.
“He came up here to renew his youth,” exclaimed Abbott.
“Yes, and was so sure of the security of this hidingplace that he didn’t lose any time in destroying the proofs of his villainous plot. See! there are the bottles from Madame Reclaire’s laboratory, whose contents bleached his beard and hair. He even used the wash here right in the presence of the helpless man who was so terribly wronged.”
“This was his prison?”
“Evidently. Have you any idea how they got Templin here without arousing suspicion?”
Dr. Abbott remained in thought a few moments before he replied.
“During the first few months of their residence in the house,” he finally said, “there was a man of all work about the place who, from what you tell me, I believe was the fellow with the sandy beard and hair Madame Reclaire described as a partnership patron with Mackenzie. Maybe he had something to do with smuggling the old man in.”
“I have no doubt of it,” said Nick. “It was probably he who constructed this chamber while Elmwood slept; and helped Mackenzie, or Greene, to bring the victim from some other hiding place to this padded prison. I wish I knew where that sandy-bearded man is at this moment.”
If Nick only had known what he expressed the wish to know, it would have saved him from great danger.
For at the very moment the wish was expressed on his lips, the sandy-bearded man was cautiously crawling up the stepladder, in the closet below.
A few moments later his burly form straightened, his arm went up through the opening, his hand caught hold of the trapdoor, and before Nick or Abbott realized theirperil, the door fell, with a muffled sound, and the click of the spring lock was plainly heard.
Abbott turned a startled look upon Nick.
“The trap has fallen,” he exclaimed.
“Yes, but not of its own force.”
“You mean——”
“I mean somebody reached up and closed it. Hist!”
Nick had bent his head toward the floor, and was listening for any sound which might come up from below.
For half a minute everything was silent. Then was heard what seemed to be the sound of crashing glass.
“Abbott, we must get out of this, if we can, without delay,” said Nick, in tones which were full of intense meaning. “They have crashed the lamp among the clothing in the closet beneath us, and thus fired the house.”
“They? Who?”
“I don’t know. But the woman has had help, for she could never have escaped from her bonds unassisted; of that I am sure.”
“Good heavens, Carter! There is no chance for us. The roof is too far beyond our reach, and that is now our only way out,” cried Abbott.
“I have been in many tighter places than this, doctor,” said Nick, cheerfully. “I’ll show you how badly the people below us have miscalculated.”
“What makes it so dark?” queried Abbott. “It is not yet sundown.”
“No. I suspect a storm is coming up—ah! I thought so.”
In confirmation of his suspicions, a loud peal of thunder broke the outside silence.
“It is coming fast, too,” said Nick. “Now, see how easy it will be for us to escape.”
He took the table and stood it directly beneath the cupola.
Then he pulled a sheet from the bed, twisted it into a rope, and threw it around his neck.
“Now, then, doctor,” he exclaimed, “just jump upon the table and brace yourself to hold the weight of about one hundred and eighty pounds of human flesh.”
Abbott quickly complied without stopping to ask a question.
Nick followed him upon the table at his back, having first seized one of the empty bottles in his right hand.
“Steady, now, doctor,” urged Nick.
The next moment he was standing upright, with a foot on each of Abbott’s shoulders.
Having secured a safe hold for his hands on the baseof the cupola, Nick put his athletic training into use, and drew himself up by the mighty muscles of his arms.
The next instant he was looking through the thick glass sides of the cupola.
Then taking the sheet rope from his shoulders, he lowered it to Abbott, with the question:
“Can you raise yourself hand-over-hand?”
“I can try.”
“Well, lose no time.”
Slowly, and with great difficulty, the portly doctor began his task.
He would not have reached the cupola had not Nick finally let go one hand from its hold on the sheet, and with it caught Abbott by the arm. Then he seized the physician with the other hand, and the rescue was completed. Abbott came through the opening into the cupola as if he were fastened to a derrick.
The thunder was crashing on all sides by this time. Smoke was also rolling out of the house by the doors and windows, and Nick knew that they would have no time to lose in getting down to the ground.
Seizing with a firm grasp the bottle he had brought from the prison room below, he made an assault upon the glass inclosure of the cupola. Crash! crash! went the crystal plates, until an opening was secured large enough to let Nick crawl through to the roof.
He turned and was assisting the doctor through, when the latter suddenly pointed over Nick’s shoulder and cried:
“Look there, under that tree!”
Nick directed his attention to the place Abbott indicated—a large elm tree, about sixty feet from the house.
There, leaning against the trunk, and watching the house, were Emma, the servant, and a man with a sandy beard.
Even while the doctor was looking, the eyes of the sandy-bearded man were raised, and he saw the men on the roof.
He uttered a cry, and made a step as if to leave his place of observation.
At that instant there came a blinding flash, followed by a deafening clap of thunder.
For a brief time Nick and Abbott were partially stunned.
Nick was the first to recover. He looked toward the tree.
The tree was a wreck from the lightning’s bolt, and beneath its shattered boughs lay two forms—a man and a woman.
They hastened to reach the solid earth, and the task was soon accomplished.
The man and woman under the tree were found, upon examination by the doctor, to be stone dead.
The lightning had done its work effectually.
Half an hour later the residence was beyond rescue.
Nick hurried the doctor away, and enjoined him to secrecy on the subject of their afternoon’s adventure.
An hour later both were on the way to New York.
That night Nick, accompanied by Dr. Abbott, Chick, Patsy, the chief of police and the president of the ScotiaInsurance Company, surprised Mackenzie and his guilty wife at their apartments in the hotel where they had secured accommodations in order to be in New York the next morning for the purpose of cashing the Scotia’s check as soon as the banks opened their doors for business.
The surprise and confusion of the wicked pair were complete.
They admitted everything but the killing of Jason Templin. Both declared he had died a natural death, a statement Nick knew was not true, but which he realized would be hard to disprove before a jury.
While Chick and Patsy kept close guard over the two prisoners, the chief of police, Nick Carter, Abbott and the insurance president retired to another room for consultation.
Two of the conspirators were dead. If Miss Templin yet lived, it would be hard to convict the two survivors of murder. That much was admitted.
Miss Templin could not be found. Mackenzie declared, a few minutes before, that the young woman was alive, but would never be heard from unless he got ready to speak, which, under his present circumstances, he was not willing to do.
Nick and the chief of police both realized that they were dealing with a desperate man, and they finally agreed to compromise with him if he would accept their terms.
They more readily reached such an understanding when Abbott suggested that for Miss Templin’s sake it wouldbe well, if possible, to keep from her the knowledge of the fate of her father.
So this was the proposition made to Mackenzie and his wife:
First, they were to return Miss Templin to her friends without her having suffered serious bodily harm.
Secondly, they should surrender the five life insurance policies.
Each should plead guilty to a charge of defrauding the Scotia Insurance Company, and take a sentence in the State’s prison of from ten to twenty years.
In return, they were promised that Templin’s fate would never be brought up against them.
To this compromise Mackenzie, speaking for himself and his wife, refused to agree.
It was only after a promise that in addition to a pledge not to prosecute them on a charge of murder, the insurance companies would refund the premiums already paid in that a final agreement was made.
Acting under directions from Mackenzie, Nick found Miss Templin, bound hand and foot, gagged, senseless and almost dead, in a scantily furnished room high up in a half-deserted tenement on Tenth Avenue, where she had been taken by Mackenzie and the latter’s friend, Dent, on the night they decoyed her from the St. James Hotel.
The decoy had been simple.
Early in the day on which she disappeared, Miss Templin made a call on a friend whom she had known inItaly, but who at that time was married, and living in New York.
Greene and Dent followed her to the house.
When Miss Templin was leaving her friend’s residence, the two men strolled past and heard the hostess from the step say:
“If Tom comes home to-day, which is not likely, I’ll send him around after you, and you must come back with him to spend the evening. I know he’ll be glad to meet you, and you’ll be sure to like him.”
This gave the desperate couple their clew.
A forged note, stating that Tom had arrived, after all, and would fetch Miss Templin to the house in a carriage, was written, a livery carriage hired from a public stable, the driver drugged, Dent substituted, and Miss Templin was trapped very easily.
The agreement made with the Mackenzies that night was faithfully carried out, and the couple are serving out a fifteen years’ sentence in Sing Sing.
Louise will never know that her father’s remains were cremated on Long Island, but will be left in the belief that they lie in the vault at San Francisco.
At Elmwood the theory is prevalent that lightning destroyed the Mackenzie residence and killed the two servants; for the body of the dead man was recognized as being that of a person who worked for Mackenzie when the latter first came to the village.
The only mystery that has never been cleared up by the good people of that section is the sudden disappearance of Mrs. Mackenzie and the son.
They went to New York and were never afterward heard from.
Many Elmwood people read in their city newspapers the account of Dr. Amos Greene and his wife, who pleaded guilty to an attempt to defraud an insurance company, but none of them even suspect that the two self-convicted criminals were their former highly esteemed fellow townspeople, Mr. and Mrs. Miles Mackenzie.
Louise Templin became Mrs. Lonsdale, as Nick discovered a day or two later, when a dainty card was sent up to his office with this characteristic message written on the back:
“Just off on our honeymoon, Mr. Carter. I felt I must stop long enough to send up my regards and say ‘thank you’ for making our present happiness possible.
“Louise Lonsdale.”
THE END.
No. 1142 of theNew Magnet Libraryis entitled “The Bank Draft Puzzle.” A mystery story full of exciting incidents in which Nick Carter unravels an intricate plot teeming with interest.
Western Stories About
BUFFALO BILL
ALL BY COL. PRENTISS INGRAHAMRed-blooded Adventure Stories for Men
There is no more romantic character in American history than William F. Cody, or, as he was internationally known, Buffalo Bill. He, with Colonel Prentiss Ingraham, Wild Bill Hicock, General Custer, and a few other adventurous spirits, laid the foundation of our great West.
There is no more brilliant page in American history than the winning of the West. Never did pioneers live more thrilling lives, so rife with adventure and brave deeds, as the old scouts and plainsmen. Foremost among these stands the imposing figure of Buffalo Bill.
All of the books in this list are intensely interesting. They were written by the close friend and companion of Buffalo Bill—Colonel Prentiss Ingraham. They depict actual adventures which this pair of hard-hitting comrades experienced, while the story of these adventures is interwoven with fiction; historically the books are correct.