CHAPTER X.WAITING FOR NICK CARTER.In the first horror of this discovery nobody thought of murder.It was taken for granted that the unfortunate clergyman had been leaning from his window, and lost his balance.It was not long, however, before men began to look at the thing in another way.The minister’s body was left on the walk under guard of policemen until an undertaker came to take it away.Up to that time no friend of the dead man had appeared.The clerk had been so shocked that he could not remember whom he had seen with Mr. Judson.So the hotel manager had engaged the undertaker.At last the clerk recalled that Judson had been with Claymore early in the morning, and that the two had dined together in the hotel restaurant at noon.Accordingly, a messenger was sent to the oil company’s office to inform Claymore of what had happened.It was while the messenger was gone on this errand that a man went into the hotel, and laid his card on the clerk’s desk.“Send it up to Mr. Judson, please,” he said.“Mr. Judson!” gasped the clerk, looking first at the man and then at his card.“Yes,” replied the caller, “Rev. Elijah Judson. He’s stopping here, isn’t he?”“Yes—that is, he was, Mr.——” The clerk looked at the card. “Mr. Folsom,” he added, “but he’s—he’s gone.”“Gone! when?”“A short time ago—ah! you see, Mr. Folsom, he’s dead!”“Dead!” cried Folsom, “dead! Mr. Judson dead?”“Instantly killed, sir.”Mr. Folsom echoed these words as if he were in a dream.“What do you mean?” he whispered then; “how did it happen?”“Nobody knows, sir,” replied the clerk, “except that he pitched headforemost out of his window. He struck the sidewalk; was just outside there——”The clerk’s explanation was not heard by Mr. Folsom.“Great Heavens!” he gasped, pressing his hand to his brow; “he took me in earnest and committed suicide.”“Suicide!”It was the clerk who repeated the word, but he had not time to say more when Claymore rushed breathlessly up.He had caught the last of Folsom’s remark.“What’s that you say of suicide?” he demanded, excitedly.Folsom looked at him, blankly.“I said,” he answered, slowly, “that my old friend had committed suicide, and I fear it was some hasty, angry words of mine that drove him to it.”Claymore looked sharply at the speaker.He remembered him.That conversation on the street was not easy to forget, though Claymore had taken no part in it.Evidently, Folsom did not remember that he had ever seen Claymore before.He had spoken to the clergyman without noticing that a stranger stood near.“I think you’re wrong,” said Claymore, still looking straight at Folsom.“I wish I could think so,” responded Folsom, sadly; “but I spoke to Judson very harshly. I thought I had reason to be angry, and I guess I had, but I should not have spoken in that way. I came here just now to beg his pardon. He said at the time he should die, and I told him he’d better. Great Heaven! to think that I should have hounded him to his death!”Mr. Folsom was terribly distressed.The crowd that had gathered at the clerk’s desk listened breathlessly.“You may be entirely right,” said Claymore, quietly, “but I think not. I heard the conversation you refer to.”“You heard it?”“Yes; I was with Mr. Judson at the time.”“Ah! I didn’t see you. Then you heard his words?”“I did, and, as I say, you may be right, but I think differently.”“How can you?” asked Mr. Folsom, eagerly; “if there’s a ray of hope for a different explanation, in the name of Heaven speak up, man!”“Mr. Judson had a bitter enemy,” said Claymore.“An enemy? Do you know this?”“I heard a man threaten to kill him this morning.”For an instant Mr. Folsom was too astonished to speak.He stood with his mouth open, staring at Claymore.Then he brought his fist down on the clerk’s desk with a bang, and exclaimed:“Then, I’ll be responsible for tracking that enemy to the ends of the earth, if necessary. I’ll telegraph for Nick Carter to come. He’s in this part of the country, and I can get him here by evening, if not sooner.”There was a murmur from the crowd.Everybody, unless it was Claymore, seemed to think that this would be the best possible plan.After a moment, he asked:“Is Nick Carter a friend of yours?”“I met him not long ago,” replied Folsom. “He’ll come; I know he’ll come if he’s not too far away. I can’t rest as long as there’s any shadow of doubt that I worried poor Judson to his death.”“The local police on such a plain case,” began Claymore, but Folsom interrupted:“I said I’d take the responsibility, and I will. Let thelocal police do all they can. It won’t do any harm to have Nick Carter also on the spot. I’ll wire him at once.”He reached for a pad of telegraph blanks, and wrote a dispatch, which he gave to the clerk with a request that it be sent to the office in a hurry.A bell boy went off with it on the run.Then Folsom turned again to Claymore.“Who is this enemy of Judson’s you speak of?” he asked.A man who had been quietly listening to the conversation touched Claymore on the shoulder.“Don’t answer that question just yet,” he said.At the same time he pulled aside the lapel of his coat.Claymore and Folsom both saw a badge pinned to his vest.“Come into the office a minute, both of you,” added the stranger.The two men followed him into the hotel manager’s private room, and the door was closed.“My name is Kerr,” the stranger said then. “I am a detective, and belong to the regular force here. I shall be very proud to work with Nick Carter on this case ifhe comes, but it is my duty to get ahead on it, and clear it up before he arrives, if possible.”“Of course,” responded Claymore.Folsom nodded.“Now,” said Detective Kerr, “you may answer this gentleman’s question. Who is the enemy you refer to?”“You mean the man I heard threaten Mr. Judson’s life?” asked Claymore, cautiously.“Yes.”“It was a farmer named Hank Low. He lives out beyond Mason Creek a few miles.”Kerr made a note of the name.“What led to the threat?” he asked.“The men had high words about a business transaction, in which Low thought he’d been badly used. As a matter of fact, Low was treated with perfect fairness.”“But he was hot about it, eh?”“I should say so!”“Out there.”“Near Mason Creek?”“Yes; on the oil company’s land.”“Well, do you mean to say that this Hank Low followedMr. Judson to the city for the purpose of murdering him?”“No, I don’t mean to say anything of the kind.”“Then I don’t see how we can suspect Low. Mason Creek is some miles away——”“Yes, but Low was on his way to the city when we saw him.”“Oh! that’s different. Now perhaps we are getting down to business. The first question is, did anybody see him in town?”“I saw his wagon in front of the store,” said Claymore, hesitatingly.“Why do you hesitate?” demanded the detective sharply.“Well, just begin to feel that it’s a pretty serious thing to bring a charge of murder against a man. You see, Low was hot and his tongue was uncontrollable. I presume he didn’t mean what he said.”“It isn’t our business to think what he meant,” declared Kerr. “And we’re not bringing any charge against him. If he’s innocent he can stand a little inquiry. So you’d better tell all you know frankly, and not wait till you are examined in court.”“Oh, I’ll be frank enough,” said Claymore, “I know that Mr. Judson asked him to call here at half-past three.”“You ought to have said that before.”Folsom, who had been listening quietly to the conversation, here suggested that an investigation should be made to find whether this Hank Low had been seen in the hotel.“I was just going to,” said Kerr.He opened the door, and asked the clerk to step in.“Do you know anybody named Low?” asked Kerr, when the clerk was with them.“Yes,” replied the clerk; “there’s a farmer named Hank Low, from Mason Creek——”“That’s the man.”The clerk said nothing further, and Kerr asked:“When did you see him last?”“This afternoon,” was the reply.“Here?”“Yes—great Heaven!”The clerk looked suddenly startled.“What’s the matter?”“Why! Hank Low called on Mr. Judson just before he died—or was it afterward?”“That’s a mighty important point,” said Kerr, gravely. “Isn’t there any way by which you can fix the time?”The clerk thought a moment.“Yes,” he said, “I can fix it to the minute, but I can’t do it offhand.”“Why? How can you fix it, then?”“Just as Low came to the desk a telegraph boy came with a message for a guest. I had to sign the boy’s book.”“Yes. Well?”“I had to enter the time, you know, and I looked up at the clock as I did so.”“Did you enter the exact minute?”“I did.”“What was it?”“That I can’t remember.”“The boy’s book will show?”“Sure.”“Then,” said Kerr, rising, “we’ll look up that boy, and also try to find the exact minute at which Mr. Judson fell or was thrown from the window.”The detective cautioned the others to say nothing about their conversation, and went out to talk with the men who had seen Judson fall.They agreed pretty nearly as to the time of the event.One said twenty-five minutes of four.The other thought it was two minutes later.When their watches were compared it was found that one was two minutes ahead of the other’s.The testimony of several other persons was taken on this matter, and it was agreed that twenty-five or twenty-six minutes of four was the time when Mr. Judson met his death.A bell boy was quietly questioned also.He remembered seeing Hank Low leave the hotel office.“’Twas just after he had gone up alone,” the boy said. “I remember, ’cause the clerk was going to send me up with him, and he saved me a trip upstairs by going alone.”This was important, and Kerr asked a number of other questions as to how it happened that Low went up alone, and so forth.Next he found a man who remembered seeing Low drive rapidly away.This man did not know when he was being questioned that Low was suspected of murder.“I says, ‘Hello, Hank,’ says I,” he told the detective, “and he said, ‘Hello,’ and got into his wagon.“‘How’s things up at the farm?’ says I.“‘Can’t stop to chin,’ says he, kind of mad, and he whipped up his critter, and went away. Never seen Hank in such a hurry.”All this was important, and Kerr made a note of the names of all witnesses.“I’ll try to show Nick Carter,” he thought, “that I can work up a case.”He was just about to leave the hotel, when Folsom approached him with a telegram in his hand.He gave it to Kerr, who read the one word it contained:“Coming.”It was signed “N.C.”“All right,” said Kerr; “when he gets here I shall probably have the guilty man in the lockup. He doesn’t say when he will arrive.”“No,” responded Folsom, “but as this was sent fromPueblo, it shows that he is on the way. I’ve looked up the trains, and should say that he’d be here early in the evening.”“Well, I’m going down to the telegraph office to look up that messenger’s book. If it gives the time I think it does, I shall start for Mason Creek without waiting for Carter.”“I suppose that’s right,” said Folsom.Kerr was sure it was.He went to the telegraph office, but was disappointed to learn that the boy who had the book he needed to see had been sent to a distant part of the city, and could not be back before six o’clock at the earliest.Then Kerr was in doubt as to what he ought to do.“It would make me look like thirty cents,” he reflected, “if I should arrest Hank Low, and bring him to the city, only to find that the boy’s book showed that he couldn’t have done the thing.”“Suppose, for example, the book shows that the clerk signed it at twenty minutes to four.“By that time Judson had been dead at least five minutes, and, of course, Low couldn’t be guilty.“I think I’ll wait for the boy to get back. Carter may be here by that time, and I’d rather take his judgment.”And Kerr left it that way. He went down to the railroad station at a quarter to six with Folsom, hoping to meet the great detective on the train due to arrive from Pueblo at that hour.
CHAPTER X.WAITING FOR NICK CARTER.In the first horror of this discovery nobody thought of murder.It was taken for granted that the unfortunate clergyman had been leaning from his window, and lost his balance.It was not long, however, before men began to look at the thing in another way.The minister’s body was left on the walk under guard of policemen until an undertaker came to take it away.Up to that time no friend of the dead man had appeared.The clerk had been so shocked that he could not remember whom he had seen with Mr. Judson.So the hotel manager had engaged the undertaker.At last the clerk recalled that Judson had been with Claymore early in the morning, and that the two had dined together in the hotel restaurant at noon.Accordingly, a messenger was sent to the oil company’s office to inform Claymore of what had happened.It was while the messenger was gone on this errand that a man went into the hotel, and laid his card on the clerk’s desk.“Send it up to Mr. Judson, please,” he said.“Mr. Judson!” gasped the clerk, looking first at the man and then at his card.“Yes,” replied the caller, “Rev. Elijah Judson. He’s stopping here, isn’t he?”“Yes—that is, he was, Mr.——” The clerk looked at the card. “Mr. Folsom,” he added, “but he’s—he’s gone.”“Gone! when?”“A short time ago—ah! you see, Mr. Folsom, he’s dead!”“Dead!” cried Folsom, “dead! Mr. Judson dead?”“Instantly killed, sir.”Mr. Folsom echoed these words as if he were in a dream.“What do you mean?” he whispered then; “how did it happen?”“Nobody knows, sir,” replied the clerk, “except that he pitched headforemost out of his window. He struck the sidewalk; was just outside there——”The clerk’s explanation was not heard by Mr. Folsom.“Great Heavens!” he gasped, pressing his hand to his brow; “he took me in earnest and committed suicide.”“Suicide!”It was the clerk who repeated the word, but he had not time to say more when Claymore rushed breathlessly up.He had caught the last of Folsom’s remark.“What’s that you say of suicide?” he demanded, excitedly.Folsom looked at him, blankly.“I said,” he answered, slowly, “that my old friend had committed suicide, and I fear it was some hasty, angry words of mine that drove him to it.”Claymore looked sharply at the speaker.He remembered him.That conversation on the street was not easy to forget, though Claymore had taken no part in it.Evidently, Folsom did not remember that he had ever seen Claymore before.He had spoken to the clergyman without noticing that a stranger stood near.“I think you’re wrong,” said Claymore, still looking straight at Folsom.“I wish I could think so,” responded Folsom, sadly; “but I spoke to Judson very harshly. I thought I had reason to be angry, and I guess I had, but I should not have spoken in that way. I came here just now to beg his pardon. He said at the time he should die, and I told him he’d better. Great Heaven! to think that I should have hounded him to his death!”Mr. Folsom was terribly distressed.The crowd that had gathered at the clerk’s desk listened breathlessly.“You may be entirely right,” said Claymore, quietly, “but I think not. I heard the conversation you refer to.”“You heard it?”“Yes; I was with Mr. Judson at the time.”“Ah! I didn’t see you. Then you heard his words?”“I did, and, as I say, you may be right, but I think differently.”“How can you?” asked Mr. Folsom, eagerly; “if there’s a ray of hope for a different explanation, in the name of Heaven speak up, man!”“Mr. Judson had a bitter enemy,” said Claymore.“An enemy? Do you know this?”“I heard a man threaten to kill him this morning.”For an instant Mr. Folsom was too astonished to speak.He stood with his mouth open, staring at Claymore.Then he brought his fist down on the clerk’s desk with a bang, and exclaimed:“Then, I’ll be responsible for tracking that enemy to the ends of the earth, if necessary. I’ll telegraph for Nick Carter to come. He’s in this part of the country, and I can get him here by evening, if not sooner.”There was a murmur from the crowd.Everybody, unless it was Claymore, seemed to think that this would be the best possible plan.After a moment, he asked:“Is Nick Carter a friend of yours?”“I met him not long ago,” replied Folsom. “He’ll come; I know he’ll come if he’s not too far away. I can’t rest as long as there’s any shadow of doubt that I worried poor Judson to his death.”“The local police on such a plain case,” began Claymore, but Folsom interrupted:“I said I’d take the responsibility, and I will. Let thelocal police do all they can. It won’t do any harm to have Nick Carter also on the spot. I’ll wire him at once.”He reached for a pad of telegraph blanks, and wrote a dispatch, which he gave to the clerk with a request that it be sent to the office in a hurry.A bell boy went off with it on the run.Then Folsom turned again to Claymore.“Who is this enemy of Judson’s you speak of?” he asked.A man who had been quietly listening to the conversation touched Claymore on the shoulder.“Don’t answer that question just yet,” he said.At the same time he pulled aside the lapel of his coat.Claymore and Folsom both saw a badge pinned to his vest.“Come into the office a minute, both of you,” added the stranger.The two men followed him into the hotel manager’s private room, and the door was closed.“My name is Kerr,” the stranger said then. “I am a detective, and belong to the regular force here. I shall be very proud to work with Nick Carter on this case ifhe comes, but it is my duty to get ahead on it, and clear it up before he arrives, if possible.”“Of course,” responded Claymore.Folsom nodded.“Now,” said Detective Kerr, “you may answer this gentleman’s question. Who is the enemy you refer to?”“You mean the man I heard threaten Mr. Judson’s life?” asked Claymore, cautiously.“Yes.”“It was a farmer named Hank Low. He lives out beyond Mason Creek a few miles.”Kerr made a note of the name.“What led to the threat?” he asked.“The men had high words about a business transaction, in which Low thought he’d been badly used. As a matter of fact, Low was treated with perfect fairness.”“But he was hot about it, eh?”“I should say so!”“Out there.”“Near Mason Creek?”“Yes; on the oil company’s land.”“Well, do you mean to say that this Hank Low followedMr. Judson to the city for the purpose of murdering him?”“No, I don’t mean to say anything of the kind.”“Then I don’t see how we can suspect Low. Mason Creek is some miles away——”“Yes, but Low was on his way to the city when we saw him.”“Oh! that’s different. Now perhaps we are getting down to business. The first question is, did anybody see him in town?”“I saw his wagon in front of the store,” said Claymore, hesitatingly.“Why do you hesitate?” demanded the detective sharply.“Well, just begin to feel that it’s a pretty serious thing to bring a charge of murder against a man. You see, Low was hot and his tongue was uncontrollable. I presume he didn’t mean what he said.”“It isn’t our business to think what he meant,” declared Kerr. “And we’re not bringing any charge against him. If he’s innocent he can stand a little inquiry. So you’d better tell all you know frankly, and not wait till you are examined in court.”“Oh, I’ll be frank enough,” said Claymore, “I know that Mr. Judson asked him to call here at half-past three.”“You ought to have said that before.”Folsom, who had been listening quietly to the conversation, here suggested that an investigation should be made to find whether this Hank Low had been seen in the hotel.“I was just going to,” said Kerr.He opened the door, and asked the clerk to step in.“Do you know anybody named Low?” asked Kerr, when the clerk was with them.“Yes,” replied the clerk; “there’s a farmer named Hank Low, from Mason Creek——”“That’s the man.”The clerk said nothing further, and Kerr asked:“When did you see him last?”“This afternoon,” was the reply.“Here?”“Yes—great Heaven!”The clerk looked suddenly startled.“What’s the matter?”“Why! Hank Low called on Mr. Judson just before he died—or was it afterward?”“That’s a mighty important point,” said Kerr, gravely. “Isn’t there any way by which you can fix the time?”The clerk thought a moment.“Yes,” he said, “I can fix it to the minute, but I can’t do it offhand.”“Why? How can you fix it, then?”“Just as Low came to the desk a telegraph boy came with a message for a guest. I had to sign the boy’s book.”“Yes. Well?”“I had to enter the time, you know, and I looked up at the clock as I did so.”“Did you enter the exact minute?”“I did.”“What was it?”“That I can’t remember.”“The boy’s book will show?”“Sure.”“Then,” said Kerr, rising, “we’ll look up that boy, and also try to find the exact minute at which Mr. Judson fell or was thrown from the window.”The detective cautioned the others to say nothing about their conversation, and went out to talk with the men who had seen Judson fall.They agreed pretty nearly as to the time of the event.One said twenty-five minutes of four.The other thought it was two minutes later.When their watches were compared it was found that one was two minutes ahead of the other’s.The testimony of several other persons was taken on this matter, and it was agreed that twenty-five or twenty-six minutes of four was the time when Mr. Judson met his death.A bell boy was quietly questioned also.He remembered seeing Hank Low leave the hotel office.“’Twas just after he had gone up alone,” the boy said. “I remember, ’cause the clerk was going to send me up with him, and he saved me a trip upstairs by going alone.”This was important, and Kerr asked a number of other questions as to how it happened that Low went up alone, and so forth.Next he found a man who remembered seeing Low drive rapidly away.This man did not know when he was being questioned that Low was suspected of murder.“I says, ‘Hello, Hank,’ says I,” he told the detective, “and he said, ‘Hello,’ and got into his wagon.“‘How’s things up at the farm?’ says I.“‘Can’t stop to chin,’ says he, kind of mad, and he whipped up his critter, and went away. Never seen Hank in such a hurry.”All this was important, and Kerr made a note of the names of all witnesses.“I’ll try to show Nick Carter,” he thought, “that I can work up a case.”He was just about to leave the hotel, when Folsom approached him with a telegram in his hand.He gave it to Kerr, who read the one word it contained:“Coming.”It was signed “N.C.”“All right,” said Kerr; “when he gets here I shall probably have the guilty man in the lockup. He doesn’t say when he will arrive.”“No,” responded Folsom, “but as this was sent fromPueblo, it shows that he is on the way. I’ve looked up the trains, and should say that he’d be here early in the evening.”“Well, I’m going down to the telegraph office to look up that messenger’s book. If it gives the time I think it does, I shall start for Mason Creek without waiting for Carter.”“I suppose that’s right,” said Folsom.Kerr was sure it was.He went to the telegraph office, but was disappointed to learn that the boy who had the book he needed to see had been sent to a distant part of the city, and could not be back before six o’clock at the earliest.Then Kerr was in doubt as to what he ought to do.“It would make me look like thirty cents,” he reflected, “if I should arrest Hank Low, and bring him to the city, only to find that the boy’s book showed that he couldn’t have done the thing.”“Suppose, for example, the book shows that the clerk signed it at twenty minutes to four.“By that time Judson had been dead at least five minutes, and, of course, Low couldn’t be guilty.“I think I’ll wait for the boy to get back. Carter may be here by that time, and I’d rather take his judgment.”And Kerr left it that way. He went down to the railroad station at a quarter to six with Folsom, hoping to meet the great detective on the train due to arrive from Pueblo at that hour.
In the first horror of this discovery nobody thought of murder.
It was taken for granted that the unfortunate clergyman had been leaning from his window, and lost his balance.
It was not long, however, before men began to look at the thing in another way.
The minister’s body was left on the walk under guard of policemen until an undertaker came to take it away.
Up to that time no friend of the dead man had appeared.
The clerk had been so shocked that he could not remember whom he had seen with Mr. Judson.
So the hotel manager had engaged the undertaker.
At last the clerk recalled that Judson had been with Claymore early in the morning, and that the two had dined together in the hotel restaurant at noon.
Accordingly, a messenger was sent to the oil company’s office to inform Claymore of what had happened.
It was while the messenger was gone on this errand that a man went into the hotel, and laid his card on the clerk’s desk.
“Send it up to Mr. Judson, please,” he said.
“Mr. Judson!” gasped the clerk, looking first at the man and then at his card.
“Yes,” replied the caller, “Rev. Elijah Judson. He’s stopping here, isn’t he?”
“Yes—that is, he was, Mr.——” The clerk looked at the card. “Mr. Folsom,” he added, “but he’s—he’s gone.”
“Gone! when?”
“A short time ago—ah! you see, Mr. Folsom, he’s dead!”
“Dead!” cried Folsom, “dead! Mr. Judson dead?”
“Instantly killed, sir.”
Mr. Folsom echoed these words as if he were in a dream.
“What do you mean?” he whispered then; “how did it happen?”
“Nobody knows, sir,” replied the clerk, “except that he pitched headforemost out of his window. He struck the sidewalk; was just outside there——”
The clerk’s explanation was not heard by Mr. Folsom.
“Great Heavens!” he gasped, pressing his hand to his brow; “he took me in earnest and committed suicide.”
“Suicide!”
It was the clerk who repeated the word, but he had not time to say more when Claymore rushed breathlessly up.
He had caught the last of Folsom’s remark.
“What’s that you say of suicide?” he demanded, excitedly.
Folsom looked at him, blankly.
“I said,” he answered, slowly, “that my old friend had committed suicide, and I fear it was some hasty, angry words of mine that drove him to it.”
Claymore looked sharply at the speaker.
He remembered him.
That conversation on the street was not easy to forget, though Claymore had taken no part in it.
Evidently, Folsom did not remember that he had ever seen Claymore before.
He had spoken to the clergyman without noticing that a stranger stood near.
“I think you’re wrong,” said Claymore, still looking straight at Folsom.
“I wish I could think so,” responded Folsom, sadly; “but I spoke to Judson very harshly. I thought I had reason to be angry, and I guess I had, but I should not have spoken in that way. I came here just now to beg his pardon. He said at the time he should die, and I told him he’d better. Great Heaven! to think that I should have hounded him to his death!”
Mr. Folsom was terribly distressed.
The crowd that had gathered at the clerk’s desk listened breathlessly.
“You may be entirely right,” said Claymore, quietly, “but I think not. I heard the conversation you refer to.”
“You heard it?”
“Yes; I was with Mr. Judson at the time.”
“Ah! I didn’t see you. Then you heard his words?”
“I did, and, as I say, you may be right, but I think differently.”
“How can you?” asked Mr. Folsom, eagerly; “if there’s a ray of hope for a different explanation, in the name of Heaven speak up, man!”
“Mr. Judson had a bitter enemy,” said Claymore.
“An enemy? Do you know this?”
“I heard a man threaten to kill him this morning.”
For an instant Mr. Folsom was too astonished to speak.
He stood with his mouth open, staring at Claymore.
Then he brought his fist down on the clerk’s desk with a bang, and exclaimed:
“Then, I’ll be responsible for tracking that enemy to the ends of the earth, if necessary. I’ll telegraph for Nick Carter to come. He’s in this part of the country, and I can get him here by evening, if not sooner.”
There was a murmur from the crowd.
Everybody, unless it was Claymore, seemed to think that this would be the best possible plan.
After a moment, he asked:
“Is Nick Carter a friend of yours?”
“I met him not long ago,” replied Folsom. “He’ll come; I know he’ll come if he’s not too far away. I can’t rest as long as there’s any shadow of doubt that I worried poor Judson to his death.”
“The local police on such a plain case,” began Claymore, but Folsom interrupted:
“I said I’d take the responsibility, and I will. Let thelocal police do all they can. It won’t do any harm to have Nick Carter also on the spot. I’ll wire him at once.”
He reached for a pad of telegraph blanks, and wrote a dispatch, which he gave to the clerk with a request that it be sent to the office in a hurry.
A bell boy went off with it on the run.
Then Folsom turned again to Claymore.
“Who is this enemy of Judson’s you speak of?” he asked.
A man who had been quietly listening to the conversation touched Claymore on the shoulder.
“Don’t answer that question just yet,” he said.
At the same time he pulled aside the lapel of his coat.
Claymore and Folsom both saw a badge pinned to his vest.
“Come into the office a minute, both of you,” added the stranger.
The two men followed him into the hotel manager’s private room, and the door was closed.
“My name is Kerr,” the stranger said then. “I am a detective, and belong to the regular force here. I shall be very proud to work with Nick Carter on this case ifhe comes, but it is my duty to get ahead on it, and clear it up before he arrives, if possible.”
“Of course,” responded Claymore.
Folsom nodded.
“Now,” said Detective Kerr, “you may answer this gentleman’s question. Who is the enemy you refer to?”
“You mean the man I heard threaten Mr. Judson’s life?” asked Claymore, cautiously.
“Yes.”
“It was a farmer named Hank Low. He lives out beyond Mason Creek a few miles.”
Kerr made a note of the name.
“What led to the threat?” he asked.
“The men had high words about a business transaction, in which Low thought he’d been badly used. As a matter of fact, Low was treated with perfect fairness.”
“But he was hot about it, eh?”
“I should say so!”
“Out there.”
“Near Mason Creek?”
“Yes; on the oil company’s land.”
“Well, do you mean to say that this Hank Low followedMr. Judson to the city for the purpose of murdering him?”
“No, I don’t mean to say anything of the kind.”
“Then I don’t see how we can suspect Low. Mason Creek is some miles away——”
“Yes, but Low was on his way to the city when we saw him.”
“Oh! that’s different. Now perhaps we are getting down to business. The first question is, did anybody see him in town?”
“I saw his wagon in front of the store,” said Claymore, hesitatingly.
“Why do you hesitate?” demanded the detective sharply.
“Well, just begin to feel that it’s a pretty serious thing to bring a charge of murder against a man. You see, Low was hot and his tongue was uncontrollable. I presume he didn’t mean what he said.”
“It isn’t our business to think what he meant,” declared Kerr. “And we’re not bringing any charge against him. If he’s innocent he can stand a little inquiry. So you’d better tell all you know frankly, and not wait till you are examined in court.”
“Oh, I’ll be frank enough,” said Claymore, “I know that Mr. Judson asked him to call here at half-past three.”
“You ought to have said that before.”
Folsom, who had been listening quietly to the conversation, here suggested that an investigation should be made to find whether this Hank Low had been seen in the hotel.
“I was just going to,” said Kerr.
He opened the door, and asked the clerk to step in.
“Do you know anybody named Low?” asked Kerr, when the clerk was with them.
“Yes,” replied the clerk; “there’s a farmer named Hank Low, from Mason Creek——”
“That’s the man.”
The clerk said nothing further, and Kerr asked:
“When did you see him last?”
“This afternoon,” was the reply.
“Here?”
“Yes—great Heaven!”
The clerk looked suddenly startled.
“What’s the matter?”
“Why! Hank Low called on Mr. Judson just before he died—or was it afterward?”
“That’s a mighty important point,” said Kerr, gravely. “Isn’t there any way by which you can fix the time?”
The clerk thought a moment.
“Yes,” he said, “I can fix it to the minute, but I can’t do it offhand.”
“Why? How can you fix it, then?”
“Just as Low came to the desk a telegraph boy came with a message for a guest. I had to sign the boy’s book.”
“Yes. Well?”
“I had to enter the time, you know, and I looked up at the clock as I did so.”
“Did you enter the exact minute?”
“I did.”
“What was it?”
“That I can’t remember.”
“The boy’s book will show?”
“Sure.”
“Then,” said Kerr, rising, “we’ll look up that boy, and also try to find the exact minute at which Mr. Judson fell or was thrown from the window.”
The detective cautioned the others to say nothing about their conversation, and went out to talk with the men who had seen Judson fall.
They agreed pretty nearly as to the time of the event.
One said twenty-five minutes of four.
The other thought it was two minutes later.
When their watches were compared it was found that one was two minutes ahead of the other’s.
The testimony of several other persons was taken on this matter, and it was agreed that twenty-five or twenty-six minutes of four was the time when Mr. Judson met his death.
A bell boy was quietly questioned also.
He remembered seeing Hank Low leave the hotel office.
“’Twas just after he had gone up alone,” the boy said. “I remember, ’cause the clerk was going to send me up with him, and he saved me a trip upstairs by going alone.”
This was important, and Kerr asked a number of other questions as to how it happened that Low went up alone, and so forth.
Next he found a man who remembered seeing Low drive rapidly away.
This man did not know when he was being questioned that Low was suspected of murder.
“I says, ‘Hello, Hank,’ says I,” he told the detective, “and he said, ‘Hello,’ and got into his wagon.
“‘How’s things up at the farm?’ says I.
“‘Can’t stop to chin,’ says he, kind of mad, and he whipped up his critter, and went away. Never seen Hank in such a hurry.”
All this was important, and Kerr made a note of the names of all witnesses.
“I’ll try to show Nick Carter,” he thought, “that I can work up a case.”
He was just about to leave the hotel, when Folsom approached him with a telegram in his hand.
He gave it to Kerr, who read the one word it contained:
“Coming.”
It was signed “N.C.”
“All right,” said Kerr; “when he gets here I shall probably have the guilty man in the lockup. He doesn’t say when he will arrive.”
“No,” responded Folsom, “but as this was sent fromPueblo, it shows that he is on the way. I’ve looked up the trains, and should say that he’d be here early in the evening.”
“Well, I’m going down to the telegraph office to look up that messenger’s book. If it gives the time I think it does, I shall start for Mason Creek without waiting for Carter.”
“I suppose that’s right,” said Folsom.
Kerr was sure it was.
He went to the telegraph office, but was disappointed to learn that the boy who had the book he needed to see had been sent to a distant part of the city, and could not be back before six o’clock at the earliest.
Then Kerr was in doubt as to what he ought to do.
“It would make me look like thirty cents,” he reflected, “if I should arrest Hank Low, and bring him to the city, only to find that the boy’s book showed that he couldn’t have done the thing.”
“Suppose, for example, the book shows that the clerk signed it at twenty minutes to four.
“By that time Judson had been dead at least five minutes, and, of course, Low couldn’t be guilty.
“I think I’ll wait for the boy to get back. Carter may be here by that time, and I’d rather take his judgment.”
And Kerr left it that way. He went down to the railroad station at a quarter to six with Folsom, hoping to meet the great detective on the train due to arrive from Pueblo at that hour.