Alma owes her life to Nick Carter twice over, as a matter of fact, for the detective was not only instrumental in halting the operation and rushing her to the hospital at the earliest possible moment, but also furnished the money which enabled her, later on, to go to the Adirondacks, where she made a complete recovery from her lung trouble.
Grantley, Siebold, and Hoff were locked up that night. The six young physicians who had been Grantley’s disciples had left the house before the climax, after the flesh wound which Patsy had inflicted on one of them had been dressed. The nurse had taken “French leave” as soon as her employer and his two companions started for the cellar. All of them were rounded up, however, despite the difficulties involved.
Nick was usually opposed to newspaper sensations, but in this instance he encouraged the newspapers to make as much as they could of the arrests and the shocking practices which had led up to them.
“You say that Doctor Hiram Grantley has offered his services to J. Hackley Baldwin? What do you mean?”
These two startled questions were put by Nick Carter to a handsome, impressive-looking man of the most polished professional aspect.
The scene of the interview was the detective’s study, and the gray-haired man in eyeglasses, with whom he was closeted, was Doctor Delos Vanderpool, physician to many of the most exclusive families in the city, and, more particularly, the family practitioner of J. Hackley Baldwin, the blind multimillionaire.
“I mean exactly what I say, Mr. Carter,” Doctor Vanderpool replied gravely. “There is no room for mistake, unfortunately. Grantley, the surgeon who has been shown up so completely—thanks to you—in connection with his reckless and shocking experiments on living human beings, has had the effrontery to approach Mr. Baldwin and offer to perform an operation on his eyes.”
The detective’s attitude relaxed as a result of this explanation. He knew as well as anybody that the powerful millionaire had been totally blind for years, and had spent hundreds of thousands of dollars and submitted to numerous operations in vain, in an attempt to recover his sight.
“Well, what of it?” he asked quietly. “I am surprised that Grantley should have aimed so high, after all the undesirable publicity of his recent trial; but he cannot operate on Mr. Baldwin without his consent, and surely there is not the slightest likelihood that that will be granted.”
“That is just the trouble,” the physician responded, with a worried look in his eyes.
“You mean that Mr. Baldwin is actually considering the fellow’s offer?” Nick queried, in surprise.
Vanderpool nodded reluctantly.
“I am sorry to say he is,” he answered. “More than that, he seems determined to place himself in Grantley’s hands. Nothing I have been able to say appears to have shaken his resolve in the smallest degree.”
Carter whistled.
“Doesn’t he know what Hiram Grantley is?” he demanded.
“Mr. Baldwin keeps in touch, through his secretaries, with everything of importance that goes on in the world,” was the reply. “He claims to have followed Grantley’s trial very closely. Moreover, I have taken it upon myself to speak very plainly to him. As a matter of fact, though, he knows a great deal more about Grantley than I do. He has caused the most minute inquiries into the man’s professional record to be made, and, as a consequence, he has discovered that Grantley has had remarkable success as an eye surgeon in many cases. Not only that, but Grantley himself seems to have made a great impression on Mr. Baldwin by the confident way in which he has stated his qualifications and declared his belief that he could restore the financier’s sight. Now, Mr. Carter, there is no doubt, of course, that Hiram Grantley has been one of the ablest surgeons in America, if not in the world. Strictly speaking, there is nothing to be said against his qualifications, and a great deal to be said for them. But the man has been under suspicion for years, and is thoroughly discredited now. His scientific zeal and ruthless disregard of life have carried him beyond all bounds and made him no better than a murderer in the eyes even of his brother surgeons. You caught him red-handed, and although twelve fools in a jury room saw fit to disagree over his guilt, he stands condemned to-day before the world’s bar of judgment. Shall such a man be permitted to do as he pleases with one of the most precious lives in the country? And, aside from his unsavory record, he has violated professional ethics in the most serious way by making an unsolicited offer of that sort. What is behind it? That is what is worrying me chiefly, however. Is it based on actual confidence in his ability to cure Mr. Baldwin’s blindness, and designed to restore Baldwin himself to popular favor; or is it not possible that there is a secret and sinister motive in the background, which threatens Mr. Baldwin with injury or death? You can see now why I have come to you.”
Nick Carter remained silent for perhaps a minute, thoughtfully studying the blotter on his desk.
“How far has it gone?” he inquired presently. “Has the date of the operation been set?”
“Yes, the day after to-morrow, at ten a. m.”
“And the place?”
Doctor Vanderpool made a wry face.
“Grantley’s residence and ‘private hospital’ in the Bronx—the scene of your raid,” he said.
“Baldwin is evidently willing to take chances in order to recover his sight,” the detective said musingly, after another brief pause. “As you say, it is quite possible, theoretically at least, that Grantley has sufficient skill to do what the others have failed to do. He has certainly performed many surgical miracles. This seems to be another instance of a drowning man grasping at a straw. In his anxiety to see again, Baldwin does not care what liberties Grantley’s knife may have taken with the bodies of obscure persons living on the East Side, or how near he came to murdering us that night, after we had interfered with his bloody scientific pastimes. Your multimillionaire friend feels confident that Grantley would not dare try any tricks on him, and he is willing to overlook the unprofessional manner of the man’s approach. He is impatient toward restraint, used to having his own way in everything, and, fired by a new hope, he is harder to manage than ever. Is that the way you interpret the situation, doctor?”
“I could not hope to put it better.”
“That is the way I size it up—that part of it, anyway. As for the rest, however, you’ll have to give me a little time to think it over. I’m very glad you came to me. As you say, there may be something queer back of it. By the way, can you arrange an interview for me with Mr. Baldwin, in case I find it necessary to call upon him?”
“Certainly.”
“Very well. I may ask you to do so later on. Inany case, I shall let you know as soon as I come to any decision.”
Doctor Vanderpool rose to go, and took his departure after a few more words, confident that he had placed the matter in the best possible hands.
Nick Carter remained at his desk, absent-mindedly drawing circles on his blotter.
The puzzle which had been given to him to solve was a decidedly unusual one, and it might mean almost anything—or next to nothing.
The case against Grantley and his confederates had furnished one of the greatest newspaper sensations of recent years, and the attitude of the public toward the vivisectionists was bitter in the extreme.
Their trials were delayed for some months, during which time Nick and his assistants collected all the evidence they could obtain. The girl recovered, and, as there had been no law at the time to forbid such unnecessary operations, the detective was compelled to furnish another basis for prosecution.
It was that or nothing.
After a great deal of probing, Nick had brought to light an instance of actual death as a result of a previous experiment in vivisection, which had been carried out by Doctor Grantley and the same set of assistants.
It was that of a little boy, also from the East Side, and the son of poor parents. He had been lame, and Grantley had carried him to the private hospital in the Bronx, after promising a cure by means of an operation on his hip.
The operation that had actually been performed, however, had borne absolutely no relation to the child’s lameness, and he had died from the effects of it.
It seemed a clear case of manslaughter, and the prosecution put all its strength into it. But Grantley still had means, despite the fact that his practice hadfallen off to an alarming extent in recent years. Moreover, he was exceptionally clever and had retained a number of powerful friends among the more radical and unscrupulous surgeons in the State.
As a consequence, his defense was an unexpectedly strong one. He and his lawyers brought forward expert witness after witness to testify in his behalf, all of whom insisted that there was, or might have been, abundant justification for the operation performed.
The experts for the prosecution denied this, of course, and between them they managed to bewilder the jury to such an extent that the long trial resulted finally in a disagreement.
To cap the climax, the district attorney had decided to release the prisoners, rather than hold them for a new trial. He did not believe it possible to convict them, and desired to save the county needless expense.
This decision was a great disappointment to Nick and his assistants, as well as to the public generally.
Nevertheless, the agitation had resulted in placing on the statute books a new law, which made it a crime for any surgeon to perform an operation of any kind without the consent of the patient or some relative or responsible friend. Furthermore, any unnecessary operation, or any surgical or other experiment having no bearing on the patient’s ailment, was at last prohibited, under penalty of a heavy fine and imprisonment.
Therefore, if Grantley should return to his old practices, it would be a comparatively easy matter to convict him.
Nick and his assistants made it their business to keepa close but unobtrusive watch over the liberated surgeons. Grantley and his lieutenant, young Doctor Siebold, accompanied by the nurse, Miss Rawlinson, returned to the former’s house immediately after their release. Most of the others scattered, some of them going so far as to change their names.
The detectives kept track of them all, but did not attempt to interfere with them in any way. Nick was willing to give them the benefit of the doubt. If they had learned their lesson they did not need to fear any further action. If, on the other hand, they should attempt to resume their questionable or criminal methods, it would then be time enough to act.
For some weeks nothing had developed to indicate that Grantley was doing anything at all. He seemed to have no patients, and to be seeking none.
At the end of that interval, Nick Carter had been surprised by the visit of Doctor Vanderpool. After the eminent physician’s departure, the detective remained buried in thought for half an hour or more.
The situation was unique.
Grantley’s action in approaching such a commanding figure as J. Hackley Baldwin, at such a time and under such circumstances, was little short of staggering, and Nick could easily understand Doctor Vanderpool’s anxiety.
The Fifth Avenue practitioner had hit upon what seemed to be the two alternative explanations, at least the two most likely ones. Either one was quite possible.
There was no doubt about Hiram Grantley’s daring or his confidence in himself. His great ability was unquestioned, and his release had probably convinced him that he was safe enough in going to almost any lengths.
Therefore, the truth seemed to lie close to either one of two suppositions—one of them harmless, the other freighted with direful possibilities.
The harmless one, as Doctor Vanderpool had pointed out, had to do with a possible and very natural desire on Grantley’s part to regain the confidence and prestige which he had forfeited.
It was not difficult to understand that he might really believe himself capable of restoring the blind financier’s sight, and if he could get a chance to do that it would mean a great deal of money in his pocket, an immense amount of free advertising, and a resultant modification of public opinion.
So far, all was plain sailing. Baldwin had been blind for many years, to be sure, without previously receiving any such offer from Grantley; but the fact could be explained away without much difficulty. The surgeon had never been in such a predicament before, had never been so badly in need of such a boost as this would give him if he could make good.
On the other hand, there loomed the sinister possibility that Grantley had something worse up his sleeve. In other words, his intentions might be criminal, and he might be plotting harm to the multimillionaire.
But in what way, and for what reason?
Surely, if he intended to go back to the methods which had been so unsparingly exposed and condemned, he did not need to choose so shining a mark for his unlawful experiments. On the contrary, it would seem to be to his interest to aim low, and tocontinue to pick out victims who were comparatively unimportant to the world at large.
Besides, he must have known that a man of Baldwin’s wealth and standing would not place himself in the hands of any one without instituting the most rigid inquiries. His offer could not fail to be discussed by those close to the great financier, and it would be sure to cause a sensation.
Why had he braved all the dangers involved and defied all of the many obstacles which lay between a notorious and discredited surgeon and one of the most carefully guarded of Wall Street’s money kings?
Was it merely because he longed to “come back,” to reëstablish himself by means of one brilliant coup, or did his motive lie far deeper than that, in some dark corner of his cruel nature?
And if the latter was the case, what could that motive possibly be? Was it financial or personal in character?
It was difficult to see how Grantley could hope to benefit, in a financial way, by harming Baldwin. The crooked surgeon might have larger interests in the money world than any one knew of, but to strike at one of the big magnates was to precipitate widespread shrinkage in values, perhaps a panic on the floor of the Stock Exchange.
On the whole, therefore, if Grantley’s motive was an evil one, the chances were that it involved revenge of one kind or another.
It might be private revenge, a desire on Grantley’s part to retaliate for some real or fancied wrong done to him; or it was conceivable that one or more of Baldwin’s rivals in the game of high finance had hired the rascally surgeon to put him out of commission.
As a matter of fact, though, Nick was not inclined to put much faith in the latter theory. If Grantley’s object had to do with revenge of some kind, the chances were that strictly private reasons were involved.
A painstaking examination of Grantley’s record might reveal those reasons, but the detective was not hopeful on that score. The time at his disposal was too short, for one thing. For another, since it was obvious that Baldwin did not know of any particular reason for distrusting the surgeon—aside from his tendency to cut up his East Side patients—the cause of any enmity which might exist seemed to be an obscure one, the whys and wherefores of which were locked in Grantley’s own breast.
If that was the case, an investigation would only result in a waste of precious time. Consequently, Nick decided to take the bull by the horns.
First, he would call on Grantley himself and put him through a rigid cross-examination, in an effort to worm his secret out of him, if possible.
Second, no matter whether he was successful in this first interview or not, he intended to see the financier and add his influence to Doctor Vanderpool’s, in a final attempt to dissuade Baldwin from submitting to the proposed operation.
The first part of Nick’s plan involved a certain amount of risk.
It takes courage to beard a man of Doctor Grantley’s type in his own lair, especially after a narrow escape from annihilation by acid in that same lair. Nick Carter never allowed such considerations to weigh with him, however, and the most he consented to do was to take his first assistant, Chick, with him when he set out for the Bronx.
Hoff opened the door a crack, in accordance with his usual suspicious attitude toward visitors. The detective promptly put his foot into the opening.
“Is Doctor Grantley in, Hoff?” Nick asked.
The servant’s face was a study. Amazement at the detective’s daring and hatred of him for the part he had played were both written there.
“I see he is,” Nick went on, without waiting for the belated reply. “Kindly let us in and inform the doctor that I wish to see him at once on important business.”
The German hesitated, but presently the door swung open, and they were invited, in a surly tone, to enter. After leading the way to the reception room, Hoff went upstairs. Five minutes later Doctor Grantley put in an appearance.
“You’re certainly a cool one, Carter!” was his greeting. “What the devil are you doing here? I thought you had sense enough to let me alone after that farceof a trial. What new maggot is busy in your head now?”
“I have left you alone all these weeks, haven’t I?” Nick asked, in turn. “And I would have continued to do so if you hadn’t taken such an extraordinary step.”
A sneer distorted Grantley’s face.
“Ah, so you have heard of the Baldwin matter, have you?” he asked. “Well, what about it? What business is it of yours?”
“I shall make it my business just so far as I see fit, Grantley,” was the quiet answer. “Knowing that you are a murderer at heart, do you suppose I am going to stand by with folded hands and let you get one of the most valuable lives in the country under your knife, without doing everything in my power to prevent it?”
“But it doesn’t happen to be in your power, my friend. You have no standing at all in this affair. It is purely a matter for Mr. Baldwin to decide, and he has chosen, after a searching investigation, to put himself into my hands. I am confident that I can restore his sight, and to that end I obtained an interview with him. He knows all about me—more than you do, in all probability—and there is nothing underhand about it. I suppose Vanderpool has run to you with the story, but I care nothing for Vanderpool’s opinion. I violated professional etiquette, of course, by openly offering my services; but I’ve never cared a row of pins for such rules. They’re beneath me. Besides, I had everything to gain and little or nothing to lose. Your confounded meddling has played the deuce with my reputation, if it hasn’t done anything else. I saw a chance to get on top again and make all those foolswho have been attacking me sing another tune. That’s all there is about it, and you haven’t a leg to stand on.”
“That sounds plausible enough, as it was meant to sound,” the detective remarked; “but—are you sure you never lost any money through Baldwin, or on any of his stocks?”
The question came out like the snap of a whip, and Nick’s eyes bored into the surgeon as he watched for its effect.
Apparently, however, it had none. Grantley did not drop his eyes for a moment. He returned the detective’s glance, eye for eye, and not a muscle of his face moved.
“Guess again, Carter!” he said, after a pause.
He shrugged his shoulders now, and a triumphant grin overspread his face.
“You thought you had me, didn’t you?” he went on. “Well, your little third degree went for nothing. As I’ve said before, it’s none of your business; but I’m willing to stretch a point in order to get rid of you. Therefore, I’ll go so far as to assure you solemnly that there is absolutely nothing of that sort, or of anything else beyond what I have stated, about this forthcoming operation on Mr. Baldwin’s eyes. It will be perfectly straight, and you may be sure that I will give him the benefit of every bit of skill and experience I possess. Does that satisfy you?”
“It would if I had any confidence in your word, solemn or otherwise, Grantley. As it happens, however, I did not ask you for any such assurance in regard to the proposed operation on Baldwin’s eyes. You couldn’t inflict much damage on them, no matter howcriminal your motive might be. But how about some other operation or experiment along your favorite lines? Will you declare as earnestly that you have no intention of playing any tricks of that sort?”
Again Grantley’s eyes met the detective’s without the slightest attempt at evasion.
“Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to kick you out of this house for suggesting such a thing, Carter,” he said, with an obvious effort to control himself, “but I suppose I’ll have to humor you again. Suspicion is your stock in trade, and if you can’t find a legitimate suspicion, you’re evidently content with any old kind, no matter how insulting or ridiculous. No, my spying friend; I swear that I have never had any thought of conducting any experiments in vivisection on J. Hackley Baldwin. Nobody but a lunatic would. A sane man would as soon set fire to a sheaf of thousand-dollar bills, which represented the bulk of his wealth. Why, man, you’re letting your silly fears run away with you! Baldwin has promised me a quarter of a million dollars if this operation is a success, and he would have given me twice as much—four times as much—just as readily, if I had insisted upon it. Do you suppose for a moment that I would try any tricks on him, as you call it, with such a reward in prospect? Where’s all that superhuman cleverness of yours, of which I’ve heard so much—and seen so little?”
Nick refused to take offense, however, and was not daunted in the least. He returned again and again to the attack from different angles, but was at last obliged to give it up.
Grantley stood his ground throughout, and none of Nick’s questions seemed to cause him any embarrassment. If Grantley was plotting against the financier in any way, Nick had to confess to himself that he was about the coolest and most accomplished liar that a long experience had brought to light.
Curiously enough, the only tangible thing which kept Nick’s suspicions alive was the fact that Grantley returned his glances so defiantly. He got the impression that the surgeon was forcing himself to do so by sheer power of will. It seemed a little overdone.
At last Nick was compelled to withdraw with as good grace as he could, none the wiser for the interview. Grantley lost no opportunity to jeer at him, but made no hostile demonstration of any other sort.
At the first opportunity, Nick called upon the blind millionaire, by appointment. He was not able, however, to give any definite or compelling reasons for his attitude, and, as he had feared, all of his arguments were in vain.
Baldwin admitted the truth of many of the detective’s points, but they had no weight with him. He plainly showed his knowledge of Grantley’s past unscrupulousness, but declared that he was willing to take whatever risks might be involved.
Nothing could shake his conviction that the surgeon would not dare to injure him in any way, and he returned repeatedly to Grantley’s own strongest argument—namely, that the vivisectionist had, in the huge fee at stake, the greatest possible incentive to do his best.
Finally, the millionaire thanked Nick for his interest, but announced his intention of submitting to the operation at the time appointed.
“I’d give millions, if necessary, to any one who could give me back my sight, Mr. Carter,” he said, as Nick rose to go; “and the character and previous record of Doctor Grantley are matters of supreme indifference to me. If he were guilty of all the crimes in the penal code, I should still put myself into his hands, for every conceivable consideration of self-interest would operate to make him hold me sacred and to give me the utmost of which he is capable.”
As yet, Nick had nothing to show for his pains, but he did not give up.
The detective gave hurried orders to his assistants and set them to work on another investigation into Grantley’s past, with a view to ascertain, if possible, the surgeon’s experiences in Wall Street.
Unfortunately, nothing of any importance was unearthed.
It was learned that Doctor Grantley had speculated heavily at one time, years before, and was supposed to have been unlucky in some of his investments, but the exact facts could not be obtained.
Nick felt it his duty to communicate the little he had learned to the blind magnate, and did so, but without result. Baldwin’s hope had been aroused, and he was pathetically eager to undergo the operation. He sent word to Nick that he could not see how the latter’s information affected the situation. Many men had burned their fingers in blind speculation, he declared, and added his conviction that a detective, with the best intentions in the world, was “making a mountain out of a child’s sand pile.”
Still Nick did not despair, and the probe went on. The next day passed without bringing anything more definite to light, and the morning of the operation dawned.
The blind millionaire was already in Grantley’s hands, having gone to the private hospital the evening before, in order to become settled in his new environment and to have a chance to quiet down before the fateful hour arrived.
He had no immediate relatives, and would allow no one else to dictate to him. Against Doctor Vanderpool’s advice, and in spite of the physician’s anxious pleadings, he insisted upon trusting Grantley implicitly.
“It’s all or nothing with me,” he persisted in saying. “This operation is altogether too important to me to allow its success to be threatened in any way. Grantley knows he is under suspicion, but I do not suspect him in the least, and I shall consent to nothing that would lead him to think so. He doesn’t want you or any other hostile personality present, and I don’t blame him. Besides, it might affect his nerves disastrously. And any nurse you would be likely to introduce would be bound to reflect the same antagonistic attitude toward him and his staff. I won’t have my chances jeopardized by any such childish jealousies.”
Doctor Vanderpool threw up his hands at that, but Baldwin laid down the law still further. He made it plain that he not only meant to place himself in Grantley’s hands for the operation itself, but that he did not wish any interference afterward, until such time as the surgeon should pronounce him ready to receive visitors.
The financier’s stubborn attitude caused Nick Carter many misgivings, but the detective saw that his own hands were tied. He could not force his way into the house, in the face of Grantley’s enmity toward him, at such a critical time. What was more, he could not even keep an effective watch over the premises, although that would have been small comfort at best.
The house immediately adjoining Grantley’s, which Nick had previously occupied for a time, had been regularly rented since then, so that that vantage point was no longer available.
The blind master of millions had, by his own act, completely isolated himself from his friends for an indefinite period, and put himself unreservedly in the power of the rascally Grantley, his no less unscrupulous assistant, Doctor Siebold, and the hard-faced nurse, Kate Rawlinson.
Moreover, even the protection of publicity was denied to Baldwin’s anxious well-wishers. They would have preferred, for the sake of the effect upon Grantley, to have all the papers publish the fact. They would have liked to see reporters calling at the private hospital at frequent intervals, in the hope that public knowledge and interest would deter the surgeon from crime, if he contemplated anything of the sort.
But Baldwin had also made that impossible, and for a very good reason: He realized that there would be the greatest alarm in financial circles if it became known in advance that he was about to submit to an operation at the hands of Doctor Hiram Grantley, and, in order to protect his own interests and those of his friends, he had taken the most elaborate precautions to keep his whereabouts secret.
The situation was maddening, but it could not be helped.
Ten o’clock came and went. Eleven struck, and then twelve. Doctor Vanderpool was almost beside himself with suspense. He longed to go to Grantley’s house and inquire about the success of the operation, but hedid not dare for fear the secret would be revealed through the fact that he was known to be J. Hackley Baldwin’s physician. Besides, such operations often require several hours.
Consequently, the doctor haunted Nick Carter’s house, instead. Finally, at one o’clock, Nick telephoned to Grantley’s house. Hoff, the German manservant, answered the phone. Nick gave his name and asked after Grantley’s patient.
The German replied that his employer had been expecting such an inquiry and had instructed him to say that the operation had been successful in every respect, and that Mr. Baldwin was resting quietly. It would be several days, however, before the patient could safely receive callers, and meanwhile he would, of course, remain at the private hospital. Doctor Grantley did not care to answer in person.
There was an undercurrent of hostility and contempt in the manner in which the message was delivered, but that was to be expected. It did not necessarily mean anything, for Nick could hope for nothing else from Grantley or any of his employees. The detective could do nothing but formally thank his informant and hang up the receiver.
He repeated the message, word for word, to Doctor Vanderpool, and the two consulted.
Obviously, they knew no more than they had known before. The message might be a lie from end to end, it might be partially true, or all true, and there was no way of finding out until Grantley was ready to let them, unless they went counter to the millionaire’s express injunctions.
Would they be justified in doing so? That was one of the most important of the many problems which confronted them.
There had been something resembling a ring of truth about Hoff’s report of the success of the operation, but Nick had already foreseen the possibility that Grantley might take a fiendish delight in restoring the millionaire’s sight and then injure him terribly—if not actually kill him—in some other way.
To have to wait for days without knowing the true situation seemed more than flesh could bear.
On the other hand, if Grantley had really performed the operation in good faith, a forcible entry and examination of the patient might work grave injury.
Baldwin would be kept in a dark room for some time, under such circumstances, and rest and quiet were an important part of the cure.
It would excite him greatly to have his wishes disregarded, and Grantley would doubtless resist such an invasion to the last—very likely to the extent of arming himself and his staff.
The detective and Vanderpool realized all this, and finally came to the conclusion, with the greatest reluctance, that they must let matters take their course for a few days.
Some kind of an operation had doubtless been performed on the financier, and it was extremely improbable that their interference at that late hour could materially benefit him. Apparently, the most that could be done involved a more or less long-distance oversight of Grantley’s doings.
If any suspicious departures, or other questionableactivities were noticed, it would be time to step in, but not otherwise.
Time passed. Repeated inquiries were made, both by phone and in person. Not until the third day did Grantley condescend to see the detective when the latter called, and then the interview was as fruitless as it could well have been.
The surgeon assured Nick that Baldwin was improving constantly, but he peremptorily refused to permit his patient to be seen. Moreover, he would make no definite statement as to the date of Baldwin’s return home.
To be sure, he did give the detective a message, which purported to come from the jealously guarded financier. It was to the effect that all was well, and that Nick and Doctor Vanderpool were not to worry; but that might easily have been made up out of whole cloth.
The surgeon’s manner was as irreproachable as ever, and Nick had to confess to himself once more that if Grantley was playing a part, it was a masterly one.
Thus a week of harrowing uncertainty passed.
At the end of it came the crash.
There had been nothing at any time which Nick could properly seize upon as an excuse for action, much as he longed to end the terrible suspense.
Doctor Grantley had the whip hand throughout, and the isolation of the financier, alarming as it was under the circumstances, was nothing more than any surgeon might be expected to insist upon in such a case.
The only departure from that rule occurred on the fifth day, when J. Hackley Baldwin’s confidential secretary received a check, directing him to fill out a check for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, payable to Hiram A. Grantley, and send it to the latter’s house in the Bronx.
The secretary, who was necessarily in the secret, immediately telephoned to Nick. The detective responded at once and carefully examined the note. A microscopic comparison with various documents left no reasonable doubt that the message had actually been written and signed by the millionaire. Not only that, but the handwriting revealed no sign of tremulousness or any other indication that Baldwin had not been himself when he wrote it.
Forgery was plainly out of the question.
Nevertheless, both Nick and the secretary could not help feeling a profound disquiet. The affair struck them as decidedly irregular. It suggested an unseemly haste on Grantley’s part to collect the promisedfee for the operation at a time when Baldwin was still in his power and no one on the outside was in possession of any real evidence that the conditions had been complied with—namely, that the operation had been a success.
Irrespective of his success or failure, however, if Grantley had in any manner influenced Baldwin to take this step, he had acted in a way that no reputable surgeon would have dreamed of doing.
On the other hand, it was quite possible, of course, that Baldwin had acted purely on his own initiative, in order to show, by his prompt payment, the gratitude he felt for his returning sight.
It was another delicate and trying situation.
In the end, Nick advised the secretary to make out the check and send it as requested. There were no obstacles in the way of this, for the millionaire, who had the utmost confidence in his secretary, had signed several checks in blank before entering the private hospital.
Nick reasoned, that, if all was straight, the secretary might get into serious trouble with his dictatorial employer if he failed to carry out the latter’s instructions to the letter. Besides, a quarter of a million was only a drop in the bucket compared with the immense bulk of Baldwin’s fortune. If the millionaire had come to any harm, the money loss would quickly pale into insignificance.
Lastly, the giving of a check and the payment of it are two very different things. Payment of it could be stopped, if necessary; or, on the other hand, the rapidity with which Grantley might try to realize on it,or the use to which he might put it, could be turned to advantage as an indication of the game being played.
It went against the grain, but the check was made out and sent without further delay.
That was on a Friday.
Nick at once set a watch over both Grantley’s bank and Baldwin’s, but they closed on Saturday, without any attempt having been made to catch or deposit the big check.
The delay gave the detective a more favorable impression than anything else had done, for it seemed to show that Grantley was in no hurry to take advantage of the payment, and that implied that the surgeon had no intention of trying to disappear.
But Nick soon changed his mind.
Early Sunday morning, just a week after the operation, Patsy Garvan was on duty as near the Grantley house as he dared to go.
He saw a taxi drive up. Almost immediately Doctor Grantley and his assistant, young Doctor Siebold, helped the millionaire out of the house and into the machine.
Baldwin seemed to be rather feeble or uncertain in his movements, and there were black patches over his eyes.
Patsy was not near enough to ascertain the number of the taxi, which at once started downtown at a rapid rate of speed. Unfortunately, too, there was no other vehicle at hand.
It was hopeless for Patsy to attempt to follow, and, consequently, he did the only thing that was left forhim to do—he ran to the subway terminal, two or three blocks away, and took a downtown train.
Twenty-five minutes later he alighted at the station nearest to Baldwin’s house and started on a sprint toward Fifth Avenue.
He hoped that the millionaire had been taken home, and when he arrived at his destination, he learned, to his great relief, that such was the case.
But the next piece of information he obtained gave him a shock that he was never to forget.
He was given to understand that Mr. Baldwin had arrived in a most alarming condition—and all alone.
The financier had presented a startling appearance, and was obviously in a dazed condition. He had not recognized any one, and had had to be carried to his room. Doctor Vanderpool had been summoned at once, but had not yet arrived.
The taxi was still standing at the curb and the driver was inside, having been detained by Baldwin’s secretary.
Patsy gained admittance by using Nick’s name, and soon obtained an interview of a few moments with the distracted secretary, Frank Craven.
“Thank Heaven you’re here!” the latter exclaimed. “I’ve telephoned to Mr. Carter. This is terrible, Garvan, terrible! Mr. Baldwin doesn’t recognize me. He’s in a state of collapse and doesn’t seem to have a spark of intelligence. He’s whimpering like a baby up there. I made the driver wait so that Mr. Carter could see him. He says that two men, who answered the description of Grantley and that precious assistant of his, helped Mr. Baldwin into the cab.”
“Yes, I saw that,” Patsy interrupted. “But where did they leave it?”
“At Lenox Avenue and One Hundred and Twenty-fifth, according to the chauffeur. See what you can get out of the man. He’s downstairs with the servants. Heaven only knows what those fiends have done, Garvan, and they must be found, if the whole world has to be turned upside down to do it! Do what you can—everything you can. I must go back to poor Mr. Baldwin.”
With that Craven turned around and sprang up the stairs.
Patsy hunted up a telephone and called his chief’s number. Chick answered, after being called to the instrument by the detective’s butler.
Garvan explained the situation in a few words, and his fellow assistant promised to speed up to Grantley’s house at once, and try to intercept Hoff and the nurse if they had not already vanished.
It was also arranged that Ida Jones, Nick’s pretty woman assistant, should accompany Chick in the car as far as One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street, where she would drop off, in order to search for the trail there.
Patsy knew that minutes might be priceless things just then, and he felt sure that Nick would sanction the moves made.
As soon as he hung up the receiver he sought the basement, where he found the driver of the taxi surrounded by a knot of excited servants.
The man seemed reliable, and he told a perfectly straight story.
He informed Patsy that he drove for a garage on Boston Road, in the Bronx, and that he had never been called to Doctor Grantley’s house before that morning. The manager had received the order and sent him out.
Patsy did not see fit to tell the chauffeur that he had seen the arrival of the machine at Grantley’s. He allowed the man to tell his story in his own way, and found it accurate, so far as his own observation went.
The driver declared that three men had entered the cab. He described them with sufficient accuracy, and reported that the elder of the two men who had subsequently left the cab had given him Mr. Baldwin’s address.
When the machine reached the corner of Lenox Avenue and One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street, however, the same man—Grantley, in short—had ordered him to stop. The two had alighted without explanation and told him to take the third man to the address given.
The chauffeur had thought it rather strange, but they gave him no time to ask any questions. Instead, they had walked rapidly away to the eastward, along One Hundred and Twenty-fifth.
After noting that and glancing in toward his remaining fare—who seemed sunk in a sort ofstupor—the driver had continued on his way without incident until he had arrived at Baldwin’s house.
He had informed his passenger that their destination had been reached; then, failing to obtain an intelligent answer, he had rung the doorbell and notified the manservant who answered it that he had an old gentleman in the cab, who had been sent to that address.
The servant had gone out to the machine and recognized his master. Pandemonium had then broken loose in the house, and the secretary had been summoned.
That was the gist of the chauffeur’s story, and Patsy’s questionings failed to bring out anything else of importance.
He took the man’s name and address and the number of the taxi. Finally, he instructed the driver to remain where he was until Nick could question him, if desired.
When Patsy returned to the first floor, he found that Doctor Vanderpool had arrived. Nick put in an appearance a few moments later, approved of the measures Patsy had taken, and sent his assistant to the point at which Grantley and Siebold had disappeared.
Thus far, Nick was necessarily in the dark as to just what had happened to the millionaire. For all he knew, Baldwin might be suffering merely from a premature removal to his home. The detective’s instinct told him, however, that something far more sinister than that had occurred.
If there had been nothing wrong, Grantley could never have deserted his patient in any such way andleft him to be taken home in that haphazard fashion, as if he had been a drunkard picked up on the street.
The fears which Nick had tried so long to fight down rose in their might and mastered him at last. He felt sure that something frightful had happened, but he was no nearer an understanding of Grantley’s motive than he had been in the beginning.
The two fugitives—for such he assumed them to be—must be caught at any cost, and to that end the police must be notified and a general alarm sent out.
Nick decided, though, that it would be best to await the result of Doctor Vanderpool’s preliminary examination before taking that step, especially as the delay ought not to be long.
He had one of the servants take him upstairs to the corridor outside of Baldwin’s suite, and sent word to the physician that he was there.
After a wait of ten or fifteen minutes, Vanderpool himself emerged hurriedly. His manner was greatly agitated and his eyes had a look of horror in them.
He took Nick by the arm and nervously drew him aside.
“Good heavens, Carter!” he whispered hoarsely. “This is worse than I feared. Grantley is a fiend—nothing less! I would not have believed it——”
“He has actually done something to Baldwin, then?” Nick demanded quickly.
“He has done his worst,” was the grave reply.
“You mean?”
The physician looked about him. His grip on Nick’s arm became painful, and he leaned closer.
“Mr. Baldwin is a hopeless idiot, I fear,” he announced, in a broken whisper.
The detective gave a gasp of sympathy, and recoiled a step.
“An idiot—literally?” he asked.
Vanderpool nodded.
“There seems to be no doubt about it, unfortunately,” he said. “A second operation was performed several days ago—on his head. I shall send for my X-ray apparatus at once, and until the photographs are developed—which will be done with all possible speed—I cannot, of course, speak with authority. The evidences of the operation are unmistakable, however, and his distressing symptoms alone are sufficient to show, in general, what has happened. Carter, one of the most powerful of our money kings lies there in that room, conscious but bereft of all real intelligence. I believe he would play with a doll if you gave it to him—or a bright-colored ball. And yet it isn’t enough to say that he has only the mind of a child. That wouldn’t be fair to the children, unless one had reference only to newborn babies. Heaven help him, his is now only the mind of the imbecile—or, in other words, no mind at all that is worthy of the name!”
“Is it possible?”
“It is more than that—it is true, man! That monster has stolen more—infinitely more—than all of Baldwin’s wealth: he has stolen part of his brain—and no power on earth can restore it!”
Words were powerless to express the detective’s horror of the crime. His face showed the depth ofhis feelings, however, as well as of his determination to bring the merciless surgeon to justice.
“And the eyes?” he asked, after a pause.
“Oh, Grantley has kept his promise, curse him! That only makes it seem worse. He has played to his heart’s content with one of the most precious lives we have to-day. The devilish irony of it! He has given Baldwin his sight, collected his huge fee—and then reduced his patient to a mere brainless hulk! The villainy of it almost passes belief!”
Nick could only agree, his blood running cold at the thought. The next moment it surged feverishly through his veins. He vowed to catch Grantley and his accomplices again if it should be his last act on earth.
He waited to hear no more, but sought the telephone and called up police headquarters. One of the deputy commissioners was on duty at the time, and Nick soon had the satisfaction of being assured that all of the machinery of the department would be put into motion at once.
No more than an hour had elapsed since Grantley and Siebold had alighted from the taxi in Harlem. Surely they could not have put any great distance between their pursuers and themselves. Besides, Patsy and Ida Jones were doubtless already at work at the scene of their disappearance.
Nick had barely hung up the receiver before the phone bell rang. As none of the servants was at hand, the detective answered it. He was not surprised to recognize Chick’s voice on the wire.
“Hello, Chick!” he said. “What’s the word?”
“The roosts are empty, chief,” was the disappointed answer. “I’m telephoning from Grantley’s house now. I found it empty and broke in. The people next door tell me that Hoff and the nurse skipped out in another taxi not more than ten minutes after Mr. Baldwin was taken away.”
“Which way did they go?”
“North, curiously enough—in the opposite direction from that taken by the others.”
“Have you found out whether the car came from the same garage?”
“I just telephoned. The garage people say they sent only one car to this address this morning.”
“Well, phone a description of the German and Miss Rawlinson down to police headquarters. I’ve already notified Deputy Commissioner Leith, and the hunt is on in earnest. Then try to find the garage. Call up my house every half hour or so. I may want you.”
The detective was about to leave the Baldwin residence when he was informed that a messenger had just brought him a note, directed in care of Baldwin’s secretary, and had left without waiting for an answer.
The “note” proved to be simply an envelope, directed in Doctor Grantley’s characteristic hand, and containing a number of small fragments of torn paper.
The detective had pieced together only a few of the bits when he gave an exclamation of amazement.
Grantley had sent him Baldwin’s check for the quarter of a million dollars, torn into pieces!
What in the world did it mean?
This new development was certainly startling in the extreme, and even more incomprehensible in its way, if that were possible, than the appalling crime itself.
It was unnecessary for Nick to piece the check together in its entirety in order to be fairly certain that it had not been cashed. Any one with the slightest knowledge of banking methods would have understood at a glance that the check had either never been deposited, or else that it had been stolen afterward. There is no legitimate way in which a payer’s check can fall into the hands of the payee after the money has been paid, except when payer and payee are one and the same.
Moreover, in the ordinary course, supposing Grantley had cashed or deposited the check at once, it would not even have returned to Baldwin in such a short time.
To make absolutely sure that it had not been stolen from the bank after being deposited, Nick arranged all of the fragments, not because he believed it necessary, but for the purpose of eliminating any such possibility at once.
As he had anticipated, the back of the check bore neither indorsement nor bank stamp of any sort.
Grantley had deliberately torn up the equivalent of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars—a fortune initself—and sent the fragments to his greatest enemy as a challenge of some sort.
But why?
The surgeon’s act promised to prove itself one of the most difficult puzzles of a case that had, all along, been full of unusual problems.
Both Grantley and the tragically obstinate millionaire himself had scored most heavily against the detectives when they had argued that the promised reward was so tempting that it made double-dealing out of the question. And yet, Grantley had now spurned that reward in the most contemptuous manner, after he had apparently brought pressure to bear on Baldwin in order to obtain the check two days before.
At this point Nick’s thoughts took a new turn.
How was the note to the millionaire’s secretary to be explained, he asked himself.
He still felt sure that Baldwin had written it, but if so, it was obvious that it had not been written since the operation on the financier’s head.
If Doctor Vanderpool were not greatly mistaken, the millionaire was not in a condition to know his own name, much less to write and sign a note without a tremor or a single false stroke.
Had the second operation been performed in the last two or three days? Apparently not, for Vanderpool was authority for the statement that the marks of it were several days old.
Nick had the note with him, and he examined it anew. It stood every test, as before, but there was one fact about it which, the detective had previously noted, became significant: It was not dated.
That had not appeared to mean anything of importance up to that time, but in the light of recent revelations it suggested that the note had been written soon after Baldwin’s arrival at the private hospital, before either operation had taken place.
If that had been the case, no element of gratitude could have entered into the matter. And not only that, Baldwin was a shrewd man of affairs, and would never have consented to write such a note except in return for value received.
In other words, it became startlingly clear to the detective that the financier had not been himself when he had written to Craven.
But what about the sureness of the handwriting, which had always been characteristic of Baldwin, despite his handicap of blindness?
That would have puzzled almost any other detective in the country, but it did not long stand in Nick Carter’s way.
His mind played over the various possible theories with lightninglike rapidity and quickly focused upon one, which alone answered every requirement.
The note must have been written and signed at Grantley’s dictation while his distinguished patient was under hypnotic influence.
Men of Baldwin’s type are not usually susceptible to hypnotism, but the financier had trusted Grantley implicitly, and, doubtless, had never known the base use to which the surgeon had put his confidence.
He probably had been unaware that he was being hypnotized, and, of course, had had no recollectionof writing the note when Grantley had restored him to consciousness.
As for the normal character of the handwriting, that was easily explained. Baldwin had been accustomed for years to write without seeing what he wrote. Therefore, the peculiar condition of the hypnotic sleep would not have modified his handwriting to any such extent as would have been the case with an ordinary person. In fact, they would not necessarily have modified it at all, any more than they modify one’s voice, or walk, or manner of using the hands.
All of this, however, failed to explain the trouble Grantley had evidently taken to procure the note and check, and his strange action in subsequently destroying the latter.
He had laid himself open to suspicion by his unprofessional eagerness to collect his fee, and, seemingly, all to no purpose, unless he had merely desired to keep the detective and Doctor Vanderpool guessing. But surely his motive went deeper than that.
It now appeared obvious that his motive had been one of revenge, but that did not account for the failure to keep the huge sum he had obtained. He was believed to be a comparatively poor man, one to whom a cool quarter of a million would have meant a good deal.
Whatever his reason for committing so ruthless and revolting a crime, why had he not kept his ill-earned fee? It could hardly be that he had any moral scruples about doing so. Nick had sometimes suspected that Grantley was merely the tool of one or more of the millionaire’s financial rivals, but the fact that he hadlooked elsewhere for his pay need not have prevented him from putting his hand into the pockets of his employers and his victim.
The most likely theory seemed to be that the surgeon had realized, too late, that he was probably being watched and would not be allowed to make away with the proceeds of the check. In that case he might have seen that it was practically valueless to him, and suddenly decided to tear it up and send it to the detective—a spectacular act of defiance that would have been characteristic enough of him.
But even that explanation involved many difficulties.
Grantley was not the man to have failed to look ahead and take account of all the difficulties in advance. That was one objection, and there were others almost equally as strong.
On the whole, therefore, the detective was obliged to admit to himself that this last tangle in the line would be far from easy to unravel.
Fortunately, however, it might be ignored for the present, and later on it was possible that it could be cut out instead of untangled. In other words, whatever the motive, the crime had undoubtedly been committed by Grantley and his assistant, with the connivance of the nurse, at least.
Consequently, the hunt for motives could well wait until after the hunt for the men themselves had been carried to a successful conclusion.
Grantley and Siebold had obtained very little start—hardly more, if any, than they would if they had attempted to cash the check. That fact told heavily in the detectives’ favor, but, on the other hand, Nickrealized that he was not dealing with ordinary criminals.
The very fact that Grantley had been satisfied with such an apparently unsatisfactory get-away, knowing that the driver of the taxi would doubtless tell all he knew as soon as he was questioned, indicated that the fugitives were either plain fools or else that they had something up their sleeves which gave them unusual confidence in their ability to escape the net.
Grantley was certainly not a fool, and Nick was prepared for some extraordinary matching of wits.
He left the mansion of the stricken millionaire and set to work at once.