Five minutes after Nick had driven away from the spot where the encounter had taken place, a dozen rough-looking men had come from the woods and were looking around to see if they could find any trace of the detectives.
They were piloted around by the chauffeur of the taxi, who declared that the two officers had been assaulted and thrown to the ground by Meloy and himself.
“You see,” said the fellow, as he stopped at the side of the road, “we had a desperate fight with the two cops, but we were more than a match for them.”
“But where are they?” asked one of the party.
“Right back of where you are standing,” the other answered.
The party looked back of the woods, but were not able to find any trace of the two detectives; they turned on the driver and were going to call him to account when they saw that he had been injured and that he was out of his mind.
The beating that Nick Carter had given him was too much for him, trained athlete that he was.
“Where is Meloy?” one of the men asked.
“I don’t know,” replied the chauffeur.
“I supposed that Meloy was a match for any detective on the force,” said one of the fellows when Meloy’s insensible body was found.
“He is a match for any ordinary man,” replied the other, “but you can’t expect him to whip a man like Nick Carter.”
“You don’t mean to say that Nick Carter is on the case that has so long baffled the police, do you?”
“Yes, the case has been turned over to him, and I tell you, boys, that we have got to be very careful, or we will find that we are up against a losing game,” said one of the older men.
“I think that the best thing that we can do,” spoke up the leader of the gang, “is to wait for this detective and blow out his brains. I tell you that he is a dangerous man, and the sooner we are rid of him the safer it will be for us.”
“You are right,” came a voice from out the darkness.
“Benny the Bum by all the imps in the place below,” said the leader.
“You are mistaken, Hall, it is not Benny the Bum, but Jack Weeden, at your service,” said the voice.
As he stepped out into the light of a lantern that the leader carried, Jack Weeden looked like the old tramp that had been on the side of the road when the fight began that afternoon.
His make-up was wonderful, and when he commenced to talk, as the tramp had done in the afternoon, the gang were more surprised than ever, as none of them had seen their leader in the disguise before, and, although they had had orders to obey the tramp, they did not know who he was until now.
Hall laughed at how his chief had fooled him, andthe others could hardly restrain a cheer at the cleverness of the man who ruled them.
“What orders have you to give us now?” asked the leader.
“I want you to find Nick Carter, and when you do——”
“All right, sir, we will do the rest.”
“But where did he go?”
“He left in the motor car with the inspector, and he will probably go to some doctor’s.”
“Part of you fellows stay here and attend to the men who are hurt, and the rest of you go to where Nick Carter has taken the inspector, which you will probably find is the first doctor on the road as you enter Brooklyn.”
“All right, sir, we are off.”
Jack Weeden watched them as they went off up the road; a satisfied smile was on his lips; he knew that if these men ever got Nick Carter in their clutches, the detective’s life was to be the forfeit for the manner in which he had injured their comrades.
When Nick Carter left the doctor’s house he was buried in thought. The events of the day had occurred so quickly that he had hardly had time to figure out in his mind the best thing to do next.
In the first place, what did it mean that Weeden should turn up in the company of Billy Young, the burglar?
What was their object in killing Tom Sweet? Was it possible that they had been seen going somewhere that would have betrayed them?
The visit to the morgue, and the killing of the driver of the ambulance, showed that they knew that he was on the case; also it was evident that they feared that when he took up the case that he would be able to discover the guilty ones.
The great detective, as he walked along, pondered over the various aspects of the strange case. The murders had all been committed by using strange pieces of steel dipped in poison of some kind. As the detective revolved the case in his mind three important questions presented themselves: Who had imported the poison? How had the pieces of steel been driven into the bodies of the murdered men? What object actuated the murderers?
A visit to the scene of the crimes would perhaps throw some light on the matter.
“I will visit the spot to-morrow,” thought Nick; “asearch of the woods in the daytime might show something that would give me a clew on which to work.
“I will be better prepared when I go there to-morrow,” said Nick, to himself. “I will get a hold of that beggar if he is anywhere around, and I will see if he knows anything about the murders. It may be that he is the man that has committed the crimes.
“I am sure of one thing, and that is that he is a fraud, pure and simple. Another thing that I must do is to get a hold of the crook, Billy Young, and see what he knows about the killing of my man yesterday.”
If Nick Carter had seen the machine that went by the doctor’s house, while he was inside, he would not have been so sure of reaching the spot in the woods where the murders were committed.
The men who had been sent by Jack Weeden were in the machine.
Of course Nick did not know this.
He drove on, thinking of the things that he had to do.
The vehicle swayed from side to side as it rattled over the cobblestones; this did not worry Nick, as his thoughts were too much taken up by other things.
He had reached the park, when the car gave a sudden lurch and toppled over on its side.
It was smashed to pieces.
That Nick was not killed seemed to him to be a miracle.
He alighted in a ditch, which had been partly filled by the rain. Almost suffocated, he crawled out of the ditch, only to find himself grasped by several brawny hands.
The truth flashed upon him. The smashing of his car had been deliberately planned.
While he was struggling with his captors he thought to himself: “This is some more work of Jack Weeden.”
He struggled for a few minutes with a semblance of resistance; he did not want to display too much strength before he had time to reflect.
His captors thought that his fall had taken his strength, and very slightly loosened their hold on him.
This was exactly what Nick had wanted them to do.
With a sudden wrench he tore himself free, and gave the man nearest to him a smashing blow in the face that sent him to the ground.
It was a good beginning.
He rained blow after blow on those nearest him, until he had cleared a circle.
Then, for the first time, did the would-be assassins give vent to their feelings. They raved and cursed as they saw him fell one after another of their comrades.
“Kill him!” yelled a voice.
“Shoot the detective!” screamed another.
“Stab him to the heart!”
“Hit him on the head with a club!”
A shot whizzed by Nick’s head; it was too close for comfort.
He suddenly remembered that he had taken a revolver from the body of the man that the inspector had killed that afternoon; he would use it.
Had his fall into the ditch ruined it?
Nick concluded that he would see.
His assailants were rushing toward him again; by the light of the lantern he could see that they were armed; he must do something to save his life.
Taking aim as well as he could in the uncertain light, he aimed at the man who was nearest him.
He fired.
The man who received the shot gave a scream and fell to the ground, shot through the heart.
Nick fired another shot; another yell gave evidence that this one had also hit the mark.
Nick had forgotten the man that he had sent to the ground with a smash when he was first attacked.
The fellow had revived and was creeping up on Nick, when, suddenly, there was a blinding flash, and the outlaw dropped to the ground a charred and shapeless mass.
It was the work of Providence.
Once more had right triumphed.
Hall and his comrades were panic-stricken; they could not seem to realize what had happened.
It was an instant before Nick fully realized the danger that had threatened him.
He had heard the terrific report and had seen the ball of fire as it descended, but he did not know for a moment that the man had been creeping up behind him until he saw the stone in his hand.
The men were at the detective again.
Suddenly the noise of horses’ hoofbeats were heard.
Hall, the leader of the outlaws, cried to his men: “It is the police; fly!”
The rascals jumped the hedge and disappeared into the park.
Was it the mounted police?
Nick listened, but the noise had ceased.
He then went to look at the motor car; it was a shattered wreck.
“I guess that was one of the closest shaves that I have had in a long time,” said Nick.
A small electric pocket flash lay on the roadside where it had been dropped by one of the men who attacked Nick.
The detective picked it up and proceeded to look over the scene of battle.
The first thing that he saw was the body of the first man that he had shot.
Nick turned him over and flashed the light in his face.
It was covered with blood; Nick wiped it away; he thought that it might be either Jack Weeden or the burglar, Billy Young.
It was neither.
“Fred Rowe,” exclaimed Nick, as he recognized the features of the corpse. “A more unprincipled scoundrel never lived. A man of good family and excellent position, he took to bad companionship, and this is his end.”
About a dozen feet farther down the road he saw the body of the man who had been stricken down by the thunderbolt.
His features had been so badly burned that Nick was unable to recognize who it had been.
While Nick was looking at the man who lay at his feet, he was seized from behind and dashed to the ground.
All of the breath was knocked out of his body by the fall.
“I guess that this is my finish,” he bitterly reflected. “I should have been more careful; I did not think that they would return.”
Nick was wrong. It was not Hall and his gang that had returned.
“Sallie, drat you! Why don’t you bring me that rope so that I can tie this critter?”
The tones in which these words were said convinced Nick that the people who had caught him were not members of the Hall band, or, if they were, they talked differently from any of the others.
“I wonder who they are?” asked Nick, of himself.
“Gosh hang it, will you hurry with that rope? I don’t want to sit here all night.”
“I reckon that you are an old crank; I have dropped it.”
“Well, hurry up and find it! I don’t want to sit on this feller; he is too slippery.”
This conversation would have been very amusing to Nick were it not for the fact that his unknown captor was sitting on his head and his face was being pressed down into the mud.
When Nick had recovered his breath, he asked, as best he could, if his captor did not think that it would be a good idea to let him up.
“I reckon that you must take me for a fool,” said the man. “I had trouble enough to get you down, to go and let you set up.”
“But you have got the wrong man,” persisted Nick.
“I am too old a bird to be caught by such fine talk. Didn’t I catch you right in the act?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” said Nick.
“Why, I caught you right in the same old trick of robbing people, and I don’t know but that you are the fellow that has been doing the killing around these parts.”
“Say, are you ever coming with that rope?” yelled the fellow to the woman. “Do you suppose that I asked you to get it for fun? You are slower than a freight train.”
As he turned to see if the woman had yet secured the rope, he eased up somewhat on Nick.
The detective had been waiting for this.
He drew himself together, and, with a tremendous effort, hunched his knees together and threw the fellow sprawling several paces distant, where he landed in a pool of water.
The woman had come up with the lantern now, and she was the picture of astonishment when she saw Nick standing up and her companion over in the water.
“Well, I say, who might you be?” she asked.
“I might be a good many people, but I am somebody else,” answered Nick laughingly.
“Whoever you are, there is one thing certain, and that is that you are a cool one,” she said.
“I do feel rather cool after having been pressed down into the mud by your husband there,” said Nick Carter.
“Husband, indeed!” she sniffed. “Do you suppose that I would marry an old fossil like that thing over in the water? I reckon I could get finer men than he dares to be.”
“I have not seen his face,” said Nick apologetically.
“If he was a handsome young feller like you,” continued the woman, “I might not mind.”
Nick, for the first time, took a good look at her as she stood in the glare of the lantern.
She was rawboned, with the shoulders of a husky young farmer; her hair was as fiery a red as it could possibly be; her face was disfigured by a scar that ran down the left cheek; her brilliant black eyes were the only redeeming feature of the woman’s face.
Her voice was the thing that had attracted Nick—it was discordance itself.
“I reckon you must be pretty strong to throw theold man,” she continued, with a chuckle. “He is forever bragging about how good he can rastle, and this will take him down a peg or two. He’s forever blowing about how strong he is, and how he used to win all the matches at the corner store. I am fur you, if you go at him again.”
Nick Carter looked at the woman in silence for a few minutes, and then he asked:
“What was the object of your father trying to hold me down on the ground? I have no money, and he would not get anything of value from the few papers that I have in my clothes?”
“First of all, let me tell you that he ain’t my father, nor my husband; he is just an ordinary fourth cousin. He did not want to rob you at all, but I suppose that he wanted to stop you robbin’ somebody else.”
“Oh, he took me for a robber?” asked Nick. “Do you think that I am a robber?”
“No, I don’t think that you are a robber. I think that you are one of them fellers that goes around looking fur robbers,” was the woman’s startling reply.
“What makes you think that?” asked Nick.
“Oh, that was easy. I knew that as soon as I saw you.”
“But how did you know that I was an officer?”
“Why, when your coat flew back I saw your badge, and that is how I told.”
“Why did you not tell your cousin to let up on me, if he is an honest man?”
“I suppose that I had ought to have done it, but he has been so much on the bragging line lately that I thought that I would see if he could really rastle. You looked like a husky chap, and I saw a chance to test him,” responded the woman, with a laugh.
Nick’s attention was now called to the man that he had thrown over into the pool of water.
The fellow had crawled out and was coming for Nick.
“I suppose you think that I am a durned fool. I was pretty hasty when I saw you,” he said.
“You were a bit hasty,” assented the detective, “but I think that you got as good as you gave, and so we will call it even.”
“Yes, I think, Mr. Officer, that you gave him a good deal better than he gave you, and I am right glad, as it will keep his mouth shet for a while,” put in Sallie.
“Women has too much to say in this day, so you had better take a reef in your jaw,” growled the fellow, as he scraped the mud off of his clothes.
Nick, upon questioning the man, found that he lived on a farm a few miles from Brooklyn, and that he had passed the scene of the murders each day as he went to market with his produce.
He had been going to market that evening, so that he would get a better price for his things, and had heard the pistol shots. When he did, he hurried his horses until he was almost to the spot where the fight took place, and then he concluded that it would be safer to go ahead on foot and find out what was going on.
It was the noise of his horses that had frightened Hall and his gang.
“You see that, when I came up into the road and saw you bending over the body of that fellow there, I thought that I had captured the man that had committed the murders that have stirred up the countryround here, and I concluded that I would take him into the city and turn him over to the police.”
“If you live so near the scene of the murders you must know something about them, or, at least, you have heard some of the folks around talk of them, so tell me what you know,” said Nick.
“Yes,” assented the fellow, “I have heard some talk of the murders, and lots more about the robbers who are making life miserable for the people around here.”
“How is it that you are not afraid of them?” asked Nick.
“Because the people around here know that I am pretty husky myself, and that when I get my money for the stuff that I sell in the city I put it in the bank.”
“Then some of the other people who live around here have not been so fortunate as you?” asked Nick.
“I should say not. There was Farmer Grout, who was robbed of over three hundred dollars, night before last; they took his gold watch and chain, too.”
“Did Grout report the matter to the police?”
“He? No, he was too scared, and, besides, the people around here are so terrified that they would rather submit to any loss than have the ill feeling of the desperate band that is making things so hot around Astoria for the people that pass the woods near the automobile repair shop of Jack Weeden.”
“Well, I suppose that Weeden knew of the robberies, then?” asked Nick.
“I didn’t say that he did, did I?”
“No, you did not say that he did, but don’t you think that he did?” persisted Nick.
“I would hardly like to say that, as Weeden has the reputation of being an honest man.”
“I don’t think that he is as good as folks think,” put in the woman Sallie.
“Shet up,” said the farmer, “you women talk too much, and your tongues often get you and your folks into a lot of trouble that you needn’t get into. I don’t know much about the man,” he added, to Nick.
“I guess that this fellow is about as scared of the man Weeden as are the rest,” thought Nick.
“It seems that you, Miss Sallie, are not afraid of this man that seems to have inspired the community with such dread.”
“You can just bet that I am not scared of him, and Harry Block knows it as well as any of the rest of them,” said Sallie.
“And pray who is Harry Block?” asked Nick.
“That is my name,” spoke up the farmer; “but I wouldn’t pay attention to what she says, as you ought to know that wimmenfolks talks too much; they are very undescreet.”
“My, what a long tail our cat has got all of a sudden,” said Sallie scornfully.
“Will you shet your mouth?” growled the farmer; “you talk too gosh-darned much, I tell you.”
“I know a darn sight more about it than you want me to tell.”
“Won’t you please keep quiet?” the man growled. “Are you going to Brooklyn?” he asked, turning to Nick, who had been listening attentively to the conversation.
“Yes, I am going to Brooklyn, but I would like to hear more about this man that your cousin seems to know so much about.”
“Do you suspect him of robbing that man the other night?”
“He might have had a hand in it if he did not do it himself,” said Nick.
“Well, seein’ as Sallie appears to know all about it, I would suggest that she tell you what she knows; she is so all-fired smart,” said the farmer sullenly.
“Ain’t you ashamed of yourself!” exclaimed the woman. “Why don’t you be honest and tell the detective all about it? That is the only manly thing to do. There is no harm in telling him what you know, as you had nothing to do with it, and it may help him run down the people that he is looking for.”
“Did you ever see such a woman in your life? She will be saying next that I am the man that did the robbery, myself. Bless me, if I would marry a woman like you for a million dollars.”
“Ha, ha! that is funny. You forget that you have been asking me to marry you every day for the last ten years, and that I have always told you that I would sooner marry a tadpole than you,” said Sallie.
“Well, let’s go up the road, as we are only losing time standing here and listening to the chatter of that fair cousin of mine.” Saying which, Block took the lantern from Sallie’s hand, and, motioning to Nick to follow, led the way up the road.
What was the reason of the farmer not wanting to talk about Weeden?
Was it because he was afraid of him, or was it possible that he, too, was mixed up with the gang and afraid to talk?
“I will get this man to talk before I am through with him, or my name is not Nick Carter,” said Nick to himself, as they reached the wagon.
When the farm wagon had reached the park, Nick commenced to talk about one thing and another, cunningly putting in from time to time questions about the murders and about Weeden.
“Is Astoria a healthy place?” asked Nick, as a starter.
“I reckon it is healthy enough for some people,” said the farmer.
“Not for such men as your friend that was relieved of his pocketbook, is it?” asked Nick, with a laugh.
“No, I hardly think that it is, although it is better than getting a bullet in you,” was the answer.
“Are there many doctors around here?”
“No, there ain’t any regular doctors around here, that I know of, excepting the ones at the asylum, and they are so thundering high-priced that it is cheaper for a man to die than to go to them, so most of the people around here either goes without doctoring or else dies.”
“I suppose that you are all healthy, and seldom need a doctor.”
“Most of us are in pretty good shape, and seldom need anything excepting a dose of physic now and then; there is Grout, the man that was robbed the other night—he has been sick ever since, at least he says that he is sick, although I think that the losing of his money is the thing that is the matter with him.”
“Indeed?”
“Yes, and the day after he got touched up for his money he went into town and bought himself a medicine chest filled with all sorts of funny-looking things. There was lots of curious-shaped things in the instrument line; there was a lot of funny-looking medicines that I have never seen the like of in any drug store, and a book telling you the effects of poisons. He did not mean me to see that, but when his back was turned I took a peep at the book.”
“What do you suppose that he wants with all this stuff? He would not be allowed to practice medicine without a license from the State?”
“Practice nothing. Why the old fool cannot write his name.”
It was plain to Nick Carter that there was something back of this that would be worth looking into.
Farmer Grout was evidently a man that it would be worth while watching; he, too, might be one of the band that had been terrorizing the neighborhood, and then might he not be the man that had furnished the poison that had tipped the steel projectiles that had been found in the bodies of the men who were found within a few yards of the home of Jack Weeden?
If he was connected with the gang, he would probably need something with which to patch up the members of it when they were wounded, and he might be a skillful surgeon who had allied himself with this band of outlaws and posed as a farmer to throw off suspicion. The robbery, too, might have been part of the scheme to put the authorities off the scent, if at any time they should find out anything that tended to point the finger of suspicion at him. It was evidentthat this man, Weeden, had as carefully a selected gang of villains as could be found in the United States.
“We were speaking of Jack Weeden a few moments ago,” said Nick; “tell me, who is his doctor?”
The farmer looked worried.
“I don’t know anything about him, as I have told you,” was the sullen reply.
“Don’t you think that as a neighbor you ought to know? Suppose you were asked to go for the doctor for him some night, what would you do?”
“I suppose that if I was asked to go for the doctor,” replied the farmer slowly, “I would—well, to tell you the truth, I don’t know what I would do.”
Sallie giggled.
It was just barely audible, but the quick ears of Nick Carter heard it.
“I wonder what there is so funny in that?” Nick asked himself. “I suppose that the woman thinks that Block is going to pull the wool over my eyes. Well, here is where I will fool them.”
Nick concluded that the best thing he could do was to play on the vanity of the woman.
“Of course, with all respect to you, Mr. Block, I suppose that you leave all the thinking that you have to do to your cousin, Miss Sallie, who seems to be very quick in grasping the meaning of the questions that I have asked.”
Sallie simpered and looked as pleased as her vinegar-like features would allow her.
“Didn’t I tell you that I always was much smarter than you are?” she said to her cousin.
“Didn’t Jack Weeden ever do any work for you or your cousin?” asked Nick, of the woman.
“Yes, he has done work for me two or three times; he fixed the wheels of my bicycle, but each time that he did it he kept it so long that I thought that perhaps he sent it into town to have it done there. He didn’t seem to know exactly what to do with it when I took it to him, and he said that he would have to have one of his men fix it, as he had several other jobs on hand,” was her reply.
“When automobiles have come to his shop to be repaired, who generally did the work?” asked Nick.
“One of his men usually did, while he either looked on or else went into the shop and pretended to be fixing the forge.”
It was evident that the automobile shop was a blind.
The great farm wagon was going along toward Brooklyn slowly, the lights in the distance were growing brighter as the party approached the city.
Suddenly Nick turned to the farmer, and said: “I didn’t suppose for a moment that you would tell me anything that I wanted to know about Jack Weeden, or any of his gang, but I thought it best to ask you before I decided on my course of action. I will give you another chance to tell me the truth, and I can assure you that it will be to your interest to tell me all that you know. I will be fair with you, and I intend that you shall be honest with me.”
The only reply that he received was a muttered oath from Block.
“Go on!” commanded Nick.
“What the devil are you driving at?” finally asked the farmer.
“I want to know what you know about this man Weeden and his gang, and I want the truth.”
“Anybody would think that you thought that I was in league with the band of outlaws!” cried the farmer, in alarm.
“How do you know that there is a band of outlaws here?” asked Nick suddenly.
The farmer was confused.
He turned to the woman and said: “Sallie, you are a she-devil. This is all your fault, and you havegot to take the consequences. I will never forgive you for what you have done, drat you.”
“You must not blame the lady,” said Nick quietly; “she has done the thing that will be the best for you, and she has shown very good judgment. I am going to have the truth from you before we part at the Brooklyn police headquarters.”
“You don’t mean to say that you are going to arrest me, do you?”
“That will depend largely upon yourself,” replied Nick.
“I like your gall, to talk to me like that, and especially as you are riding in my rig; I have half a mind to throw you out.”
“I would not do that if I were you,” Nick calmly replied.
“Then you get off my wagon right away!”
“I don’t think that I shall.”
Block leaped to his feet and aimed a heavy blow with his whip at Nick.
“Don’t do that. Stop it, I say!” came in terrified tones from Sallie.
Swish!
The whip cut through the air where Nick a moment before had been.
He had stepped to one side as he saw the farmer prepare to strike.
The farmer, overbalanced by his savage move, had fallen out after the whip.
“My heavens! He is killed!” screamed Sallie.
“No, he is not; it would take a harder fall than that to kill your worthy cousin,” said Nick reassuringly.
Nick leaped lightly to the ground, and, gathering the farmer in his arms, he tossed him back into the wagon.
It was as pretty a piece of athletic work as Nick had ever done.
Sallie sat with her mouth open. When she recovered from her surprise, she said:
“No wonder my cousin could not hold you down when he was on top of you in the road.”
As soon as the farmer was able to get his breath, he sat up and looked at Nick as if that worthy were a creature from some other planet.
Finally he managed to say:
“You are a wonder. Tell me how you did it, and I will give you ten dollars.”
“You will tell me all that I want to know before we discuss the other matter,” said Nick.
“You can’t make me talk unless I want to,” growled Block.
“No; but I can lock you up, and keep you there until you will.”
“Oh, no, you can’t.”
“Consider yourself my prisoner, then,” Nick said sternly.
“What am I charged with?” demanded the farmer.
“Of being an accomplice of Jack Weeden and his gang.”
“Of what are they guilty?”
“Murder.”
“You had better tell the man all that you know about that gang,” said Sallie. “I told you that you had better keep away from that crowd, but you wouldpersist in mixing up with them; now you see what is the result; you will be dragged off to jail, and I won’t have anybody to fuss with.”
“There will be one grain of comfort in that, to say the least,” remarked the farmer grimly.
Block thought a moment, and then, at the urgent solicitation of Sallie, told Nick all that he knew about Weeden and the beggar.
The wagon had gotten to the ferry, when it was compelled to stop. A great crowd of people blocked the street. They were shouting and struggling.
What was the trouble?
Nick jumped off of the wagon and dashed into the crowd; he was followed by the farmer.
As he reached the center of the crowd, he saw the body of a woman lying on the ground. She was dying from a pistol wound that had been inflicted by her jealous husband.
The husband stood near, looking at her unconcernedly as she lay there, the blood flowing from her wounds.
“Lynch the brute!” came from a voice in the crowd.
“Burn him!” cried another.
“Shoot the demon!”
“Somebody get a rope!”
“I’ve got one here,” came from a voice in the crowd. “Let me get through!”
Nick Carter started back as if he had been struck by lightning.
The voice was that of Jack Weeden!
Nick looked at the man a minute, and then sprang at him like a tiger.
“Jack Weeden, you are my prisoner!” he cried.
“What do you mean, sir?” gasped the man. “My name is not Weeden; it is Wright.”
The mob, thinking that it was a ruse to keep them from getting their prey, turned angrily on Nick.
“He is an accomplice!” they shouted. “Lynch him, too!”
With frenzied cries, they turned upon Nick, who still hung on to his prisoner.
The farmer fought by Nick’s side, and did splendid work in holding back the crowd.
There were too many for the two men, strong as they were, and one of the leaders of the mob had thrown a rope over Nick’s head, when a patrol wagon filled with policemen dashed around the corner.
“Let the police deal with them,” said one or two of the cooler heads in the crowd.
Some of the mob, angered at the loss of a chance to lynch somebody, tried to reach the detective, but were driven back.
One of the officers recognized Nick, and, swinging his club, shouted:
“I know this man; he is all right; fall back!”
The officer also recognized Wright as being a crockery dealer on Maple Street.
Nick could not understand it. The features, the voice, the actions, and the build were those of Jack Weeden.
Nick Carter had never made a mistake in the identification of a man.
Could it be possible that he was wrong now?
With an apology to the man whom he could have sworn was Jack Weeden, Nick once more fought his way through the excited crowd.
He went back to see what had become of Harry Block, the farmer. The wagon and its two occupants were gone.
Nick was inclined to be angry, but after a moment laughed, and said:
“Well, the fellow saved my life, and, besides that, I can pick him up at almost any time.”
All round him was the scene of conflict.
Suddenly a bloodcurdling yell was heard. The mob, angry at being robbed of its prey, had turned on the policemen that were in the center and a terrific struggle was on.
The police were using their clubs to clear a passage that they might take the prisoner they had to the patrol wagon that was waiting for them at the corner.
The prisoner that they had was the man that had shot his wife.
The poor wretch was bleeding from a dozen different wounds that he had received at the hands of the mob. His hat had been torn from his head and his clothes were in shreds.
The man was crouching in terror by the side of the brave officers that were endeavoring to protect him from the savage onslaughts of the crowd that was intent on taking his life.
Nick saw that something must be done at once, or the policemen, as well as their prisoner, would be crushed to death under the heels of the infuriated crowd.
“Down with the police!” yelled a woman, from a point of vantage on the sidewalk. “They are protecting a murderer!”
A volley of paving stones followed this advice.
More than one brave policeman fell senseless to the ground.
Nick was enraged beyond measure when he saw one great, burly ruffian draw a revolver from his pocket and point it at the head of the officer who was nearest to him. Before Nick had a chance to dash the weapon from his hand, he had fired, and the officer fell to the ground a corpse.
The sight seemed to give Nick the strength of a dozen men.
He threw men right and left, until he reached the place where the man stood, the smoking revolver in his hand.
Nick grabbed him by the throat.
The man grew black in the face, and vainly gasped for breath.
Seeing that two other men were coming to the rescue of the man that he held, Nick raised him clear of the ground and hurled him at the oncoming men.
The men dodged, and the fellow struck, headfirst, against a pile of stones that lay on the side of the street.
His skull was fractured.
This served to awe the crowd, but only for amoment. They returned to the attack with greater fierceness than before.
It seemed as if all the officers and Nick would be ground to death under the heels of the maddened throng.
“Heavens! Cannot something be done to stop this hellish work?” cried Nick.
“Since you are so powerful, why don’t you do it yourself?” said a mocking voice at his elbow.
It was the voice of Jack Weeden.
Nick turned, and saw before him the face of Wright, the man he had taken for Jack Weeden but a short time before.
“I am not mistaken,” thought Nick. “That man is Jack Weeden, and I shall take him dead or alive.
“You dog,” he cried, “you are Jack Weeden, and you are my prisoner!”
He made a step forward and clutched at the man’s throat.
As he did so, he was struck on the head with a blackjack in the hands of a man that stood at the side of the automobile repairer.
The man who struck the blow was Billy Young, the companion of Jack Weeden.
Nick sank to the ground insensible.
When Nick came to his senses, he was lying on a cot in the Brooklyn police headquarters. Around him lay the bodies of several men that had been killed in the riot. Several others who had been slightly wounded were sitting around in chairs, talking about the riot.
At the hospitals were a dozen other officers who had been severely injured.
A citizen had seen the rioting, and had sent word to police headquarters, and the timely arrival of the reserves from several station houses had finally checked the outlawry of the crowd.
Nick remembered having tried to catch Wright, or Weeden, by the throat, and all after that was a blank.
The doctor, after examining Nick, told him that the only injury that he had sustained was a small scalp wound and a general shaking up, but advised that Nick take a rest for a day or two.
Nick laughed, and said that he had business on hand that would prevent his taking a rest of more than an hour.
Nick lay on the cot for a few minutes, thinking of the course that he should pursue.
If by any mischance the man that he had tried to arrest was really Wright, what was his object in attacking the detective, and why had he jeered at Nick as he had?
Was there such a man as Wright?
Nick thought it over, and came to the startling conclusion that the man Wright, Weeden, and the old beggar were one and the same.
It was really a triple identity.
Nick closed his eyes to think.
The voices of the policemen around him were heard.
One of them was asking the other about the wife of the man who had been the cause of the trouble.
“How long did she live?” he asked.
“Only a minute or so.”
“How about Small? Did we finally get him to the station house?” asked an officer whose head was wound with bandages.
“Oh, he was brought to the station house more dead than alive; he was scared to death, almost. He is a fine man to be a member of a ‘bad man gang’! Why, he actually was crying from fright when they got him in the wagon.”
“Then that is the fellow that we have been looking for for some time, is it?”
“Yes, that is the chap. We have wanted him for his connection with the gang that has been terrorizing Astoria for several months.”
Nick pricked up his ears. Here was something that interested him.
“It appears,” continued the officer that had been talking, “that there is a man named Weeden, who is at the head of the gang, but nobody has been able to trace him in anything that savors of rascality, and as he has such a reputation among his neighbors for being honest, the people in charge are afraid to make any move against him, although I think that they would beonly too glad to get something on him, as he has been very insolent to the men who have questioned him about the murders that have been committed near his repair shop.”
“Don’t talk too loud,” cautioned the sergeant. “That Manhattan man is in here; they say that he is a crackajack, too. I wonder what case he is working on now?”
“Oh, you mean the man that was talking with the inspector to-day?”
“Yes, that is the one. I have heard some of the men say that it is Nick Carter, the famous detective, but I don’t think that it is he, because I saw him once, while I was working on a case, and this man does not look anything like him at all.”
Nick smiled to himself. The man had once worked with him on a case, and as keen-sighted as he was, he did not penetrate the disguise that Nick wore at the time.
The door of the room opened, and the inspector entered.
As he came into the room, Nick staggered to his feet and looked confusedly around. He appeared as if he had just awakened.
“I see that you are on your feet again,” said the inspector, as he entered the room.
“Oh, yes, I am all right, barring a slight headache,” answered Nick. “I guess I must have had a narrow call at that time, and if it had not been for my usual good luck I would not now be willing to go to work again.”
“I don’t believe that anybody will ever succeed ingiving you your quietus,” said the inspector laughingly.
The inspector asked Nick to step into his private office, that they might discuss the case.
The inspector listened to Nick’s story of the affair attentively, and when he had concluded, he said:
“I have heard of the crockery man, Wright, but have never seen him. I shall have to look him up.
“The peculiar part of the thing that puzzles me is the remarkable resemblance of the men, if, indeed, Wright is not Jack Weeden in disguise.
“But, then, all of my officers who saw the man that you tried to get are ready to swear that the man is Wright, and that his reputation is of the best. According to people in the neighborhood, he has been in business but a short time, but during that period he has succeeded in making a number of friends in the locality where he does business.”
“That may all be true,” responded Nick, “but I have seen many curious things in my long experience, and I am not surprised at anything that happens now. I remember a case where the man that I wanted passed among his neighbors for a woman for several years, and it was not until he met with an accident that his identity was discovered.”
“But is it not possible that two men could be in the same locality at the same time?” asked the inspector.
“Yes; but it is hardly likely that both would be dressed alike, even to the style of collar and necktie.”
“Well, we shall find out in a very short time whether it was Weeden or Wright that you saw. I shall sendone of my men, and have the crockery man brought before us,” said the inspector.
“That will be an excellent plan, and if we find that it is the man we want, then we will have him right here,” declared Nick.
The inspector touched an electric bell on his desk, and an instant afterward an officer entered.
“I want you to tell Edwards to come here at once,” said the inspector.
“Yes, sir.”
A minute or so afterward, a man entered the room.
He was one of the shrewdest men that the inspector had on his staff.
“Edwards, do you know this man Wright?”
“Yes, sir, I do. I was in his store yesterday, buying something for my house.”
“Do you know the automobile repairer, Jack Weeden, who has a place over in Astoria?”
“I do, sir. I rode out that way on a case several weeks ago, and one of the tires on my wheel burst, and I had to stop in his place to have it fixed.”
“I want you to go to Wright’s house and get him and bring him here to me. This is very important, and I want you to say nothing to any of the men about where you are going.”
“I understand, sir, and I will be back as soon as possible.”
After the man had left the room, the inspector turned to Nick and said:
“Well, what do you think of it now, Mr. Carter?”
“I hardly know what to say about it, and, to tell you the truth, I have been so worried over having to leavethe inspector from the New York office that I have not really had time to think out much of anything, especially as I have had such an exciting time since I left him at the doctor’s.”
Nick then related all that had occurred when he and Inspector Ward had visited the repair shop of Jack Weeden.
While waiting for the return of the man Edwards, who had been sent to bring Wright, the crockery man, to headquarters, they discussed the beggar, Jack Weeden, and the gang of ruffians that had been terrorizing Astoria.
“What plan do you propose to follow in the work on this case?” asked Nick.
“I shall have one or two of my men keep an eye on the place, and such other work that you may desire, and such that will not interfere with you in any way,” replied the inspector.
“This is, indeed, ‘Mystery 47,’ and it has been a mystery too long, and I intend to clear it up. I feel that my reputation is at stake, and, besides, I have a private score to settle; you know that they killed one of my men, Tom Sweet, and I am confident that they were at the bottom of the attack that was made on your officers to-day.”
An hour had elapsed since Edwards had taken his departure.
Nick looked at his watch, and suggested that perhaps the man had not found Wright at home, and had been looking him up.
As he said this, the door opened, and Edwards, accompanied by two men, entered the room.
The second man was the doctor that Nick had left Inspector Ward with.
“I am delighted to see you, Mr. Jack Weeden,” the inspector said, as soon as he got a good look at the man standing by Edwards’ side.
“Shut that door, and allow no one to leave the room, unless I tell you so,” and as he said so, he advanced toward the man that he had called Jack Weeden.
The scene was a dramatic one.
On the face of the supposed automobile repairer there was depicted amazement mingled with terror.
His face was ashen, his hands trembled, and he tried to speak, but his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.
The doctor’s face was a study; he was surprised and bewildered.
On the face of Nick Carter there was a quiet smile as he watched the man who had been brought into the station.
The doctor was the first to recover his presence of mind.
“I demand to know what this outrage means?” he cried haughtily. “Is it meant as an insult? If so, I will see that the commissioner of police attends to the matter!”
“I can assure you that it is not meant as an insult, sir; it is a most serious matter, and I would advise you to keep your temper. If there has been a mistake, no one will be the wiser; if there has not, then your friend will be treated as the law provides,” said the inspector.
Turning from the doctor, he faced the man that a moment before he had addressed as Jack Weeden, and said:
“I am sure that I am more than pleased to see you,Mr. Weeden. We have been looking for you all day, and this is an unexpected pleasure, I can assure you.”
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Inspector, but the gentleman that you are talking to is not Mr. Weeden, as you have addressed him,” said the doctor.
“If that is not his name, what is it?”
“My friend’s name is Wright,” replied the physician.
“Why, how singular,” sarcastically said the chief. “I am amazed; I am sure that he is Weeden.”
“Well, I guess that this is one of the times that you are mistaken. This gentleman is an old friend of mine; he is in the crockery business, and I have seen your man Edwards, here, in his store within the last day or two.”
“Who do you think this man is, Edwards?” asked the inspector.
“I really do not know who he is, I am sure. I never met the man until I went into his store to-night, when you sent me after him; he may be Weeden, or he may be Wright. I only know that when I went into the store after him to-night he seemed to act as if he owned the place, and was at the safe putting away some books. He did not seem anxious to come with me, but his friend over there,” nodding in the direction of the doctor, “told him that the best thing he could do would be to come without any delay, as he would then avoid any notoriety. He finally agreed to come if I would let him empty a bottle of chemicals that he had been experimenting with. He said that it was a patent that he was working on, and that he did not want to let any one find out what it was, as, if they did, it would meanthe loss of a great fortune to him. This seemed to be a reasonable request, and so I let him pour the stuff out into a sink that was in the back of the store.”
“That is all that you know about him, is it?”
“Yes, sir.”
The man who was the subject of the discussion broke out into a hearty laugh.
There was a false ring to it, and Nick Carter’s keen ear noted it.
“Then you deny that you are Jack Weeden?” continued the inspector.
“I certainly deny that I am Jack Weeden, or any one else that you may call me, except Mr. Wright. The latter is my name, and I would have you understand that I am not in the habit of masquerading as some one else. I trust that you are through with me, and we shall be allowed to take our departure. This indignity has been great enough without prolonging it.”
“I am here to do my duty, no matter how unpleasant it may be, and until I am satisfied that what you are telling me is the truth I will be compelled to force you to stay.”
“I suppose, then, that the best thing that I can do is to answer your questions, although I want to tell you that you will hear from this.”
“If you are not Jack Weeden, then who are you?”
“My friend has told you who I am, and that should be sufficient.”
The man was evidently playing for time. He wanted to think before he answered any question as to his identity.
“I want you to answer the questions that I put to you,” said the inspector sternly.
“I suppose that I must answer, then. I am Mr. Wright.”
“What is your business?”
“I am in the crockery business, at the place where your man found me to-night.”
“How long have you been in that location?”
“I have been there for a few months.”
“How long have you been in the crockery business altogether?”
“About five years.”
“Where were you in business before you came to this city?”
“I was in business in Washington, D. C.”
“Where was your store located there?”
“Nine-forty-five M Street, Northwest.”
“You are certain of that, are you?”
“I am.”
“Kindly step over to my desk and look at the business directory that you will find in the lower left-hand corner, and see if that address is correct,” said the inspector to Nick.
The face of Wright grew ashen.
Nick saw the change, and concluded that the man was trapped.
Nick opened the directory, and went carefully over the list of Wrights.
“Here it is,” he said: “Wright, crockery, 941 M Street, Northwest.”
A sigh of relief escaped both the doctor and Wright as Nick said this.
“But you said nine hundred and forty-five,” corrected Nick sharply.
“Did I? Well, then, really, I made a slight mistake,” said the man insolently.
His bravado had returned.
“I have visited him there,” spoke up the doctor.
“I was ill there, and I do not like to think of the place,” said Wright.
“Your appearance was that of a sick man when the inspector suggested the directory,” said Nick dryly.
Wright gave Nick a look of hatred which was met with a scornful smile on the face of the detective.
“How did you come to make that mistake?” asked the inspector.
“I just made a slip of the tongue,” answered the man.
“I understand you were at the place where the rioting occurred to-day, and that you were the man that had a rope and wanted to lynch the man who had shot his wife. Is that not true?”
“I was not near the place where the trouble was, I can assure you. I only heard of the trouble in a most casual way.”
“You are perfectly sure of that statement?” persisted the inspector, as he looked at Nick.
“I have already answered that question,” said Wright angrily.
“What would you say if I were to bring a dozen people here that would swear that they saw you there?”
“It would not make any difference to me if you brought a thousand. I could bring twenty or morethat will testify that I did not leave my store until I came here with your man.”
“Did you ever see this man before? Did you see him at the riot, or did you speak to him at that time?” asked the inspector, pointing to Nick.
“I did not see him, for, as I told you, I was not anywhere near where the riot took place. I never saw the man before, and I certainly am not anxious to make his acquaintance.”
Nick and the inspector retired to one corner of the room, and talked over the situation. Legally, they could not hold the man, and Nick decided that he would let the two go, and have one of the department men follow them.
Nick was certain that the man was no other than Jack Weeden, and that the man was playing a desperate game, but he concluded that he had better allow him to depart thinking that he had fooled them than to hold him and have him discharged for lack of evidence.
“You don’t seem to take very much interest in your patients?” said Nick to the doctor, as he and his friend were taking their departure.
“I have had no patients in the last three days,” said the doctor.
“This was the limit,” said Nick to himself. Here were two men that he had seen earlier in the day, and now both of them denied their identity.