“She had come to live in plenty and elegance with a sister to whom she was much attached.
“Then, there is the possibility that the murder was the outcome of an attempt by some fellow, bolder than usual, who managed to get into the carriage, supposing that the woman in it had money or jewelry with her.
“All these possibilities must be examined and run down before I am willing to take up the suspicions of Mrs. Constant as to Masson. But that does not mean that we shall not keep Masson in view.
“These things will be undertaken by Chick and I.”
Nick now went to the desk, and, writing a letter, handed it to Patsy, saying:
“You want to get to work at once, Patsy, while the trail is warm.”
Patsy hurried away, and Ida, saying that, unless the chief had further instructions, she would go, too, followed the lad out of the apartment.
“Now, Chick,” said Nick. “To send Edith to Mrs. Constant, and then you and I will take up the most difficult part of the work.”
In a few moments these two shrewd detectives were on their way to the neighborhood of the Constant residence. As they were riding uptown in the car, Nick said:
“Mrs. Constant’s theory is that Ethel was killed by a person who had intended to kill her, but was misled by the strong resemblance between Ethel and herself.
“That resemblance is great,” admitted Nick. “I was misled by it myself twice—once shortly after I had beenintroduced to Mrs. Constant, and again when Ethel brought that package to me from Blanche Constant.”
“But, chief,” said Chick, “you did not know at that time that Mrs. Constant had a twin sister; the mistake was a natural one. But if Masson was as well acquainted with Mrs. Constant as he seems to be it would be strange if he did not know of that twin sister.”
“And would not have been easily misled,” said Nick. “You have struck a point that must be investigated.”
“And there is a point on the other side,” said Chick. “The hard thing in adopting the theory of Mrs. Constant is that a man of the kind Masson is should commit murder, especially in cold blood.
“Now, suppose that Masson did not know of the twin sister, suppose he climbed into that coach under the notion that Mrs. Constant was in it. Since it was Ethel Romney, she, of course, denied that she was Blanche or that she knew Masson, perhaps, to his anger, leading to the murder and the reason for it.”
“That is,” said Nick, “supposing it to have been Masson, and that he lost his temper, he lost control of himself, in that denial.”
“Yes, that is what I mean,” said Chick.
“Well,” said Nick, “it all means that we have plenty of work to do and a lot of vexatious little inquiries. Whoever it was that got into that coach, whether it was Masson or some one else, in my opinion crept into the coach while it was standing in front of that dressmaker’s establishment to which Ethel Romney went.”
This conversation had occupied the greater portion of their trip uptown.
As they stepped off the car, Nick saw the man Rawson, who was the driver for Mrs. Constant. He appeared to be looking for some one.
Rawson brightened up as Nick approached, and said:
“I have been looking for you, Mr. Carter, because I have got something to say. I have been thinking over that ride last night, and especially since you asked me to-day about its being likely that any one got into that carriage.”
“Yes, have you thought of anything more?” said Nick.
“Well, yes,” said Rawson. “It isn’t much, but, then, I ought to tell you. You see, I didn’t think much when you asked me that question, but since I have.
“The lady was in a great hurry to get back home, and as soon as she got into the carriage from that dressmaker’s I touched up the horses and started off at a good gait.
“I didn’t think much then of it, but I am thinking now that as the lady got into the coach I heard a sort of cry or scream from her, but the door slammed shut right after it, and I was off at once.”
Nick looked at Chick, and the latter said:
“It looks, chief, as if you were right as to when the person got into the coach.”
“Yes,” said Nick; “that would look as if the man was already in the coach, and the noise that Ethel made was a cry of surprise at finding some one there.”
Turning to Rawson, he said:
“It looks like a very important point, Rawson, and I wish you would keep up thinking about it. Any little thing about the whole matter tell me of.”
What answer Rawson might have made to this was prevented by a man who was evidently a stableman, coming up and addressing Rawson, not knowing who the two were the coachman was talking to. He said:
“I say, Rawson, it’s true, isn’t it, that you drove the woman that was killed in the coach yesterday?”
“Yes, it’s true; worse luck,” said Rawson.
“Well, say,” said the man, “the papers say there wasn’t any man with the woman in that coach. I say there was. What do you say?”
“I say there wasn’t,” said Rawson.
“Well, you’re wrong there.”
Rawson was about to deny this somewhat strongly, but Nick stopped him, and said to the man:
“What do you know about it?”
“I know there was a man ridin’ with her.”
“How do you know it?” asked Nick.
“Why,” said the man, “I was standin’ in Sixth Avenue talkin’ with a friend when I saw my friend here, Rawson, pulled up in front of a swell dressmaker’s.
“Then I see his lady, the one he drives for, get out and go into the dressmaker’s.
“Well, ’twan’t any of my biz, and I wasn’t lookin’ sharp. By and by I happened to look at the coach, and there was a swell in it.”
“Are you sure of that?” asked Chick.
“Sure. But, anyhow, my friend breaks away and I gets on the trolley to go to the stable. When I gets up to Fifty-eighth Street I goes into a saloon.
“When I had put away a couple of beers, I comes out and I stands in front lookin’ at a block a big truck loaded with iron had made, when I see Rawson pulled up.
“Then I see my swell guy in the coach open the door on the other side, get out, shut the door after him, and slip over to the other side.”
“What’s your name?” sharply asked Nick.
“What’s that to you?” replied the other.
“Johnny,” said Rawson, “this is Mr. Carter, the celebrated detective.”
The man started, a little frightened, and immediately became far more respectful.
“My name is Johnny Moran,” he said.
“What is your business, Moran?” asked Nick.
“I am a stableman, sometimes drivin’ for a livery stable right near where Rawson works.”
“He’s all right,” said Rawson. “We worked together in the same stables before, and he is a good man.”
“I have no doubt of that. He looks like it,” said Nick. “Now, Moran, what did this man you saw in the coach look like?”
“Well, he was a swell.”
“Describe him as near as you can.”
The man seemed to be embarrassed, and hung his head, as if trying to think hard.
“I didn’t just see his face,” he said, at length. “He had on a shiny hat, and whiskers all around his face, that were dark, and the clothes he had on were swell.”
“Would you know him again if you were to see him?”
The man shook his head doubtfully, and finally said:
“I don’t know about that. You see, I didn’t think anything was wrong then, and I wasn’t stagging him off for anything. If he was dressed just the same maybe I would, but I wouldn’t want to swear to it.”
He thought a little while, and then said:
“He was about as tall as him,” he pointed to Chick.
Then he went on:
“Seems to me, as he went across the street with his back to me, he had a trick of hitching up his right shoulder.”
“How hitching it up?” asked Chick.
“It was more than that—it was a kind of a jerk.”
“Is that all you can tell us?” asked Nick.
“It is all that I can think of now.”
“If we should want you to go with us some time, where could we find you?” asked Nick.
“You can find me at the stable most any time, and I’ll go with you whenever you want me to.”
“What you have already told us, Moran,” said Nick, “is very important. It has settled one question that we were in great doubt about.”
The two detectives turned away, and, as they walked off in the direction of the Constant house, Nick said:
“Chick, luck’s with us.”
“Nick Carter’s luck,” Chick said, with a laugh.
“It’s luck, whosever it is,” said Nick, “for we might have hunted a long time before we got such direct evidence of the correctness of our theory, that the man entered that coach when it stood in front of the dressmaker’s.”
“I suppose that we must assume that he did enter there,” said Chick, “but we are weak on that evidence.”
“We have direct evidence as to how he left the coach after the murder,” said Nick. “I think we can safely assume that there is where he did enter the coach. However, there is something for you to do, and that is to go down into that neighborhood and see if you can establish the fact for a certainty that he did enter there.”
“Then I had better do it without loss of time,” said Chick. “I will go right away.”
Thus it was that the detectives separated at that point.
Patsy had made his way to the Madison Square Garden at once, and presented his letter to the prominent banker.
“I should think,” said the banker, as he folded up the letter, after reading it, “that Mr. Carter would devote his energies rather to finding out who killed Mrs. Constant than to finding out who poisoned her dogs.”
“Oh, Mrs. Constant is all right,” replied Patsy. “She wasn’t killed.”
“Not killed?” replied the banker. “The papers said so.”
“All a mistake,” said Patsy. “Mrs. Constant is well, though she ain’t happy, for the reason that it was her sister who was killed.”
“That beautiful girl!” exclaimed the banker, eager to know all that Patsy could tell him.
Though the lad was anxious to get to work, he was compelled to delay while he satisfied the banker’s curiosity.
When he was finally released, which he was with full authority to go to all parts of the huge building, he hurried out into the space where the dogs were benched.
As fond as he was of the animals, however, he paid little attention to them, for he was anxious to make himself acquainted with the attendants.
It was the last day of the show, and the attendance, especially at that hour in the afternoon when Patsy reached the building, was very large.
If thereby movement about the building was made difficult, it was all the better for Patsy, for he was less likely to be recognized.
He spent an hour of close examination without hitting upon anything which could serve as an opening to him.
Finally he engaged in conversation a well-known kennelman of a prominent breeder, leading it to the poisoning of the dogs by degrees.
“Yes,” said the kennelman, in answer to Patsy’s question, “there was a nasty case of poisoning here. You can bet that it was outside of the bunch.”
“What do you mean by that?” asked Patsy.
“I mean it was none of the doggy men that did it, and it wasn’t for any show reasons. A breeder, or a man in the business, thinks too much of a dog to do him in that way.
“Setters are not my line. We were only competing in the fox-terriers. So we hadn’t especial interest in setters. But I felt as bad over the deaths of those setters as if they had been the dogs I had brought up and cared for.
“It’s a mean man that can kill a dog, anyhow—dogs as gentle and sweet-tempered as setters are.
“So I say some one was trying to get square on the lady that owned those dogs, and for reasons away from this show.
“Say, if they ever get down to the truth of it, see if it don’t turn out to be a woman that did the business.”
This was a new idea to Patsy, and he stood still thinking of it. Suddenly a voice fell on his ear.
“It’s him, I’m telling you. Sure. Get out of sight!”
Patsy looked around, without seeing whence came the voice, though two of the attendants were walking off hastily.
Rather from curiosity than from any other reason, Patsy followed them, carefully preventing himself from being seen by them.
When they had reached the end of the aisle, they turned, taking up a position behind a bench, where they thought they were concealed from view.
Patsy crept up as closely as he could, and under the pretense of petting one of the dogs, then listened to their further talk.
“I heard that Nick Carter was onto the case,” said the voice Patsy had heard before. “Now his young assistant, Patsy, comes around on the sneak.”
“But you ain’t sure he’s onto the case. Likely he’s only come in to have a look at the dogs.”
“Look nawthin’! He’s here for biz. I am going to get out.”
“If you do, you lose your pay. If you drop out now, you get nothing.”
“The whack on the other thing is good. Anyhow, I don’t want that fellow to get his peepers on me.”
“You haven’t got the whack, an’ I’m ready to bet that we’ll get t’rown down yet.”
“Go wan,” said the other, incredulously.
Patsy cautiously climbed upon the bench and peeped over the division.
Two men in the dress of the hired attendants stood with their backs to him.
As he looked, trying to fix upon some peculiarity by which he could recognize them when in a position to see their faces, a man, who was in his manner and dress of some consequence, approached.
He eyed the two keenly, and the two straightened up as if they expected recognition from the person.
Apparently this person was about to pass by, but he suddenly halted, turned from his path, and went quickly to the bench near where the two were standing, pretending to be much interested in the dogs there.
All of this was seen by the keen-eyed Patsy, and he also saw that as this consequential-appearing person reached the bench, he slipped something deftly into the hands of the two standing ready to receive it.
Not a word was spoken between the three. The passage made, the consequential-appearing man turned from the bench and sauntered on.
Dropping from his perch and keeping his eye on this person, Patsy followed him down, keeping in his own aisle.
As the end was reached, Patsy hurried forward, and,getting close to this person, kept him in sight until he met an acquaintance.
“Who is that person?” asked Patsy, pointing out the man he had been following.
“Don’t know,” replied the one he accosted. “There’s Herrick over there. He knows everybody, and if you want to know badly I’ll find out for you.”
“Do,” said Patsy. “And hurry!”
Patsy’s acquaintance hurried off and came back in a moment, saying:
“The man’s name is Eric Masson.”
Though Patsy was rather expecting that reply, yet when he received it, it was with a sort of a shock.
However, firmly fixing in his memory the features of the man Masson by a close inspection of them, he hurried back to the part of the building where he had left the attendants.
They were still in the places where they had stood when Masson came to them and passed to them the mysterious something.
He made a wide circle so that he could come in front of them to observe their faces.
Then he worked up to them gradually, using the passing people skillfully as a screen for himself.
Thus he obtained an excellent view of their faces, and it seemed to him that he recognized one of them, but it was difficult for him to fix it.
He was about to turn away, in an effort to learn who they were, how and under what circumstances they hadobtained employment there, when he saw Masson again approaching.
This time he seemed to be stopping for an instant before each of the dogs, but yet steadily edging along to where the two men stood.
Patsy took a chance and moved closer, concealed only by a lady and gentleman, whose next movements might disclose him to the very persons of whom he was trying to keep out of sight.
Finally Masson reached the spot where the two men were standing.
“This dog is not a prize winner,” he said, to the one nearest him, who proved to be the one whose features were somewhat familiar to Patsy.
“No; he didn’t win anything,” replied the man.
Then, in a lower tone of voice, Masson said:
“I want to see you.”
“When?” replied the attendant, in the same tone.
“Right away.”
“Where?”
“Follow me out and to a place I shall go to.”
“Say, boss,” replied the other, “if we skip the place now we lose our bones for the four days’ hustle.”
“Never mind that. I’ll make it good. You must get out to me. There’s trouble.”
“All right,” said the other, who had not yet spoken. “If you make good, what you say goes. But it’s a ten-case note for each of us.”
“All the same. Get off those clothes and get to me.”
As the two made a movement as if to go away from the spot, Patsy fell back to a point where he could observe without being seen.
The two went off toward the rear of the hall, and Eric Masson sauntered off toward the main entrance.
There he took a stand as if he was merely watching the passing show.
At once Patsy took in the situation. The men had gone to change their clothes, and Masson was waiting for them to return.
“I must follow them,” muttered Patsy. “To do so I must make a change, and I’ve got to make it quick.”
Near where he stood was a door which he thought led into the offices of the kennel club. He dodged through it to find he was correct in his surmise as well as to face the prominent banker.
“What now, Patsy?” asked the banker.
“Only a little makeup,” replied Patsy. “I think I’m on to something, and am going to try it.”
Much to the interest and amusement of the banker, he drew from his pocket a wig, which he slipped on, and a false mustache, using some color to change his face and eyebrows.
“Oh, for another coat and hat!” cried Patsy, casting longing eyes on those worn by the banker.
“I’ll swap with you, Patsy,” cried the banker, laughing heartily, as he threw off his coat.
The exchange was quickly made, and as Patsy dashed out, the banker, following, cried out:
“I shan’t swap back, Patsy, because as it stands now I got the best of the trade.”
Patsy laughed, but made no reply. Hurrying out, he found Masson still in the place where he left him.
He passed close to him, and went into the hallway, standing just within the gate, waiting until Masson appeared.
As this person showed up, Patsy sauntered through the gate and down to the outer doors.
Looking back, he saw the two men, now in their street clothes, following at a respectful distance.
Patsy went out on the sidewalk.
When Masson reached it, he turned toward Twenty-seventh Street and rounded the corner.
Patsy was close behind him. Walking at a brisk gait, which he quickened to pass Masson, he saw that that person was going to Fourth Avenue.
Nearing the corner of Fourth Avenue, Patsy put himself in concealment, quite certain that he had not been observed by Masson or the two men.
And from that point he saw Masson turn up Fourth Avenue, followed by the two men.
Now Patsy trailed in behind them.
The way was up Fourth Avenue, only a few blocks, when Masson turned into a saloon on the corner, making a signal for the two men to follow him.
The young detective passed in close behind the two.
A hasty glance about the room showed him that it was well thronged by customers, something he had hoped for.
It also showed him that a partition formed a small room in the corner on the side on which was the bar.
At the end of the bar, nearest this small room, was a large and rather ornamental icebox. At the end of the box, furthest from the bar, and out of sight of it, was a door leading into the hall by which the upper floors of the house were reached.
This door was open and swung back against the partition, leaving a space behind it.
Masson made his way through the customers to this small room, followed by the two men.
He ordered drinks for them, and when they had been served and paid for, he closed the door, shutting himself up with them.
Patsy slipped behind the hall door. He could hear nothing, however.
By dint of climbing upon the door, resting a foot on the door-knob, he brought his ear on a level with the top of the partition.
The effort paid him.
“There’s a lot of trouble,” said Masson’s voice, quickly recognized by Patsy. “In the first place, Nick Carter has been put on the case.”
“That’s bad,” said one of the others.
“Why bad?” asked Masson.
“Because he’s a wizard to get at the bottom of things.”
“Well, it isn’t likely he’ll spend much time on this matter, for he’s got something bigger on hand. But that isn’t what I am after just now. Listen to me.
“Nick Carter was put on the case. The woman has charged me with being at the bottom of the thing. However, there was a change, and that gives me a chance to do a thing I want to have done.
“Nick Carter won’t pay much attention to this thing for a while.”
“That’s where you’re off,” interrupted the voice Patsy had first heard. “One of his best men was in the Garden this afternoon. He’s there now on the snoop.”
“You’re wrong, old man,” muttered Patsy to himself. “I’m here, on the sneak.”
“Who?” asked Masson, anxiously.
“Patsy Murphy,” replied the other. “I dropped to him as soon as I saw him.”
“Are you sure?” asked Masson.
“You bet he’s sure,” said the other. “He’s been through Patsy’s hands, and he knows him.”
“That’s so,” said the first one, “and he left his mark on me so he’d know me again. I sneaked when I saw him.”
“Well, if that’s so,” said Masson, “it makes it all the more necessary that the thing moves as I have planned.
“This woman’s sister was killed last night.”
“No; the woman herself,” said one of the voices.
“Don’t contradict me,” said Masson. “It was the woman’s sister. I’ve got it straight. That may make some little trouble for me, but not much. It will make more if they get onto the other job.
“But I want you two out of the way to make sure thatthey don’t get on. Take a trip to Chicago, St. Louis, or the devil, for four or five weeks. I’ll pay for it.
“Now, then, you see what I mean. Will you get out right away? I’ll stake you well.”
“I’m game to go on the next train,” said one of the two.
“I ain’t so ready to go,” said the other, “but if it cuts any ice I’ll do it.”
“Well,” said Masson, “it will cut a good deal of ice with me. I can’t afford to take any chances now. I wish now that I’d never gone into the job, seeing what turn things have taken.
“But the thing is, are you ready to go?”
“Yes.”
“When will you go? To-night?”
“Yes.”
“Where to?”
“Chicago, if you say so.”
“Well, I do. It is now near five o’clock. Meet me at half-past seven at the Forty-second Street Station, and I’ll hand you the tickets and the stake. Is that settled?”
There was a movement of chairs as if the three men were rising, and Patsy slipped down from his perch and from behind the door.
He was out in the saloon in a position to see them when they came from the room.
“I needn’t worry about Masson,” said Patsy to himself. “He can be picked up at the station. I’ll follow the others to find out who they are.”
His chase after these two was not a long one, though it did carry him to the Bowery, to which place the two hurried.
The two toughs, for such, indeed, they were, reaching that famous thoroughfare, quickly made for a saloon which was well known to Patsy through frequent visits to it in the way of business.
So skillfully had his shadow work been done that neither of the two toughs had even seen him.
Entering this place close behind them, Patsy was surprised and not gratified to see within it an old acquaintance, Bally Morris.
But what had rather annoyed him he quickly saw was likely to turn out to his advantage.
No sooner had this Bally Morris seen the two Patsy was following enter, than he went up to them and began a quarrel with them, charging them with having gone back on him in some matter.
It was clear to Patsy that the two had no wish for a quarrel at the time, and he saw them get out of the place as soon as they could.
And he changed his tactics at once. Slipping out, he tore off his beard and false mustache, letting the two go where they would, believing that he would get trace of them at half-past seven at the Grand Central Station.
Having got into his own proper person, he went back into the saloon to find Bally Morris.
That amiable young person recognized Patsy at once,and was not, apparently, anxious to see the young detective.
“Oh, ho,” thought Patsy. “He’s afraid of me. He’s been up to something and thinks I am on.”
Asking Morris to take a drink with him, he said:
“Who were the two guys you were wanting to scrap wid, Bally?”
“I don’t know who dey is. I hed a muss wid ’em las’ night to a rag spiel.”
“Oh, come off, Bally. Don’t play me dat way. Gimme it straight.”
“Honest, I don’t.”
“Say, Bally, you couldn’t be honest if you tried. Well, I ain’t on to anythin’ you’ve been doin’, but I want to know who dose fellers are, see! If you don’t give it, why——”
He stopped, looking Bally in the face, steadily and threateningly.
“Well,” at length said the East Side tough, “dey ain’t no fr’en’s of mine. Dere names is Al Crummie and Bill Graff.”
“Crooks?”
“Well, dey ain’t straight goods.”
“Where is dere hang-out?”
“On de block below. What dey been doin’?”
“Poisoning dogs, I guess.”
Bally looked up at Patsy with a laugh, as if he did not believe him.
“Dat’s all I know,” continued Patsy. “Up to the dog show. Dey was hired there.”
“Well,” said Bally, “de’re mean enough.”
Patsy had now gotten all he wanted, and he hurried off to find Nick Carter and to report.
Chick was present when Patsy made his report of the afternoon’s work, and listened with interest to the remarks Nick made on it.
“Patsy has settled one end of the case in pretty short order,” said Nick. “The dogs were poisoned by these two men, Crummie and Graff, who were hired to do it by Masson. What further work there is to be done on that line is only that of making the proof strong. Patsy’s work was quickly done, and well done.”
“I had a good deal of luck with me,” said Patsy, modestly, though much pleased with the praise of his chief.
“Luck, Patsy,” said Nick, “usually comes from the right use of your head, and seizing hold of opportunities when they present themselves.”
“Well, chief,” asked Chick, “how does this triumph of Patsy hitch on to the murder end of the case?”
“There is where the puzzle is,” remarked Nick, thoughtfully.
“This morning,” said Chick, “we said that if we found that Masson was not responsible for the death of the dogs it would go far toward putting Masson out from under the suspicion of murder. Does it work the other way when we find that he is responsible for the poisoning?”
“I am afraid that is the way we figured this morning,”said Nick, with a smile. “But after hearing Patsy’s report, I am even more puzzled as to Masson.
“If he was guilty of that murder, he is a cool-blooded wretch to talk of it, as Patsy reports he did.”
“Yes,” said Chick, “his nerve is great. It seems he knew it was not Blanche, but Ethel Romney that was killed.”
“Don’t forget, Chick, that at the time he was talking to these men all the world knew. The evening papers by that time had corrected the error of the morning.”
“True enough,” said Chick, “I had forgotten that. So there is no point in that.”
“But, chief,” cried Patsy, “what are we to do about the lads that are going to Chicago to-night?”
“Let them go,” replied Nick, quietly.
“Let them go?” repeated Chick and Patsy in the same breath.
“Yes; it will be easy enough to get them when we want them. The chief thing is that I want Masson to think that he is right; that we are not paying any attention to the dog end of the case; and, to convince him, if we can, by our action that we have no suspicion as to him as the murderer.”
“And then?” asked Chick, who was at a loss to follow his chief, who was laying out a plan so different from his usual course.
“Then I shall have every step he takes shadowed and every move he makes watched.”
“And yet you do not believe that Masson killed Ethel Romney?”
“It will not do to say that, Chick. I have told you that I am more puzzled over this case than any I ever had to do with. I will admit to you that, starting with the suspicions of Mrs. Constant, and her reasons, all the indications are just as she suggests—that Ethel Romney was killed by Eric Masson, supposing her to be Blanche Constant. But when it is all done, I cannot make up my mind that he did do it.
“Now, I propose to settle that question beyond dispute.”
“Patsy,” said Chick, suddenly, “what sort of looking man is Eric Masson?”
“About your height,” said Patsy, “brown beard and hair, straight nose, pretty high, eyes close together, so dark as to look black, set well back in his head, dresses very swell.”
“Good!” exclaimed Chick. “Now, chief, a man of exactly that description appeared in front of that dressmaker’s place in Sixth Avenue, to which Ethel Romney went, just after Ethel was there the first time, and hung around there so long that three people had their attention attracted to him.
“One of them saw the carriage drive up a second time, saw the lady it carried get out a second time, saw this man dart out of an adjoining doorway and follow her as she passed through into the place, speak to her, come out again and get into that carriage.
“This same person saw the lady come out and attempt to enter the carriage, heard a little cry from her as she stepped in, and saw the man hurriedly close the door of the coach.
“There is something for you to crack, chief.”
“That is what you picked up this afternoon when you left me?” calmly asked Nick.
“Yes.”
“It confirms the stories of both Moran and Rawson. It makes the indications point all the stronger toward Masson.
“Now, I’ll give you something stronger than that. Ten minutes after Ethel Romney drove away from home, Eric Masson called at the Constant residence, asking to see Mrs. Constant.
“The servant who opened the door told him the lady had just driven away in her carriage.
“The servant supposed she was telling the truth, for she had mistaken Ethel for Mrs. Constant. In response to the question as to whether Mrs. Constant had gone out for the evening, the servant replied she thought not, as she had heard Mrs. Constant was going to her dressmaker.”
“Knowing all this you still have doubts, chief?” asked Chick.
“Patsy,” asked Nick, “does Eric Masson walk with a hitch or a jerk to his right shoulder?”
“I saw nothing of it?” replied the lad.
“Chick,” said Nick, “Masson was in his club from sixo’clock in the evening until ten at night. Three men stand to swear to it.”
“What time did Ethel Romney leave her home last night?” asked Chick.
“About eight o’clock.”
“It’s a puzzle; more puzzling the deeper you get into it,” said Chick. “If these three men stand firm, Masson can prove an alibi, if charged.”
“Chick, one man stands ready to swear that he saw Eric Masson in Fifty-eighth Street at nine o’clock, for he had just looked at his watch as he saluted Masson.
“Another stands ready to swear that he met and spoke to Eric Masson at about half-past nine, at the corner of Fifty-seventh Street and Fifth Avenue.”
“And this is the result of your inquiries since I parted with you?” asked Chick.
“You think that instead of clearing things they are worse muddled.”
“It would look that way.”
“Well, you’re right. I can’t even imagine an explanation of these contradictions.”
Further conversation on this line was interrupted by the coming of Mrs. Carter, who had been spending the afternoon with Blanche Constant.
She was quite excited, saying:
“It has been a distressing afternoon. Blanche’s grief is almost robbing her of her senses. She blames herself so much that she did not guard Ethel against the dangers she was exposed to.”
Turning suddenly to her husband, she said:
“Nick, how is it that you can doubt for a moment that Masson is the man that murdered Ethel, thinking she was Blanche?”
Chick was about to speak, but Nick checked him, saying:
“Edith, you know, I usually want proof before I believe a man guilty.” Continuing, he said:
“When, having been rejected, Masson learns that Blanche Romney was about to marry Albert Constant, he tells her it will be well neither for herself nor for Constant if she does. It was not nice or manly, yet there is nothing in that to justify a belief in murder.”
“But——”
“Blanche thinks he injured her husband. That is only suspicion. She hints at foul play in Constant’s death, but it is based only on the fact that Masson dined at the same table. At the very best, it is only suspicion.
“She thinks that Masson killed her dogs, but she has no proof. It is only suspicion.”
Patsy looked up in great surprise at Nick when he said the last words. Then he saw that Nick had a purpose in the way he was replying to Edith.
“Well, it is not suspicion when he entices Blanche into an empty house, where he is alone, is it?” cried Edith, quite heatedly.
“What is that you are saying?” asked Nick.
“I didn’t mean to speak of it,” said Edith, “for Blanche is so afraid of the scandal of it. But the grass was hardlygreen over the grave of her husband when Masson renewed his attentions to Blanche. That was bad enough in itself.
“She drove him away angrily, and yet he persisted in writing to her until she returned his letters unopened.
“Then one day, having by some means learned that Blanche was befriending a poor family, he enticed her to go to see that poor family at a certain house.
“When she entered the house the poor family was not there, but Masson was, and he was alone.
“Then he told her that she was compromised by entering that house, for every one in the neighborhood knew that a bachelor lived there, and had seen her enter.
“Blanche only got out of the house by drawing her revolver and fighting her way out.
“One day, when Blanche was giving a reception, for which she had issued cards, five or six most notorious women entered, having received cards, to scandalize her, and one acknowledged that she had been hired by Masson to go there.
“Then, when Blanche sent for him and threatened him with arrest and prosecution if he continued the persecutions, he declared that he would continue them until she married him; that if she wanted to live it could only be as his wife——”
“Now,” said Nick, springing to his feet, “we have something substantial to go upon. I knew there was something back of all this indefinite suspicion of Mrs. Constant.