CHAPTER XIV.TIGHTENING THE COILS.
The cashier of the safe deposit company kept gazing in silence at Carter with open-mouthed astonishment.
Nick’s countenance was illumined with an expression of triumph. He held in his hand damaging evidence against Simeon Rich.
If Rich were innocent of the murder, how was it that he had in his possession one of the bills which the cashier of the safe deposit company had paid to the man who had been so cruelly murdered at the Red Dragon Inn?
“This is a valuable clew,” the detective said, when the silence was becoming oppressive.
“How did that bill come into your possession?” the cashier asked.
“I think you can keep a secret?”
“I can.”
“Then I will tell you.”
Then Carter gave the cashier a short account of the evidence which he had collected.
When the detective finished the cashier remarked:
“Captain, you are gradually weaving the coils around Simeon Rich.”
“Yes,” Carter replied, “I am weaving coils around him, but I have no positive evidence that he committed the crime.”
“That note?”
“Not positive. If he has others of the series in his possession, then the coil will be stronger around him.”
“I understand. What move will you make next?”
“I cannot determine just now.”
Carter was elated over the discovery.
After leaving the cashier’s office he went direct to the house on Fourth Street.
Here he found that Brockey was still a prisoner.
His young assistant was on guard.
“Brockey,” said the detective, as he stood in front of the prisoner, “have you spent all the money that Darwin gave you?”
“What’s that to you?” Brockey snarled, being in an ugly mood.
And no wonder!
Who could blame him?
Brockey was by no means a stoic or a philosopher. His was a nature which would brood on troubles.
There was bitter hatred and malice in every flash of his eye. No love there, no appreciation of the detective’s ability!
Carter gazed down into that dark countenance. He read the man’s thoughts.
“If you have any of that money left,” Carter replied, in a serious tone, “some of it may be bills which were stolen from the murdered man.
“I have the numbers of those bills in my possession.”
Instantly the expression on Brockey’s face changed.
A look of terror came over it.
It had not occurred to him before that the money might have belonged to the man who was killed at the Red Dragon Inn.
“Do you understand?” Carter asked at length, when Brockey made no reply.
“I understand,” the rascal said, with a gasp.
“If you should have one of those bills on you, and if it should be identified as belonging to Lawrence, then, if I were so inclined, I could fix the murder on you.”
“You would not do that?”
“No, I would not.”
“I have some of the money.”
“Is it in your pocket?”
“Yes.”
Carter put his hand into Brockey’s trousers pocket and pulled out a small roll of bills. He ran the money over and found one of the series.
“This is one,” he remarked, holding the bill up for Brockey to inspect.
“My God!” the rascal ejaculated.
“You will have to tell now in court how this came into your possession.”
“I’ll tell quick enough.”
“I guess you will.”
“Let me look at the number.”
“See?”
“I do.”
The rest of the money the detective gave to Brockey.
The bill he marked and put away in his pocketbook with the others.
The evidence against Rich was stronger.
But still more evidence was needed before a case could be proven.
Carter left the house.
Slowly he walked through to Broadway, and when he reached that thoroughfare he halted on the corner and reviewed the events of the past few days. He wasforced to acknowledge in spite of himself that the evidence against Simeon Rich was strong.
But still he was not satisfied.
Dora Ferris’ testimony and that of Lena Peters would be damaging.
The testimony of the cashier, the cabman, and Brockey would be sensational.
And the note which he had found in Darwin’s room in Dora’s flat would tighten the coil.
But it was not enough.
“Every link in the chain of evidence must be complete,” Carter muttered. What move ought he to make?
“Should he close in on Rich and his pals and take the chance of discovering the needed evidence against them?”
“No, I won’t do that,” the detective muttered, as this question flashed through his mind.
He turned and wended his way uptown.
It was seven o’clock when he halted in front of the Studio Building.
Some force seemed to impel him to enter. He did not go near the elevator; but he walked upstairs to the top floor. He strolled along the hall and stopped in front of the door of Rich’s room.
No light shone through the transom.
Were the conspirators out?
Carter knocked.
No one came to the door.
“They must have gone out,” he muttered.
At the same time he pulled a skeleton key out of his pocket and inserted it in the lock of the door.
Two quick turns of the key and the bolt of the lock slipped back.
Carter entered the room, and struck a match.
As the flame flickered up, and after he had looked around, he uttered an exclamation of surprise.
Around him were all the evidences of hasty flight.
The birds had flown.
Carter lit the gas.
Then he was able to make an inspection.
A look of chagrin rested upon his face as his eyes wandered around the room.
The furniture belonging to the room of the building was not disturbed.
The floor was strewn with rubbish.
After the detective recovered from his surprise he commenced to make a search of the apartment. He rooted among the scraps of paper on the floor in the hope that he would find something of value.
He made no discovery.
Every bureau drawer was gone through.
Nothing.
At last Carter made a search of the two closets.
Result?
Nothing.
He stood in the center of the room thinking.
His eyes wandered around.
Was there any evidence in that room? He asked the question over and over again.
He was confident that his search had been most thorough. But had it been? Was there not some place about that room which contained evidence, and which had escaped the eagle eyes of the visitor?
Carter suddenly started.
“The fireplace!” he ejaculated, and he sprang forward.
At that moment his eyes had fallen on some soot which covered the carpet in front of the fireplace.
What did this indicate? He had not examined the fireplace!
Down upon his knees he fell in front of the grate.
Up into the chimney he thrust his hand and arm.
The next instant he pulled out a large bundle.
A cloud of soot fell down, and the detective was covered with it.
He paid no attention to it.
All of his thoughts were on that bundle, which he carried over to the center of the room.
Slowly he unwound the wrapper.
Then a long ulster was disclosed.
Carter shook out the folds.
A black slouch hat and a false beard fell to the floor.
Was it any wonder that the detective’s hands shook as he gazed upon and held this evidence?
He examined the ulster.
Down the front were a number of dark stains.
Upon the right sleeve was a large dark splash as large as a man’s hand.
“Blood!” Carter ejaculated, as he inspected these stains.
He looked inside the ulster at the stamp on the strap.
“Made by Delaney,” he read.
“This was made to order,” he muttered.
“For whom?”
That was the question.
“I’ll find out!” he ejaculated, after a moment’s thought.
Down into the pockets of this ulster his hand was shoved.
One after the other was turned inside out.
Not a scrap of paper could he find.
All the outside pockets had been gone through.
Then Carter turned his attention to those inside.
“Nothing!” he muttered.
It was disappointing.
But the detective was not downcast. He picked up the slouch hat and the beard, and examined them.
Inside the beard was stamped the word Dazian.
“That’s the name of the costumer,” Carter muttered, as he read that name.
There were no marks inside the hat.
The lining had been torn out.
The ulster and the hat the detective tied up in a bundle, and the false beard he put into his pocket.
For a few minutes longer he remained in the room searching, but he made no further discovery.
Taking the evidence under his arm, he left the apartment.
It was an important discovery. He felt sure that he had in his possession the ulster worn by the murderer when he committed the crime.
In going down in the elevator the detective questioned the boy in charge.
The boy said that Rich and Darwin had moved out just at dusk, and they did not say where they were going.
Carter stopped at the office, and the clerk was not able to give him any information.
When he left the Studio Building he was perfectly calm. He did not seem to be disturbed about the sudden departure of the men.
The thought that they might have left the city did not enter his mind.
Carter crossed Broadway to the little park in front of the bank building.
Here he moved about among the cabmen making inquiries.
All claimed that they had not taken any fares from the Studio Building.
From Greeley Square the detective walked across to the opposite corner, where a solitary express wagon was standing.
The man in charge was partly intoxicated.
“Did you cart away anything from the Studio Building this evening?” Carter asked as he came up to the man.
“You may bet I did,” the man blurted out in thick tones. “I made a good stake.”
“They were nice men?”
“You may bet they were.”
“Where did you leave the things?”
“In a flat at number two hundred and forty-one West Thirty-sixth Street.”
“What name?”
“Lawrence.”
“Are you sure that was the name?”
“Of course I am. The tall fellow wrote it down on a slip of paper for me.”
“Was he at the flat to receive the things?”
“No. The two ladies were there, though.”
“Only the two ladies?”
“That was all.”
Carter did not go direct to the address on West Thirty-sixth Street after he left the expressman. He hurried down to Union Square and entered Dazian’s musty-smelling establishment.
To the clerk in charge he showed the false beard.
“We made that,” the clerk said, after he had examined the disguise.
“Do you remember selling a beard like that lately?” the detective asked.
“I remember selling this.”
“You do?”
“Yes.”
“When did you sell it?”
“The morning of the day before New Year’s.”
“To whom did you sell it?”
“A tall man.”
“Did you sell him anything else?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“A Moorish dagger.”
“Anything else?”
“No.”
“Did he give you his name?”
“No. He paid for the things and he took them away with him.”
“What kind of a coat had he on?”
“An ulster.”
“What kind of a hat?”
“An old slouch.”
“Is this the color of the ulster?”
Carter untied the bundle while he was talking, and now he displayed the ulster in front of the clerk.
“It was that color,” the young man ejaculated. “And that is the slouch hat. I remember noticing that the rim was slightly torn.”
“Would you be able to identify that man?”
“I would.”
“Was he alone?”
“Yes.”
The detective next went to the tailoring establishment conducted by Delaney. He showed the ulster to the manager.
“We made that garment six years ago,” the manager said, after he had inspected the coat.
“Can you tell for whom?” Carter asked. “If you can tell me, I shall be greatly obliged.”
“I can. Do you notice this number in indelible ink on the pocket flap? Well, that is the number of the order. I will refer to our books.”
He walked back into the office and examined a large ledger.
In a few moments he returned to Carter and said:
“That coat was made for a gentleman named Simeon Rich.”
“Thank you,” Carter rejoined, and then he departed.
The coils around Rich were tightening, but the detective had not found that weapon with which the crime had been committed.
Perhaps the murderer had thrown it away.
That was likely.
That the weapon was a Moorish dagger and the one purchased at Dazian’s the detective was convinced.
On a mere whim, Nick took all his evidence downto police headquarters and made a report to the chief inspector.
When he was through the chief said:
“I will send out men to fetch in all the witnesses.
“We will assemble them here in this room, and then, if we corral the conspirators, we will bring them in. Mark my word. We will get a confession from one of them.”
“I’ll make out a list of the witnesses.”
“Call them off and I’ll write them down.”
“The bartender at the Red Dragon Inn, Doctor Thompson, Peter Wright, Brockey Gann, Lena Peters, Lem Samson, Dora Ferris, Dazian’s clerk, the cashier of the safe deposit company, Delaney’s manager, and the cabman, number one hundred and forty-seven.”
“I’ll send out men for them.”
“Very well.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Close in on Rich.”
“Do you need assistance?”
“Give me two men.”
The chief inspector called in two men and they went out with Carter.
They entered a taxicab and were driven to the address given to the detective by the expressman.
The name of Lawrence was on the letter box belonging to the first flat.
Carter entered the hall with his men.
One of them he sent back to guard the back door of the flat and prevent escape by that exit. Then he knocked on the front door, which was opened by a tall, comely, gray-haired woman.
Within he heard voices.
“What do you want?” the woman asked, as Carter and his aid shoved past her.
The detective made no reply. He and his companion darted into the parlor.
Rich and Darwin and three women were there.
All sprang to their feet.
The women screamed.
Carter covered the men with his revolver and exclaimed:
“Rich, there is no chance for you to escape. The house is surrounded by my men. You may as well submit quietly.”
“What does this intrusion mean?” Rich demanded.
“It means that I arrest you for the murder of Alfred Lawrence, and these others”—looking around the room at the others and pausing for a moment—“I arrest them as your accomplices.”
In a short time the two men were manacled.
They offered no resistance, because they saw that it would be of no avail.
The two detectives guarded the prisoners while Carter made a search of the flat.
In a trunk belonging to Rich he found a Moorish dagger, the blade and hilt of which were stained with blood. He also found an old pocketbook with papers belonging to the murdered man in it.
On this were marks of bloody fingers.
The woman who admitted Carter was the wife of the murdered man, and the third woman in the parlor was Lawrence’s daughter. She was a beautiful young woman, but at a glance the detective saw that she had been leading a life of dissipation.
The prisoners were taken to police headquarters.
When Rich was led into the chief inspector’s office and he beheld the witnesses congregated there all his bravado fled.
“The game is up!” he ejaculated, and he sank into a chair, his handsome face the color of death. “You cornered me, Mr. Carter. I killed Lawrence. There is no use for me to deny anything. When I learned that he was about to be released from Sing Sing I made up my mind to kill him. I feared him, and so did his wife. I knew there was evidence in existence to prove that we had conspired against him.
“I suppose you have received statements from all these people and there is no use for me to make a long confession.
“All I’ll say will be that I tracked Lawrence to the Red Dragon Inn, and when the bartender’s back was turned I slipped upstairs and hid in the parlor.
“Then I waited until the house was quiet, when I stole up to Lawrence’s room and killed him.
“I escaped through the window and then down the ladder to the back yard.
“I solemnly swear that Mrs. Lawrence and her daughter had nothing to do with the crime.”
The mystery of the Red Dragon Inn was solved at last, and when the newspapers published the facts in regard to the work done by Carter a sensation was created. Nick had little time to bask in the glow of journalistic applause, even had he cared to do so. He was soon plunged in the case to which his assistants had been paving his way by their investigations.