It was nearly eleven o'clock when Rufus Venner and Cervera, the latter enveloped in a voluminous black cloak, emerged from the stage door of the theater.
As they made their way through the paved area leading out to the side street, where a carriage was awaiting them, a sturdy, roughly clad fellow in a red wig and croppy beard suddenly slouched out of a gloomy corner near the stage stairway and followed them, with movements as stealthy and silent as those of a cat.
As the carriage containing Venner and the dancer rapidly whirled away, this rough fellow darted swiftly across the street, and approached a waiting cab, the door of which stood open.
"After them, Patsy!" he softly cried, as he sprang in and closed the door.
The driver of the cab was one of Nick Carter's youthful yet exceedingly clever assistants, and the rough fellow was Nick himself.
He had left the theater the moment Cervera concluded her performance, and since had completed a perfect disguise in the cab, which he had had in waiting, with all the properties for effecting the change mentioned.
That Patsy would constantly keep their quarry in view, and without being suspected, Nick had not a doubt. Nor was he mistaken. At the end of twenty minutes the clever young driver slowed down upon approaching an uptown corner, and signaled Nick to get out.
The detective alighted from the door on the side from which he had received the signal, yet the cab did not stop. Nick trotted along beside the vehicle for a rod or two, keeping it between him and the side street into which Patsy quickly signed that the hack had turned.
"Fourth house on the right," he softly cried. "I saw them pull up at it just as I reached the corner, so I kept right on up the avenue. They've not gone in yet."
"Good enough," replied Nick, approvingly. "Take home the traps I have left in the cab."
"Sure thing. You don't want any help to-night against this push, do you?"
"No, indeed. There'll be but little doing to-night, I imagine. Remember the house, however, in case I fail to show up."
"You may gamble on that, sir. I have it down pat."
They had now passed the upper corner of the side street, and Nick felt sure that he had not been seen leaving the cab. He darted quickly back of the vehicle and gained the sidewalk, then stole back and peered around the corner.
Cervera and her companion were just mounting the steps of an imposing stone residence, entirely separate from its neighbors, and their carriage was driving rapidly away.
Nick waited until the couple had entered the house, then he crossed to the gloom of a doorway on the opposite side and had a look at the dwelling.
From basement to roof there was no sign of a light. Even the hall appeared to be in darkness, and Nick waited and watched for several minutes, expecting to see at least one of the rooms lighted.
Not a glimmer or gleam, however, appeared from any quarter.
"H'm!" he presently muttered, a little perplexed. "Either they are remaining in darkness, or else they have all of those windows heavily curtained. If the latter is the case, I must discover for what reason.
"Possibly they are entirely alone in there, and have gone to some room at the rear of the house. Or maybe they have suspected an espionage, and are now watching from the gloom of one of those front windows. I'll fool them if that is so, and will also have a look at the rear of the house. There is something out of the ordinary here, that's certain."
Keeping well in the gloom of the block of dwellings near by, Nick retraced his steps to the corner, then crossed the street and presently approached a paved driveway leading to a small stable at the rear of the suspected house.
The high gate, composed of sharp iron pickets, was securely closed and locked; so Nick returned to an alley which he had just passed, and which ran back of a block of dwellings fronting on the avenue where he had left the cab.
Stealing into the alley, Nick quickly scaled the high, wooden fence, crossed two adjoining back yards, and thus reached a wall near the stable mentioned.
To mount the wall and drop back of the stable was equally feasible, and Nick then had the rear of Cervera's dwelling plainly in view.
Then his searching gaze was rewarded. One of the rear rooms was brightly lighted, with only the lace draperies at the two windows preventing observation from outside.
"Evidently a rear sitting room, or library," thought Nick, calculating the arrangement of the house. "I will at least learn who is in there."
He listened briefly for any sound in or about the stable, then stole quickly across the gloomy, paved yard and approached the house.
The windows of the lighted room were two feet or more above his head; but having reached a position just below one of them, he sprang up and seized the stone coping outside, and drew himself up to peer into the room.
Then, just as his head rose into the glow of light from within, clearly revealing his location, Nick heard a sound the deadly nature of which he instantly recognized.
Ping!
It was the short, sharp, peculiar song of a flying bullet—once heard, always remembered.
Then came the dull thud when the leaden ball beat itself shapeless against the stone wall beside him.
The bullet had passed within an inch of Nick's ribs, and he knew at once that he was now a mark for hidden foes.
Yet there had been no revolver report to suggest their location, and Nick instantly surmised that the ball must have been discharged with an air gun.
He knew that it must have come from some quarter behind him, however. And he knew, too, how to bring his murderous assailants from their secret cover.
As quick as a flash, the instant the ball smote the wall beside him, Nick let go his hold upon the stone coping and dropped into the darkness below the window, falling prostrate upon his back.
As he lay there his hand touched something hot, and he drew it nearer to examine it.
It was the battered chunk of lead which had come within an inch of ending his life.
"They meant business, for sure," he said to himself, while waiting for his quick-witted ruse to operate. "I'm blessed if this affair is not taking on a new and lively interest. I reckon there'll be more doing to-night than I gave Patsy to believe.
"Ha, ha! The scoundrels are already breaking cover!"
His alert ears had detected a sound from the direction of the stable, and now he silently drew his revolver and held it gripped by his side.
Presently the stable door was cautiously opened. Then a momentary beam of light, evidently from a bull's-eye lantern, shot across the paved area, and lingered for an instant upon Nick's prostrate figure.
Nick remained as motionless as a corpse.
Then two men, both large and powerful fellows, and both heavily bearded, came quickly from the stable and hastened toward him.
"Done for with a single shot," remarked one, as they approached.
"Looks like it, Dave," was the reply. "When I piped his head in the light from the window, I felt sure I could drop him."
"Well done. 'Twas a good shot. Shove your hand inside his vest, and see if his heart is beating. Then we shall know for sure whether he's down and out. If not, we must—"
"Throw up your hands, instead, both of you!" Nick sternly interrupted, half rising with weapon leveled. "At the first move by either, I will shoot to kill!"
Nick had foreseen that his foxy strategy must be very quickly detected, and he had resolved to take the bull by the horns, and attempt to arrest both of his cowardly assailants.
That he was up against uncommon men, however, men of extraordinary nerve and reckless daring, appeared in what instantly followed, even under the very muzzle of the detective's revolver.
As quick as a flash, before Nick's threatening command was fairly out of his mouth, the man called Dave made a kick at the detective's uplifted arm, so swift and accurate and forceful that Nick felt the bones of his wrist fairly crack under the blow, and the fingers of his hand gripping the weapon turned numb and tingling as if from an electric shock.
"At him!" snarled the ruffian, even while he kicked. "At him, I say! Quick—the pear!"
It was plain that these men were not doing such desperate work together for the first time. Both fell upon Nick like wolves upon a stricken elk, yet they found the detective waiting for them.
Nick hurled one aside, unable to use his revolver, and grappled with the second, both falling heavily to the pavement.
Then number one was at him again, and got him by the throat, with a grip from which Nick thrice wrenched himself free, at the same time fiercely banging the head of the other upon the stones upon which the terrific combat was being waged.
An oath of vicious rage broke from the latter, and then he fiercely cried again:
"The pear! D—— you, be quick! The pear!—the pear!"
As if in response to this, Nick, who was panting under his violent efforts to overcome both powerful men, suddenly felt something thrust forcibly into his mouth.
Still manfully battling with his opponents, Nick tried to eject the object, opening his jaws wider in the effort.
The object, which was shaped like a solid pear, instantly expanded, and Nick could not close his jaws.
Again he tried, opening them still wider, and again the pear-shaped object expanded and held them rigid.
Then Nick guessed the truth.
While struggling with might and main to beat these ruffians, he had been made the victim of an infernal instrument but seldom seen in these days, and one of the most agonizing and diabolical devices of man's perverted ingenuity.
The object in Nick's mouth was a "choke pear!"
This vicious instrument of torture dates back to the time of Palioly, the notorious French robber and renegade, when it was very worthily called "the pear of anguish."
It consists of a solid gag, so to speak, yet it is so constructed, with interior springs, that, once thrust into a person's mouth, it expands as fast as the mouth is opened, and rigidly distends the victim's jaws.
The more widely the victim gapes to eject the "choke pear," or to cry out for aid, the larger the hideous object becomes, until torture, suffocation and death speedily ensue.
Had this infernal device been generally available to modern criminals, Nick would have been warned by the significant words he had heard, and would have guarded himself against it.
As it was, however, he had been caught; and in the mouth of any ordinary man the "choke pear" would have been irresistible.
But the muscles of Nick Carter's jaws were like fibers of steel, and the instant he realized his situation he opened his mouth no wider. Instead, while hands and arms were still engaged in the furious conflict with his assailants, he brought his jaws together as if with superhuman power, and with a force that crushed the infernal device between them, much as if it had been little more than an eggshell.
One of the ruffians heard the snapping crunch, and uttered a cry of amazement.
The cry was echoed by hurried footsteps in the house.
Then a rear door was suddenly thrown open by Rufus Venner, and a flood of light revealed the struggling men, still battling furiously on the pavement.
Nick now had both opponents down, and within another minute he would have had them at his mercy, a fact which Venner instantly perceived.
He sprang nearer, drew his revolver, and dealt the detective a single swinging blow upon the head.
Nick dropped like an ox struck down in the shambles.
The darkness of night was as nothing to the darkness that instantly fell upon him.
Nick Carter had a head that was used to hard knocks, and it required more than one to put him down and out for any considerable period.
The great detective recovered consciousness within half an hour after the blow received from Rufus Venner, and he fell to taking the measure of his situation the moment the cobwebs began to clear from his brain.
He found himself bound hand and foot with ropes, and lying upon the floor of a dark room. That he was in the dwelling occupied by the Spanish dancer, Nick had not a doubt.
As his mind became clearer and his eyes accustomed to the darkness, Nick discovered a narrow thread of light some yards away and close to the floor, and presently the sound of lowered voices faintly reached his ears.
"A light in the next room," he said to himself. "Probably the whole gang is out there, sizing up my case, and deciding what to do with me. If they are there, I must get a better look at those two ruffians. I owe them something for their work of to-night, and I always mean to pay such debts.
"One of them was called Dave, and it may have been Dave Kilgore himself. In which case, by Jove! I was right in thinking that this diamond robbery only masks some deeper and bigger game.
"I wonder if they suspect my identity. If not, what sort of a game have they been playing here to-night?"
Nick very quickly measured the various possibilities of the unusual situation.
If the man whose name he had heard was indeed David Kilgore, then Rufus Venner, as well as Cervera, might be in league with the diamond gang, and the pretended robbery only a move made with some secret design.
On the other hand, Venner might be entirely ignorant of Kilgore's identity, and without any serious suspicions of Cervera, being himself a blind victim of these notorious criminals.
"If the latter is the case," reasoned Nick, "the gang may stand in fear of me, and perhaps are afraid that I shall foil some scheme they have in operation, or are about to undertake. Then they to-night may have aimed only to discover the extent and nature of my suspicions.
"If that is the case, plainly it will become me to be a little foxy. I will see if I can contrive to overhear anything from out yonder."
Bent upon wriggling nearer the closed door revealed by the thread of light near the floor, Nick quietly turned upon his side and cautiously worked his way over the carpet.
He had covered scarce a yard, however, when the sharp, metallic ring of Cervera's voice fell plainly on his ears.
"Look again, one of you," she curtly commanded. "See if that vagabond has come to himself."
"That's your humble servant!" thought Nick.
He quickly rolled back to his former position on the floor, and prepared to play the fox.
In a moment the door was thrown open, admitting a flood of light, and a man strode into the room and dropped to his knee beside the motionless detective.
"I say!" he harshly growled, shaking Nick roughly by the shoulder. "Brace up, you dog! Brace up, d'ye hear?"
Nick groaned deeply, then slowly opened his eyes.
"Oh, my head—my poor head!" he muttered, like one dazed and in pain.
"Your poor head, eh?" sneered the other. "You're dead lucky to have a head left you. Pull yourself together, do you hear?"
"Let me be! Where am I?"
"You'll soon find out where you are. Sit up here!"
"What do you say?" cried Venner, from the next room. "Has he come to?"
The man at Nick's side turned his head to reply, and Nick then obtained a clear view of his profile.
"Humph!" he mentally ejaculated. "Matthew Stall in disguise! One of the diamond gang, sure enough, and I now know I am on the right track."
"Yes, he's finally coming to time," cried Stall, in reply to Venner. "He will be all right in a minute."
"Bring him out here," commanded Cervera, sharply. "Get the wretch up, and bring him out here."
This was precisely what Nick wanted.
Stall immediately bent lower, and released the detective's ankles.
"Get up, you varlet!" he then growled. "Get up, I say!"
Still groaning, and incoherently muttering, Nick permitted himself to be raised to his feet, and Stall then supported him and urged him out through the open doorway and into the adjoining room.
In his red wig and croppy head, together with his rough attire and dazed aspect, Nick certainly presented a wretched appearance. He blinked confusedly, glanced down at his bound wrists, yet at the same time took in every feature of the brightly lighted room.
It plainly was the library of the house, and both Rufus Venner and Cervera were seated near a handsome center table. Upon it lay most of the woman's jewels and diamonds, evidently lately removed, and presenting in the rays of light from the chandelier above a dazzling temptation to such a fellow as Nick then appeared to be.
In an easy-chair, near the wall, sat the man called Dave, at the time Nick was thought to be dead outside. Now, in the bright light of the room, Nick instantly recognized him to be David Kilgore, despite a heavy disguise which the criminal obviously believed to be impenetrable.
Nick gave no sign of the recognition, however, being content to await developments, and to shape his own course accordingly.
From that moment, however, the name of neither criminal was once mentioned; and Nick was compelled to infer that Venner might indeed be entirely ignorant of their true identity and knavish character.
The eyes of all were upon the detective, as he stood swaying slightly on the floor; and Cervera sharply demanded, with a threatening frown:
"Well, you vile miscreant, what can you say for yourself?"
"Me?" queried Nick, pretending to pull himself together. "Nothing at all."
"I guess that's right."
"What should I say? Why have you got me here, and tied up in this fashion?"
"You'll soon find out," cried Cervera, with vicious asperity. "What were you doing out back of my house?"
"Nothing much," Nick evasively growled, waiting to learn which way the cat was about to jump.
"Nothing much!" sneered Cervera. "You'll find that will not go down with us."
"I was looking for a chance to sleep in your stable," muttered Nick.
"You lie, you dog!" cried Kilgore, fiercely. "You were at the back window."
"Was I?"
"And your game was to rob me of my jewels," Cervera angrily added, with her eyes emitting a gleam as fiery as the blazing gems at which she pointed. "That was your game, you renegade!"
"Do you think so?"
"I know so!"
Nick hoped she did.
"And all I regret is," added the vixenish Spaniard, "that the bullet of my watchman did not end your villainous life."
"We can end it now, señora, if you say the word," put in Matthew Stall, with grim readiness.
Nick never accepted such scenes as this at their face value, for he had witnessed many a similar game of bluff. This one might be all right and on the level, he reasoned, yet there still existed the possibility that he was recognized, and that these remarks implying the contrary were only a part of some well-laid plan.
"If you think I'm a thief, why don't you hand me over to the police?" he shrewdly demanded.
The ruse worked. For a moment Cervera was caught with no ready reply, and Nick promptly decided that he was known, hence could not well be given to the police.
Yet these parties so obviously aimed to hide the fact that he was known to be Nick Carter, that Nick quickly resolved to let them have all the rope they wanted, and to meet them with a counter-move—that of boldly declaring his own identity, and so disarming them of any misgiving that he had recognized Kilgore and Matthew Stall, or even had any suspicions of Señora Cervera.
It was a very clever counter, and Nick went at it cleverly.
"Why don't you give me to the police, if you think I'm a thief?" he repeated, when Cervera made no reply.
"The police?—bah!" she now cried, with a sneer. "For what? That you may square yourself in some way, or make your escape, and then come back here to attempt the job again?"
"H'm!" thought Nick. "They don't want to let me go before learning what I suspect. I won't do a thing but fool them in that."
"Police be hanged!" Cervera quickly added. "In my country we have a surer way of removing such villains as you."
"What way?" queried Nick, coolly.
"Caramba!The garrote!"
"Choke 'em off, eh?"
"Or the poniard!"
"A stab between the ribs, I take it."
"Yes! It is what you deserve."
"But you will not try it on me," declared Nick, confidently.
"Don't you be too sure of it."
"Oh, I'm sure enough of it."
"The law would never reach us—don't think that," cried Cervera, with a passionate sneer. "Caramba!we'd plant your miserable bones where they'd never be found. Don't think, you wretch, that we fear to do it."
"Yet I don't fear that you will."
"You don't?"
"Not I, Señora Cervera."
"How dare you utter my name with your foul mouth?" screamed the dancer, with a vicious display of scornful resentment. "Not kill you? I've a mind to order it done at once, you wretch! I hate such reptiles as you!"
Nick laughed.
"If you were to order it done, señora, and the knife were at my throat," said he, "your order would certainly be countermanded."
"What! By whom?" cried Cervera, with her passionate, dark eyes fiercely blazing. "I'll have you know that I rule here—and not here alone!"
"Yet your command would be revoked, señora."
"For what reason, villain?"
"It would be revoked at the request of our mutual friend, Mr. Rufus Venner, to whom I presently shall explain my conduct, and also implore your own pardon, señora, for having made you the mark of my very unworthy suspicions," cried Nick, with a sudden dramatic display of dignity and confidence.
It brought Venner sharply to his feet.
"Good heavens!" he cried. "What do you mean, sir?"
"Ay, what do you mean?" roared Kilgore, bracing straight up in his chair and reaching for his gun—a move Nick pretended he did not see.
"I only mean, gentlemen, that I am no burglar," cried Nick, in his natural voice, at the same time raising his bound hands to remove his disguise. "Allow me, Mr. Venner, to present myself in proper person."
"The devil and all his followers!" yelled Venner. "You're—you're Nick Carter!"
"None other," bowed Nick, smiling and tossing his disguise upon the table. "Plainly, Venner, you are greatly surprised at seeing me—and I do not wonder at it."
Yet for all that Nick did wonder a little, since he could not yet determine just how much of this scene was on the level.
The faces of Kilgore and Matthew Stall, however, betrayed more secret exultation than surprise. Plainly enough both were now convinced that Nick did not recognize them, nor even suspect that he himself had been recognized—and these were precisely the two convictions Nick had aimed to convey by his masterly move in thus disclosing himself.
"Yes, Señora Cervera," he hastened to add, before any of the startled group could speak, "I owe you a profound apology. I did you the injustice to suspect you, not only of being a thief, but also of being identified with the notorious Kilgore gang, three of the cleverest and most dangerous swindlers in the world."
"Perdition!" gasped Cervera. "You astound me."
"I was led to suspect you, señora, because your letter to Venner took him from his store just at the time of the robbery," Nick quickly went on to explain, thus putting his own strategy on a solid basis. "I shadowed you from the theater to-night, intending to watch you and your house, a design which has nearly cost me my life at the hands of your faithful watchman.
"I am glad to add, señora, that I now have completely changed my views, and I trust that you will bear in mind that you were a stranger to me, and so pardon my unworthy misgivings. It is impossible that you, Señora Cervera, could be guilty of any evil, or know aught of so accomplished a knave as David Kilgore, or any of his clever gang."
A shrewder move could scarce have been conceived. That Nick would thus have declared himself in the very presence of Kilgore, if known to him, seemed utterly absurd; and the eyes of both Kilgore and Matt Stall were aglow with a vicious amusement and satisfaction much too genuine to be entirely concealed.
"Well, Mr. Carter," cried Venner, now hastening to release the defective's hands, "you certainly have had a close call, and are lucky to come out of it with a whole skin. These two men are employed by señora to guard her house at night, and they naturally mistook you for a burglar."
Despite his keen discernment, Nick could not determine whether this man was lying, or was really as blind as his words implied. Content to await further discoveries, however, Nick laughed quickly, and replied:
"Well, well, Mr. Venner; I am quite accustomed to close calls and hard knocks, and I assure you that I bear the señora's watchmen no ill will for having done their duty as they saw it. Señora Cervera is to be congratulated upon having secured the services of two such faithful fellows."
Kilgore had all he could do to keep from laughing aloud, so blinded was he by Nick's artful duplicity.
"And when I inform you, señora," cried Venner, "that Detective Carter is in my employ, and is really a royal good friend, I am sure that you will pardon him for having been so misled by your letter of this morning."
Señora Cervera was blushing now, yet to Nick it appeared a little forced, and there was in her evil, black eyes a gleam he did not like. Yet she at once arose and came to shake the detective by the hand.
"Oh, if my dear friend, Mr. Venner, says it is all right, I am sure it must be so," she cried, smiling up at Nick. "But I am afraid, Detective Carter, that you will now think me dreadfully severe, and my two watchmen more brutal than bulldogs."
Nick laughed deeply, and glanced at the display of diamonds on the table.
"When one has such valuable toys as those in her house, señora, bold men and vigilant bulldogs are both essential," said he, heartily.
"That's true, sir; indeed, it is."
"And with your permission, señora, I will shake hands with your two watchmen also, to show them I bear no resentment. After which I will take myself home, to nurse my little tokens of their vigilance and prowess."
This brought a laugh from all, and Nick, ever shrewd and crafty, now shook hands with the two criminals he fully intended to finally land behind prison bars. Then he bowed himself out of the room, and was accompanied by Rufus Venner to the front door of the house, where he bade him a genial good-night and departed.
When Venner returned to the room, he found Dave Kilgore seated on the edge of the table, with his false beard in his hand, and a look of intense distrust on his evil, forceful face.
"Crafty—infernally crafty!" he cried, as Venner entered. "I tell you, Rufe, that man must be watched. He is a man to be feared—constantly feared! I'm cursed if I can tell whether he gave us that on the level or not."
"Pshaw!" sneered Venner, contemptuously. "Of course it was on the level."
"I'm not so sure of it—not so sure of it!" reiterated Kilgore, with clouded brow. "I tell you, Venner, that he must be watched, and we must be guarded. We have too much at stake to suffer Nick Carter to queer our game."
"There is one sure way of preventing it," cried Cervera, with passionate vehemence.
"Kill him?"
"Yes! Take his life!" hissed the dancer, through her gleaming white teeth. "You were fools to have missed it to-night. Even the law would have acquitted you."
"There are nights to come!" Kilgore grimly retorted.
"What's the trouble yonder, Nick?"
"Where?"
"In the park."
"Humph! Something wrong, evidently. Come on, Chick, and we'll see."
It was nearly sunset one Monday afternoon, and almost two weeks subsequent to the incidents last depicted.
That at least one of Dave Kilgore's suggestions had been adopted, and he and his gang had become rigorously guarded, appears in that the Carters had utterly failed to accomplish anything against them in the interval mentioned. Despite constant vigilance and incessant work on the case, neither Nick nor Chick had been able to secure an additional clew.
Kilgore and Matt Stall had vanished as if the earth had swallowed them.
The mammoth vaudeville troupe had completed its engagement, and was now disbanded for the season.
Señora Cervera still retained her uptown house, and frequently received Venner as a visitor; but never a sign of the diamond gang, or of any stranger, could the detectives discover, in or about her place.
Rufus Venner was attending to his business as usual, and appeared all aboveboard. Now and then he called upon Nick about the stolen diamonds, expressing a hope that they would be recovered; but in no way did he lay himself open to further suspicions than Nick had at first conceived.
Yet Nick was too shrewd to press him with questions, and so perhaps betray his own hand. As a matter of fact, the famous detective was in quite a quandary over the case, because of his conviction that some big game was secretly afoot, and his utter inability to strike any tangible clew to it.
Such a state of affairs was very unusual, and Nick chafed under it. It indicated that he was up against men as good as himself, and his vain work of the past ten days served only to aggravate him, and embitter his grim and inflexible determination to unearth the whole business.
This Monday afternoon, as Nick and Chick were passing Central Park, the attention of the latter was drawn toward a group of men in one of the park walks, somewhat removed from the street. A policeman was among them, and they appeared to be gazing at something upon the ground.
"It looks like the figure of a woman," said Nick, as he and Chick entered the park. "Officer Fogarty is there, and—yes, by Jove! it is the form of a woman."
The two detectives quickly reached the scene, and the park officer at once recognized Nick, respectfully touching his helmet.
"What's amiss here, Fogarty?" inquired Nick.
Fogarty pointed to the motionless form upon the ground.
"Dead!" said he, tersely. "We've just found her."
"Keep those people further away, Fogarty," said Nick, with a toss of his head toward half a score of men gathered near by. "I will see what I make of the case."
The figure was that of a girl, rather than a woman, apparently about eighteen years of age. She was lying partly upon her side upon the greensward, and evidently had fallen from one of the park seats upon which she had been resting, and upon which her straw shade hat was still lying. She was neatly clad in a suit of dark blue, and her girlish face indicated some culture and refinement.
Near her, upon the grass, lay a piece of brown wrapping paper, and a yard of two of string, evidently removed from a small, square box, which she had dropped and partly fallen upon when stricken with sudden death.
A mere glance gave Nick these superficial features, and he quickly knelt beside the girl, and felt her hand and wrist.
"Dead as a doornail," he murmured to Chick, who also had approached. "I find her hand still warm, however. She can have been dead only a few minutes."
"Heart failure, perhaps," suggested Chick.
"I don't think so."
"Why?"
"She doesn't look it. Her form is plump, her cheeks full, and she appears to have been in perfect health."
"Yet she is dead."
"No doubt of it."
"A pretty girl, too."
"Very. See if there is any writing on that brown paper."
"No, Nick; not a line."
"Here, here, let me see it! What's this? It is punctured with tiny holes, evidently made with a pin."
"So it is, by Jove!"
"Perhaps she made them with her hat pin, while sitting there on the seat. See, Chick, there is the pin still in the hat."
"I see it, Nick. What now?"
Still kneeling beside the girl, Nick was holding the sheet of paper between himself and the sky.
"No, the punctures are not uniform," said he. "I thought that they possibly had been made with some design, and perhaps formed some word or sentence that would give us a clew to the mystery."
"None such, eh?"
"Not a sign of it. Evidently she jabbed the pin through the paper only in idleness."
"She is lying on a box of some kind, from which she probably had taken this wrapping paper."
"So I see," nodded Nick. "Lend me a hand, Chick, and we'll have a look at the box."
With gentle hands the two detectives moved the girl's lifeless form, and Nick then took up the box mentioned.
It was about four inches square, and was made of silver, with an open work design of vines and leaves, which displayed a blue silk lining through the metal apertures. Plainly enough it was a lady's jewel casket, and one of considerable value; but it was entirely empty, and it bore no name or inscription.
For several moments Nick Carter examined it very intently, with his brows gradually knitting closer and closer; and all the while Officer Fogarty, and the group of men in the gravel walk a few yards distant, mutely gazed and wondered.
Chick Carter, however, who could read Nick's every change of expression, saw at once that the great detective not only was making some startling discoveries, but also was arriving at deductions far too subtle and significant to have been reached by any less keen and practiced observer.
"What do you make of it, Nick?" whispered Chick, dropping to his knee beside his companion.
Nick also lowered his voice, and for several minutes the two conversed in rapid whispers.
"It is a jewel case, Chick; and quite a valuable one."
"So I see."
"I don't think it belonged to this girl. She looks as if she were the maid, or possibly the companion, of some woman of wealth or distinction. Her attire also indicates that. Hence so valuable a toy can hardly have belonged to the girl, but more likely was the property of her mistress."
"No name on it?"
"Not even an initial. Not a mark of any kind."
"It is empty."
"Yes."
"Can the girl have been robbed of its contents, here and in broad daylight?"
"Worse, Chick!" whispered Nick, between his teeth. "Worse even than that."
"Good heavens, Nick! What do you mean?"
"Chick, this girl was foully murdered!"
"Murdered!" echoed Chick, with an involuntary gasp. "Can it be possible?"
"It certainly appears so to me."
"But the means?"
"That is the mystery."
"There are no signs of violence."
"Wait a bit. Notice her right wrist, just back of the thumb and near the pulse. Notice that tiny red spot, barely observable. It might have been made with the point of a pin. Do you see, it?"
"Yes, now that you call my attention to it."
"It means something. I am convinced of that."
"Others are not likely to discover it."
"I hope they may not, Chick," Nick hurriedly rejoined. "I am flooded with ideas and suspicions, which I wish to consider and put in order before too much of this mystery leaks out. I'll explain later."
"Perhaps her hat pin is poisoned," suggested Chick.
"I don't think that."
"Or possibly—"
"Wait a moment. Look at this box."
"Well?"
"That wrapper was punctured while still on the box," explained Nick. "Notice that the pin went through the spaces in this metal design, and then through the silk lining inside."
"Plainly enough, Nick."
"Notice this particular puncture in the interior of the lining."
"By Jove! there's a faint tinge of red around it."
"Left when the pin was withdrawn," whispered Nick, significantly. "Chick, it's a tinge of blood!"
"I believe you're right, Nick."
"I am convinced of it. Also that there's a mystery here which cannot be solved in a moment," said Nick, impressively. "I wish to conceal these discoveries until after I have considered them more fully, and also identified this girl. See if you can find her purse, or anything that will reveal her name."
While Chick was thus engaged, Nick arose and glanced sharply around in search of any evidence indicating that such a crime could have been committed unobserved in so public a place.
The seat which the girl had occupied stood on the greensward, about eight feet from the gravel walk. By several clusters of shrubbery some feet away at either side, the seat was somewhat obscured from the view of persons approaching along the walk from either direction. Several trees cast shadows nearly over the spot, which was one very likely to have been selected by a couple desirous of being somewhat alone while resting from an afternoon stroll.
Nick quickly noted these several features, then glanced at Chick and asked:
"Do you find anything?"
"Nothing by which to identify her."
"Her purse?"
"It contains only a few pieces of silver. No cards, nor so much as a scrap of paper. Other than her purse, there is only a latchkey in her pocket, and a perfectly plain handkerchief. Her identification must come later."
"I guess we have missed nothing here," nodded Nick. "I'll have just a word with Fogarty, and then we'll go along."
"What do you make of it, Detective Carter?" inquired the officer, as Nick approached.
"I am not prepared to say," replied Nick, ignoring the startled glances of the several men who heard his name and now beheld the great detective for the first time.
"The girl is dead, sir, isn't she?"
"Oh, yes; there is no doubt of that," bowed Nick. "It may be a case of heart failure. You had better take the proper steps for the removal of the body. This box and wrapping paper, however, I am going to take with me, and will be responsible for them."
"All right, sir."
"By the way, Fogarty, how long ago did you discover the body?"
"Scarce a minute before you came, sir."
"Were you the first to see it?"
"I was, sir."
"Had you seen the girl about here before during the afternoon?"
"No, sir."
"Did you see anybody leaving here just before you arrived and discovered the body?"
"I did not, sir."
"That's all, Fogarty. I'll get any other particulars later."
Thereupon, as Nick was about to turn away, a young man in the crowd came suddenly forth, and exclaimed:
"One moment, Detective Carter, if you please! I saw that girl, about half an hour ago, walking this way with a gentleman."
Nick turned abruptly to the speaker.
"What is your name?" he asked.
"Tom Jenkins, sir."
"And your address?"
"I live at the Hotel North, and am employed by Hentz Brothers, in Broad Street."
"You say that you saw the girl walking this way with a gentleman?"
"Yes, sir."
"Did they appear to be on good terms?"
"Excellent, sir. They were talking and laughing, and seemed to be enjoying themselves."
"Do you know the girl's name, or where she lives?"
"I do not, sir; nor anything about her."
"Do you know anything about her companion, the gentleman you saw with her?"
For the bare fraction of a second Jenkins hesitated, as one might do who was loath to bring trouble upon another. Then he replied, in faltering tones:
"Well, yes, sir, I know the name of the man who was with her."
"State it, please."
"His name, sir, is Harry Boyden."
Nick felt his blood start slightly, yet his countenance did not change by so much as a shadow.
He glanced at Chick, however, and the same thought was in the mind of each.
"Harry Boyden! The clerk employed by Thomas Hafferman, the dealer in diamonds!"
The mind of Nick Carter was, as he had remarked to Chick, stirred with a flood of questions not easily or quickly answered.
Who was this girl found dead in Central Park?
Had she, indeed, been foully murdered? If so, by what mysterious means? What had been the object? Who the perpetrator of the crime?
Or, on the other hand, was the evidence itself misleading, and had the unfortunate girl selected that sequestered seat in the park, and there deliberately committed suicide? Even then, by what means had the deed been accomplished? What had been the occasion?
What, moreover, had become of her companion at just that time? Why had he deserted her? What signified the pin-punctured wrapping paper, and the empty jewel casket, in the dead girl's possession?
Had the casket contained jewels of great value? Had the girl been robbed of them, and then foully murdered in some mysterious way?
Was Harry Boyden, the clerk employed by Hafferman, the last to leave the girl that fateful afternoon? Was he responsible for her death? Was robbery the incentive to the crime?
Or, on the other hand, had Boyden left the girl alive and well, and was the crime the work of another?
Or, finally, was there some strange and startling connection between this park murder and the robbery committed at Venner's store? Was there, between the two crimes, some extraordinary bond yet to be discovered—some tie uniting the two misdeeds as if with links of steel?
These were some of the conflicting questions that occurred to Nick Carter that afternoon, and in order to consider them before taking any decided action in the matter, Nick had kept to himself his startling discoveries, and left Officer Fogarty to take the customary steps in the affair.
At seven o'clock that evening, while Nick and Chick were seated at dinner, and still engaged in discussing the conflicting circumstances, a message was received from police headquarters, informing Nick that the girl had been identified, and that Harry Boyden had been found and arrested.
"Very good," observed Nick. "We shall now get something to work upon. I will go and question Boyden as soon as I finish my dinner."
"By all means," nodded Chick.
"Do you know," said Nick, "I am seriously impressed that there is some strange connection between this girl's death and that robbery at Venner's store. I believe that we have struck the very clew, or are about to strike it, that we so long have been vainly seeking."
"To the Kilgore gang?"
"Exactly."
"Egad, I hope so," laughed Chick, with a grimace. "I am beastly tired of nosing about on a scentless trail."
Nick joined in the laugh of his invariably cheerful associate.
"Odds blood, Nick, as they say in the play," added Chick. "I'd welcome any sort of stir and danger, in preference to this chasing a will-o'-the-wisp."
"There'll be enough doing, Chick, take my word for it, as soon as we once more get on the track of Kilgore and his push."
"Let it come, and God speed it," grinned Chick. "What's your idea, Nick?"
"This empty jewel casket, the possibility that it contained diamonds, of which the girl was robbed and then murdered, and the fact that Harry Boyden is the clerk who brought the stolen diamonds to Venner's store—certainly the circumstances seem to point to some strange relation between the two crimes."
While Nick was thus expressing his views, a rapidly driven carriage approached the residence of the famous detective, and a servant presently entered the dining room and informed Nick that a lady wished to see him.
Nick glanced at her card.
"Violet Page," he muttered. "I know no lady named Violet Page. Is she young or old?"
"Young, sir."
"Did you admit her?"
"She is in the library, sir."
"Very well. I will see her presently. Request her to wait a few moments."
Nick delayed only to finish his dinner, then repaired to the library. As he entered the attractively furnished room his visitor quickly arose from one of the easy-chairs and hastened to approach him.
Nick beheld a young lady of exquisite beauty and modest bearing, and though her sweet face, then very pale and distressed, struck him as one he had previously seen, he at first could not place her.
"Are you Mr. Carter—Detective Carter?" she hurriedly, inquired, in tremulous accents of appeal.
Nick had a warm place in his heart for one so timid and distressed as this girl appeared, and he bowed very kindly.
"Yes, Miss Page," said he. "What can I do for you? You appear to be in trouble."
"I am in trouble—terrible trouble, sir," cried the girl, with a half-choked sob. "Oh, Mr. Carter, I come to you in despair, a girl without friends or advisers, and who knows not whither to turn. I have been told that you have a kind heart, and that you are the one man able to solve the dreadful mystery which—"
Nick checked her pathetic flood of words with a kindly gesture.
"Calm yourself, Miss Page," said he, in a sort of paternal way. "Resume your chair, please. Though I am somewhat pressed for time just now I will give you at least a few moments."
"Oh, thank you, sir!"
"Be calm, however, in order that we may accomplish all the more."
"I will, sir."
"To what mystery do you refer? What is the occasion of your terrible distress?"
Violet Page subdued her agitation and hastened to reply.
"My maid and companion, a girl named Mary Barton," said she, "was found dead in Central Park late this afternoon. Nor is that all, Detective Carter. A very dear friend of mine, named Harry Boyden, has been arrested, under suspicion of having killed her. Oh, sir, that could not be possible!"
Nick felt an immediate increase of interest.
He decided that Miss Violet Page was the very person he wanted to interview, and while he did not then exhibit any knowledge of the case, he proceeded to question her with his own ends in view, at the same time ringing a signal for Chick to join him, which the latter presently did.
"Where do you live, Miss Page?" inquired Nick.
"I board in Forty-second Street, sir. I have no living relatives, and for about two years have employed a maid, or, I might better call her, a companion."
"The girl mentioned?"
"Yes, sir. Her parents also are dead. The fact that we both are orphans created a bond of sympathy between us."
"Are you a person of much means, Miss Page?"
"Oh, no, sir. I earn my living on the stage. I was a member of the big vaudeville troupe, which lately disbanded for the season. My stage name is Violet Marduke."
"Ah! now I remember," remarked Nick. "I thought I had seen you before. I happened to hear you sing one evening about two weeks ago."
"I recognized her when I entered," observed Chick, who had taken a chair near by.
Nick came back to business.
"Why are you so confident, Miss Page, that Boyden cannot have killed Mary Barton?" he demanded.
"Because, sir, Harry Boyden is a gentle, brave and honest man, and utterly incapable of committing such a crime," cried Violet, with much feeling. "Besides, sir, he can have had no possible reason for wishing her dead."
"Are you sure of that?"
"Absolutely!"
"What are your relations with Boyden?"
"We are lovers, sir," admitted Violet, with a tinge of red dispelling the paleness of her pretty cheeks. "We expect to be married the coming summer."
"Ah! I see," murmured Nick, thoughtfully. "How long have you been acquainted with Boyden?"
"For ten years, sir."
"Then you have been able to form quite a reliable opinion of his character."
"Indeed, sir, I have!" cried Violet, warmly. "Detective Carter, I know that Harry Boyden is far above any dishonorable action. I would trust him with my life."
Of the honesty of the girl herself Nick had not a doubt. It showed in her eyes, sounded in her voice, and was pictured in her ever changing expression. Nick was inclined to feel that her opinion of Boyden was worthy of very serious consideration, despite that circumstances seemed to implicate the young man in no less than two crimes.
"Is the fact that you are engaged to Boyden generally known, Miss Page?" Nick next asked.
"It is not, sir. We have said nothing about it."
"Ah, that opens the way for conjectures," cried Nick. "Is there any person who knows of the engagement, or who suspects it, that would jealously aim to injure Boyden by implicating him in a crime?"
"Oh, I cannot think so, sir!" said Violet, with a look of horror. "I certainly know of no such person."
"Have you been accepting the attentions of any other young man?"
"No, sir," smiled Violet. "That is not my style."
"I am glad to hear you say so, yet I really might have known it," laughed Nick.
"Thank you, Detective Carter," bowed the girl, blushing warmly. Then she hastened to add: "Still, I am not a prude, sir—don't think I mean that. In my profession one is obliged to be on friendly terms with a great many persons, both men and women. At the theater, for instance, I meet many men and form many acquaintances, both agreeable and the reverse."
"And sometimes have the attentions of men fairly forced upon you, I imagine?" said Nick, inquiringly, with a brighter gleam lighting his earnest eyes.
"Yes, sir; sometimes," Violet demurely admitted.
Nick drew forward in his chair, and Chick saw that he had caught up the thread at that moment suggested to himself.
"Miss Page," said Nick, more impressively, "I now want you to answer me without the slightest reserve."
"I will, sir," bowed Violet, with a startled look.
"Has any man of the late vaudeville company, or one connected with the theater, endeavored to force his love upon you?"
"No, sir; not one."
"Or any visitor admitted to the stage?"
"Well—yes, sir," faltered Violet, quite timidly. "Since you press me thus gravely, I must admit that I have been obliged to repel the affection of a certain man. Yet, please don't infer, sir, that he has ever been ungentlemanly. He even has done me the honor, if one can so term an undesired proposal, to protest that he wished to make me his wife."
"What is that man's name?" demanded Nick, quite bluntly.
Yet both Nick and Chick already anticipated it.
"Must I tell you his name, sir?" faltered Violet.
"You may do so confidentially, Miss Page."
"His name, sir, is Rufus Venner."
"One more question, Miss Page," cried Nick, quickly, "Was there any member of the vaudeville company who knew of Venner's proposal?"
"I don't think so, sir. At least I know of none."
Nick glanced at Chick and dryly remarked:
"All under the surface, Chick."
"Not a doubt of it, Nick."
Violet looked surprised and alarmed at this, and hastened to ask:
"Oh, Mr. Carter, is there something of which I am ignorant? Or have I done wrong in any way?"
Nick turned to her and gravely answered:
"No, Miss Page, you have done nothing wrong—far from it! But there is considerable of which you are ignorant."
"Oh, sir, what do you mean?"
"Wait just one moment, and I then may be able to tell you," said Nick, rising. "I have something here that I wish to show you."
He went to his library desk and took from a drawer the silver jewel casket which he had brought from Central Park.
When he turned he held it in his extended hand, and the eyes of the girl suddenly fell upon it.
Instantly she leaped to her feet, as pale as death itself.
Then a scream, as of sudden, ungovernable terror, rose from her lips and rang with piercing shrillness through the house.
"Catch her, Chick—she's fainting!" yelled Nick, with eyes ablaze. "By Heaven! we've struck the trail at last!"
Nick Carter was a little perplexed.
Miss Violet Page had recovered from her sudden swoon, and although still very pale she sat gazing calmly at the silver jewel casket, which Nick was again displaying.
Somewhat to Nick's surprise, considering the girl's abrupt collapse upon first beholding the casket, Miss Page had just declared that she had never seen it before that evening.
"You never saw it before?" exclaimed Nick, almost incredulously.
"Never until you produced it from your desk a few minutes ago," reiterated Violet.
"Why, then, were you so overcome upon seeing it?"
"I will tell you why, Detective Carter, yet I fear that you will think me very weak and foolish to have been so seriously affected."
"No; I think not."
"I had a terrible dream last night, sir," Violet now explained. "I dreamed that I was alone in an enormous graveyard at midnight, with a full moon revealing the dismal surroundings, the dark tombs, the staring, white headstones and the silent graves."
"Not very cheerful—certainly," smiled Nick.
"What followed was infinitely more terrible," continued Violet, with an irrepressible shudder.
"What was that?"
"I dreamed that I saw a grave near which I was standing suddenly begin to open, as if a living being were pushing up the ground from within. Then I saw a fleshless hand appear above the disturbed sods. Then a sightless human skull thrust itself forth, and presently, filling me with a terror I cannot describe, the entire skeleton emerged from the partly open grave, and arose and approached me."
"A grewsome dream, indeed," remarked Nick. "But what of the casket?"
"This of the casket, sir," concluded Violet. "In the skeleton's right hand, which was extended straight toward me while he approached, was a silver box—the exact likeness of the one you hold, and which you so abruptly showed me a short time ago."
"Ah, I see," nodded Nick.
"In my present nervous condition, Detective Carter, the sight of the real casket, after so horrible a dream, was more than I could sustain. Fairly before I knew it, I had fainted."
"A curious dream and a startling sequence," said Nick. "Evidently coming events have been casting their shadows before. I am sorry to have shocked you so severely."
"Pray don't speak of it, Mr. Carter," protested Violet. "I am now quite recovered."
"Then we will at once proceed to business again," said Nick. "Am I to infer, Miss Page, that you know nothing at all about this casket?"
"Absolutely nothing, sir," declared Violet.
"Have you ever heard your maid, Mary Barton, speak of possessing such a jewel box?"
"Never, sir."
"Nevertheless," said Nick, pointedly, "this casket was found beside her dead body in Central Park this afternoon."
A half-suppressed cry broke from Violet upon hearing this.
"Oh, sir, then that must have been the package mentioned by Harry Boyden," she cried, excitedly.
"What's that?" demanded Nick. "Have you seen Boyden since his arrest?"
"Yes, sir."
"When and where?"
"He was arrested at my home about half-past six, sir. When I learned for what and heard the particulars, I was advised by my landlady to appeal at once to you."
"Did you come directly here?"
"I did, sir; as fast as a carriage could bring me."
"Ah, now we shall get at it," declared Nick. "Tell me, Miss Page, just what Boyden said about Mary Barton."
"Why, sir, he said he left her alive and well about half-past five."
"Where?"
"On her way through the park," replied Violet. "He had met her about five o'clock, and they walked about in the park for a short time. Then he told her that he had an errand to do, after which he was coming to call upon me. Then Mary laughed and replied that she would see him later."
"That doesn't smack very strongly of suicide, Chick," remarked Nick, with a glance at the former.
"I should say not," replied Chick, with a shrug of his shoulders.
"Did Boyden know where Mary went after he left her?" inquired Nick, reverting to his visitor.
"No, sir. He declared to the officer that he did not."
"What mention did he make of a package carried by the girl?"
"He stated that Mary had what appeared to be a small, square box, done up in brown wrapping paper, and secured with a string."
"Did he make any inquiries about it?"
"He asked her what it was, and she told him it was for me."
"Did she tell him where she got it?"
"Yes, sir, she did; and I am quite mystified by it."
"Please explain," said Nick. "What did the Barton girl say about the parcel?"
"She said it was given to her by a woman whom she had met on Fifth Avenue a short time before."
"An acquaintance?"
"No, sir; a strange woman," continued Violet. "Yet the stranger must have known Mary, and that she lived with me, for she asked her if I was at home."
"And then?"
"When told that I was, she gave Mary the package and asked her to deliver it to me, into my hands only, as it was a gift from a friend."
"Was the name of the friend mentioned?"
"I think not, sir. The woman cautioned Mary against opening the package, stating in explanation that she wished me to be the first to see what it contained."
"These are the facts which Mary Barton told to Harry Boyden, are they?" demanded Nick, with an ominous ring stealing into his voice.
"Yes, sir, they are."
"And the statements which Boyden, in turn, made to the officer by whom he was arrested at your home?"
"That is right, sir. I heard them from Harry's own lips."
"Did Mary Barton have any idea of the identity of the woman from whom she received the package?"
"I think not, sir. She told Harry that the woman was veiled, and that she could not see her face. The incident seemed so strange, sir, that Mary gave Harry Boyden all of these particulars."
"Did she describe the strange woman, her form or her attire?"
"I think she stated that the woman was plainly clad. Nothing more definite that I know of."
"In fact, Miss Page, you have now told me all that you know about the case, haven't you?"
"Really, sir, I think I have," admitted Violet, with a look of anxious appeal.
Nick drew out his watch and glanced quickly at it.
"Ring for a carriage, Chick," said he abruptly. "We have no time to lose."
"I'll call one at once," nodded Chick, as he sprang up and hastened from the room.
"Am I to depart now, Detective Carter?" asked Violet, beginning to tremble. "Oh, sir, will you not give me some word of encouragement before I go? I am sure that Harry Boyden never committed—"
"Hush!" interposed Nick, rising and taking her kindly by the hand.
"I cannot at present tell you, Miss Page, what I think of this case. I will say this, however, if Harry Boyden is, as you so firmly believe, innocent of this crime, I will not rest until I have proved him guiltless."
"Oh, Detective Carter, how am I to thank you?" cried the girl, with her tearful eyes raised to Nick's kindly face.
"By not trying to do so," said he, smiling. "And by carefully following a few directions which I shall now give you."
"I will follow them to the very letter, sir," cried the grateful girl.
"First, then, go home and borrow no further trouble about young Boyden," said Nick, impressively. "Second, disclose to no person that you have called upon me, or that I have any interest in the case. Third, say nothing about the jewel casket, and display no personal knowledge of the affair. Fourth, do not come here again unless I send for you. And, finally, rest assured that I will do all in my power to have young Boyden at liberty as soon as possible. To remain in custody a short time, however, will not seriously harm him, and in a way it may do me some service. Can you remember all that?"
"Indeed I can, sir; and I will obey you in all!" cried Violet, with much feeling.
"That's right," smiled Nick, as he escorted her to the door. "You shall not lose anything by so doing."
"Ah, I am sure of that, sir. You are so very kind, and I am so glad that I came to you."
"Well, well, we shall see," laughed Nick, with a paternal caress of her shapely white hand. "By the way, Miss Page, since I now happen to think of it," the crafty detective indifferently added, "wasn't there a Hindoo juggler, or snake charmer, or something of that sort, connected with your late vaudeville company?"
"Oh, yes, sir! Pandu Singe."
"Ah, that is his name, is it?"
"Yes, sir."
"Is he still in the city?"
"I am not sure, Mr. Carter; but I think that he may be, for he is signed with the company for next season."
"Do you know where he has been living?"
"Yes, sir. I have seen his house address on letters forwarded to the theater. Do you want it, sir?"
"If you can recall it, yes," smiled Nick, producing his notebook. "I am making a study of the Hindoo language just at this time, and I would like to consult Pandu Singe about certain books on the subject."