The Second Nick Carter MEGAPACK®, page 11
The two detectives were comfortably seated on a log in the midst of a cluster of shrubbery.
The shrubbery formed a part of the scrub and bushes skirting the woodland back of the extensive Badger estate.
Nearly a hundred yards away was the stable, a side view, with the long carriage-house adjoining, as previously described.
Fifty yards beyond was the Badger dwelling, rear elevation, with the back door and windows in plain sight, as well as part of one of the side verandas.
The intervening ground was clear of trees, and nothing obstructed the view of the two watching detectives.
They were executing Nick’s command given them that morning, that of learning what they could about the Badger place without being seen.
They had already measured it from in front, and had arrived at their present vantage-point about half an hour before, bent upon watching till they were reasonably assured as to the number of servants in the house and stable.
Matters always moved lively with the Carters after a trail was once fairly struck, and in this case they were no exception.
That which had occasioned Patsy’s muttered exclamation was now observed by Chick, who parted the shrubbery concealing them to view the object a little better.
It was a huge Cuban bloodhound, a wicked-looking beast. The animal had evidently just come out of the stable, the front of which was only partly visible to the detectives, and he was now trotting across the lawn toward the rear door of the house.
“I believe you are right,” rejoined Chick. “He looks as if he might bolt a man with a single mouthful.”
“Dead easy,” nodded Patsy.
“If we have work to do here after dark,” said Chick, “we’d best keep that fellow in mind.”
“Rather.”
“He’d put up an uglier fight than the entire bunch we’ve seen so far.”
“That’s right, Chick.”
“We’ve seen only four as yet.”
“Badger and his wife, whom we saw from the front,” counted Patsy. “The middle-aged woman at work in the kitchen yonder, and the covey we’ve seen about the stable. That makes four, Chick; sure as you’re a foot high.”
“I begin to think there are no others.”
“Four are not many to be carrying on the game Nick suspects,” suggested Patsy, a bit doubtfully.
“There is still the Clayton woman,” replied Chick; “and she and Badger’s wife may be as bold and capable as men would be.”
“Very likely.”
“There are enough of them to have played this hold-up game successfully, that’s plain enough; and the smaller the number, Patsy, the less liability of betrayal.”
“That’s true, Chick.”
“I think that the paucity of servants here is a point in our favor.”
“A point that Nick is right?”
“Exactly.”
“Perhaps so.”
“I doubt if there are others,” repeated Chick, “or if we can remain here much longer to advantage. We are to rejoin Nick at four o’clock, you remember.”
“What time is it now?”
“Half-past one,” replied Chick, consulting his watch.
It was at that moment that Vic Clayton was receiving her very important communication from the spy from police headquarters, half an hour before the arrival of Nick.
At the same moment, while Chick and Patsy were crouched, gazing toward the house, Conley came out of the rear door and sauntered toward the stable, lighting his pipe while he walked.
“There’s that stable covey again,” murmured Patsy. “I don’t half-fancy his looks.”
“Evidently he is just out from dinner.”
“Sure thing! See, the woman is now feeding the dog at the back steps. That’s what the ugly cur trotted over there for.”
“He knows when meal-time comes,” laughed Chick.
“Mebbe his meal-ticket is only good at this hour,” grinned Patsy. “I wonder if that covey is the only man in the stable. If he is, Chick, he must have a good bit of work, or else Nick is away off on some points.”
“Why so?”
“Nick thinks they have three or four horses out here.”
“We know of one, Patsy.”
“And he thinks these hold-up crooks have several automobiles.”
“They don’t require much labor, particularly when only seldom used.”
“Well, they haven’t the autos in that stable, nor in the carriage-house,” declared Patsy. “That’s a cinch, Chick, for we’ve had a look into both.”
“True.”
“And there’s only one horse in the stable.”
“They may have some secret place of concealment for the whole business,” said Chick.
“Perhaps so, yet—”
“Stop a bit!” Chick suddenly interrupted, rising to peer through the shrubbery. “What’s the meaning of this?”
“Gee!” muttered Patsy, also starting to his feet. “Something’s up!”
Though they had no way of learning the occasion for the excitement at this time, both being out of hearing and unable to approach without being detected, it was at just this time that Badger received from Vic Clayton a telephone communication concerning Nick Carter’s designs, and which had been quickly followed by the laying of the plot that later resulted in Nick’s downfall.
Badger had come plunging out of the back door of the house, without coat or hat, throwing away his cigar as he ran across the lawn, all the while shouting lustily to Conley.
It was his sudden appearance and obvious excitement that had so startled both Chick and Patsy.
Conley turned back upon hearing the shouts, and the two crooks met about twenty feet in front of the stable, within plain view of the detectives.
There Badger talked rapidly for several moments, with occasional fierce gestures in the direction of the city, and all the while both men exhibited in their faces and movements a consternation and excitement not easily to be accounted for by one out of hearing.
“Gee! I’d give something to know what they are saying,” muttered Patsy, staring with distended eyes.
“There is something in the wind,” nodded Chick.
At the end of about a minute, Badger turned and rushed back to the house, entering it at the top of his speed.
Conley, meantime, bolted out of sight toward the stable door, yet not into it, which was out of view of the detectives.
“Where the dickens did he go?” said Chick curiously.
“It looked as if he went into the stable,” said Patsy.
“I’m not so sure of that.”
“No?”
“I thought he turned to one side just before he approached the door.”
“He may have run around the farthest corner,” suggested Patsy. “We might change our positions, Chick, so as to see that door.”
“Wait a bit,” replied Chick. “There’s a big hurry here over something, and we shall see all there is to be seen in short order.”
“I guess that’s right.”
“Badger pointed toward town several times,” added Chick, with grave countenance. “I’d wager a little that Nick is in some way back of this, if not involved in some bother.”
“You don’t imagine—”
“Easy! Here comes Badger again.”
Once more the latter had bolted out of the house, and this time he was followed by his wife.
Now both had on their outside garments, and evidently were prepared for a ride.
At the same moment an automobile, with a furious rumble and whir, came into view in front of the stable, and sped across the lawn to meet the couple.
It was driven by Conley, who tumbled out of it the instant it stopped, while Badger and his wife clambered in almost as quickly.
In another moment, with Badger running it, the car was speeding down the long gravel driveway toward Laurel Road.
The departure was made so excitedly and hurriedly that Patsy, who had been holding his breath all the while, now exhaled it with a sharp gasp.
“Whew; that beats the record,” he exclaimed.
“What puzzles me,” replied Chick perplexedly, “is where that auto came from.”
“Gee! that’s just what I was thinking.”
“It did not come out of the stable, I’ll swear to that.”
“It looked to me as if it came around the farther corner.”
“It was a Packard,” said Chick. “I know the machine.”
“Perhaps—”
“Break off and follow me,” now interrupted Chick, who had been watching Conley walk leisurely back toward the stable.
“Where now?” asked Patsy, as they drew back through the woods.
“Back to town,” said Chick decidedly. “There’s nothing more for us here at present.”
“It’s a good bet that Badger has headed for town, since he pointed that way so often.”
“That’s just my idea, Patsy.”
“What do you think about it?”
“I think that something has happened to alarm these rascals,” replied Chick.
“And that nobody but Nick could have brought that about?”
“Exactly.”
“In that case, Chick, he may have made some move since we left him.”
“Sure.”
“And possibly these guys have got wise to it.”
“That appears to be about the size of it,” nodded Chick. “Furthermore, it looks as if Badger, in making this lightning trip, had got something up his sleeve for Nick.”
“A counter-move?”
“Precisely.”
“What shall we do about it?”
“We’ll first make sure about Nick,” replied Chick. “He was to rejoin us at four o’clock. If he doesn’t show up at that hour, or a little later, we must get a move on.”
“To trace him?”
“Sure.”
“And if we fail to strike his trail?”
“Back out here we’ll come, Patsy, dog or no dog, to learn what this sudden journey really meant,” declared Chick, with grave determination.
He had reasoned shrewdly in that he had attributed Badger’s excited departure to some unexpected cause for alarm, and also that Nick was the person most likely to have occasioned it.
In the light of these deductions, moreover, Badger’s immediate and decisive action plainly indicated that he had some definite project in view, presumably one to avert the impending danger.
The conclusions alone were sufficient to point to some peril threatening Nick, and his chief assistant was quick to arrive at them, and act accordingly.
As a matter of fact, however, the celerity and astuteness with which the Carters invariably cooperated in their work went far toward insuring their success.
Chick’s talk with Patsy had occurred while they picked their way through the belt of woods, from which they presently emerged, then hastened to the nearest trolley line and back to the city.
It was nearly three o’clock when they arrived at the Adams House, and went to Nick’s room.
There was no sign of Nick, however.
The magnifying-glass with which he had examined the incriminating photograph was still lying on the table where he had left it. But there was neither note nor token to show that he had been there since the three departed in company that morning.
“He has not returned since he left with us, Patsy,” said Chick, after looking about. “We’ll wait till the appointed hour.”
“Four o’clock?”
“Or a little later.”
“He may show up by that time.”
“I haven’t much hope of it,” replied Chick, a bit anxiously. “I’ve got it on me good and hard, a genuine hunch, Patsy, that something has gone wrong with him.”
“You’re most generally right, Chick, when you feel like that.”
Chick made no reply, but began pacing the floor.
An hour passed, and brought no sign of Nick.
At half-past four Chick could restrain his impatience no longer.
“Come on!” he abruptly exclaimed, catching up his hat. “We’ll get a move on.”
Patsy started up from the couch, on which he was having a pull at his pipe.
“I’m with you!” he cried, with alacrity. “Going to try to trace him?”
“Yes.”
“Where first, Chick? To State Street?”
“It’s too late to go there,” replied Chick, as they left the room and hastened toward the elevator.
“Yet we might strike his trail there.”
“I can do so more quickly, I think.”
“Where?”
“At police headquarters—Chief Weston’s office, in Pemberton Square.”
CHAPTER XV.
ON NICK’S TRAIL.
It was five o’clock when Chick and Patsy entered Pemberton Square.
It was about half an hour before that when Nick Carter was lodged in his place of confinement.
“You wait here, Patsy,” said Chick, at the corner on which Nick engaged Grady’s runabout a few mornings before. “There is no need of both of us going into the chief’s office. I’ll return inside of five minutes.”
“Go ahead.”
Chick hastened down the basement stairs and into the chief’s office—only to encounter Sandy Hyde just entering from the opposite corridor.
“Where’s the chief?” Chick cried bruskly.
Hyde didn’t know Chick from a side of sole leather, but, knowing at least that he was not Nick Carter, he answered quite promptly:
“The chief is in his office.”
“I must see him.”
“What name?”
“Chick Carter. Come, come, I’m in a rush!”
Hyde’s catlike eyes at once began to dilate upon hearing the name, taking on their greenish glow of internal excitement.
He now realized that he had given Vic Clayton a wrong tip, that one of Nick’s assistants was in Boston and on the case with him, and the servile little rascal at once began to figure how he could square himself and discover Chick’s mission.
He did not dare hazard playing the eavesdropper again, and also feared that he might not overhear all that was said by so doing, and he at once adopted the first resort that appealed to him.
He hastened through the enclosure, and into Weston’s private office, saying quickly:
“There’s a man out here to see you, chief.”
“What man?”
“I didn’t catch his name, sir. But he’s in an awful rush, and I reckon something has happened.”
Just as Hyde had expected, Chief Weston started up from his chair and strode into the general office.
Hyde was cunning enough to foresee that, if Chick was in such great haste, their conversation would probably be carried on in the outer office.
So it was, moreover, despite that Weston at once cried, as he shook his visitor by the hand:
“Why, hello, Chick Carter! How are you? Come inside.”
“No, no, chief,” Chick quickly declined. “I’m going to stay but a moment. Has Nick been here to-day?”
“Yes—about one o’clock.”
“Do you know where he has gone?”
“I know where he said he was going.”
“Where was that?”
“To Madame Victoria’s rooms, in Tremont Street,” replied Weston.
“Do you know for what?” inquired Chick, beginning to see light ahead.
Chief Weston briefly told him of what Nick’s mission at Vic Clayton’s rooms consisted, as stated by Nick, and then he inquired curiously:
“Why are you asking about him, Chick? Is there anything wrong?”
Having learned all that he could then and there, however, Chick decided to impart nothing at this time.
“No, nothing wrong, chief, I think,” he quickly rejoined, turning to go. “I am merely in a hurry to locate him, that’s all. He may have returned to the hotel by this time.”
“I think likely you’ll find him there,” nodded Weston, a bit suspicious of Chick’s evasion.
Chick did not wait longer, but bolted out as he had bolted in.
Weston walked toward his private office.
Hyde’s greenish eyes, now glowing more brightly than ever, drifted toward the telephone-closet.
Before he could make a move to convey the desired warning to Badger, however, Chief Weston turned back and said curtly:
“You come in here with me, Sandy. I want you to help me on my quarterly report for an hour or so. Look lively, too, or you’ll be tied up here till after six o’clock.”
The sallow features of the treacherous miscreant quivered and twitched with disappointment for a moment, but immediate obedience was imperative—and the telephone had to wait!
Chick Carter rejoined Patsy on the corner.
“Come on!” he exclaimed.
“Where now?” inquired Patsy, as they headed for Tremont Street.
“To the fortune-teller’s rooms.”
“Has Nick been there?”
“Yes, about two o’clock.”
“Did you learn for what?”
“All that Weston could tell me,” replied Chick, hurriedly informing him what he had learned.
Both were quick to see the possibilities which their various observations and discoveries presented, and Patsy now forcibly declared, as Chick concluded:
“I’ll bet that some kind of a scurvy trick has been turned.”
“I fear so, Patsy.”
“Badger wouldn’t have been on such a rush with that auto unless he had some scheme in view.”
“That’s right,” assented Chick. “Madame Victoria may have telephoned to him what Nick was about doing, and possibly planned with Badger to get him into their hands.”
“That appears about the size of it. If we get no trace of him here,” growled Patsy, “we’ll go out there again to-night and investigate.”
“That’s what we’ll do.”
“Do you know just where the fortune-teller’s rooms are located?”
“Yonder,” nodded Chick, as they hastened up Tremont Street. “In that block on the next corner.”
“What are you going to ask her, in case she is there?”
“Oh, I can give her some kind of a plausible story to explain my inquiries,” replied Chick confidently. “She’s not clairvoyant enough to see through me, I’ll go my pile on that.”
