The Second Nick Carter MEGAPACK®, page 12
“Mine goes the same way,” vouchsafed Patsy, with a grin.
“I’ll assuredly not let her know that I’m on the case with Nick,” added Chick. “If these rascals think he is working it alone, we may derive some advantage by keeping them in the dark.”
“Surely.”
“Nick also may not wish us to expose that we, too, are investigating the case— Stop a bit! Wait here!”
Chick had suddenly caught Patsy by the arm and drawn him to the shelter of a doorway, less than twenty yards from that leading into the building occupied by Vic Clayton.
The occasion for this move was obvious.
Just turning the corner of Boylston Street, and approaching the building mentioned, was a huge touring-car of the latest type, occupied by two women only.
“By thunder!” muttered Patsy excitedly. “That’s Badger’s wife running that car.”
“I see it is,” said Chick more coolly.
“With the fortune-teller?”
“No doubt of it. She answers Nick’s description of her.”
“Gee whiz!”
“Well?”
“That’s not the car that Badger and his wife used this afternoon,” cried Patsy.
“So I see,” said Chick, still watching the couple. “There is something back of all this.”
“You bet there is!”
“Hold your horses, however, till I see what the two women are about to do.”
With skillful hands Claudia Badger had turned the huge car in Tremont Street, then brought it to a stop at the curb opposite the doorway giving ingress to Vic Clayton’s rooms.
Then both women deliberately alighted and entered the building, leaving the automobile unattended.
Chick Carter’s eyes took on a sudden bright gleam.
They had lighted upon a large willow hamper, or covered basket, attached to the rear of the car for the purpose of stowing away articles to be carried on a long tour. The hamper was nearly as large as a small trunk, and the top was secured only with two brass clasps.
“By Jove, Patsy, here’s the chance of a lifetime!” Chick hurriedly exclaimed.
“What do you mean?” came the eager inquiry.
“Do you see that hamper?”
“Sure!”
“Do you think you can get into it?”
Patsy needed no further hint to the design in Chick’s mind, nor to the possibility it presented. With eyes quickly glowing with eagerness and excitement, he hurriedly replied:
“Get into it? Sure I can! The scheme is a corker! It’ll take me right into the midst of these rascals. Come on, Chick, and—”
“Stop a moment,” cautioned Chick. “Get that policeman to help you, explaining who you are, and have him take away any stuff that may be in the hamper.”
“And you?”
“I’ll rush up-stairs, and keep those two women engaged till I’m sure you are well under cover.”
“Good enough!”
“And to-night you can count on me to lend a hand,” added Chick, “in case I am needed.”
“That’s the idea!” cried Patsy.
“Away with you, then, while I tackle the two women.”
Patsy hastened toward the deserted automobile, near which a policeman happened to be standing, and whose aid the former quickly obtained in the way Chick had suggested.
Chick, meantime, hastened into the building and up to the rooms of Madame Victoria.
He found the two women in the reception-parlor, Vic Clayton engaged in changing her automobile coat for a long cloak.
They had driven into town again, after securing Nick, only in order that they might be seen by the occupants of the stores near-by, with a view to subsequently obtaining the testimony of these observers, if the need arose, in support of some plausible story to the effect that they had brought Nick back to town and left him in some locality.
Upon hearing Chick enter the room, both women turned toward him with looks of surprise.
“I beg pardon, ladies,” said he, bowing. “I am looking for Madame Victoria.”
“I am she,” replied Vic, sharply regarding him.
“My name is Henderson, madame.”
“What can I do for you, Mr. Henderson?”
“I am looking for a gentleman who is said to have been here this afternoon, and with whom I have important business,” explained Chick, with a deliberation well calculated to give Patsy what time he would require below.
He was quick to see, however, the suspicious gleam that instantly arose in Vic Clayton’s eyes upon learning his business, and he added, with some suavity:
“I am unable to find the gentleman at his hotel, madame, and I thought he might still be here.”
“Who is the gentleman?” asked Vic, with affected indifference.
“His name is Nick Carter.”
“Is he a friend of yours?”
“An acquaintance only.”
“How did you learn that he had been here, Mr. Henderson?” inquired Vic, now bestowing a gracious smile upon her questioner.
“I was so informed by the clerk at the hotel, to whom Mr. Carter had mentioned his intention of coming here.”
“Ah. I see.”
“I inferred that Mr. Carter came here to consult you professionally, madame, and I thought his interview might possibly have lasted till now.”
Chick easily detected the relief which his artful explanation had occasioned both women, and it convinced him that he was on the right track, yet he in no way betrayed his convictions.
Neither woman had approached the window to look out, and Vic Clayton had now buttoned her cloak and appeared anxious to depart.
Chick knew that Patsy must have accomplished his design by this time, however, and he did not care how soon the interview terminated.
“Well, Mr. Henderson, I cannot say where Mr. Carter has gone,” Vic carelessly rejoined. “We dropped him at the corner of Arlington Street, however, only a short time ago.”
“From your automobile?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Possibly, then, I shall now find him at the hotel.”
“I think it quite probable, sir, for he walked toward Washington Street after he left us,” smiled Vic, edging toward the door which Claudia Badger already had opened.
“I will return there and see,” said Chick, bowing himself from the room. “Thank you very much for your information.”
“Don’t mention it, sir,” replied Vic, with a little laugh, as she and her companion also stepped into the corridor, closing the door behind them.
Chick politely stepped aside, and let them precede him down the stairs.
Without so much as a glance at him again, both women fell into a conventional talk as they descended toward the street.
Chick reached the sidewalk close upon their heels, however.
The touring-car still stood at the curb—but there was no sign of Patsy in any direction.
The policeman was lingering near-by, with an air of indifference and a vacant stare across the opposite Common.
From some little distance away a few curious observers were gazing toward the car, wondering at what they had seen, but the officer had made sure that they were too remote to attract attention.
Neither woman noticed them as she crossed the sidewalk and quickly entered the car.
In another moment it was under way, with Claudia Badger at the wheel, and presently was speeding up Boylston Street.
Chick now turned to the policeman, who received him with a significant grin.
“What do you say, officer?” demanded Chick.
“He’s in it, all right, sir,” was the reply.
“In the hamper?”
“That’s what.”
“Was it empty?”
“Not a thing in it, sir.”
“Close quarters for him, weren’t they?”
“Rather,” laughed the officer. “But he fixed the clasps so he can get out whenever he likes, and he’ll not fare so badly. What’s the job, Mr. Carter?”
“If all works well, officer, you may learn by reading to-morrow morning’s newspapers,” Chick pointedly rejoined, as he turned to go. “I cannot wait to inform you, for I now have work of my own elsewhere.”
He was thinking of Badger’s place, and of what might befall the dauntless young detective then speeding out there in the hazardous manner described.
Ten minutes later, however, with a revolver in each hip pocket, Chick also was on his way to Brookline.
CHAPTER XVI.
A TERRIBLE PREDICAMENT.
Patsy held his breath.
It was a novel and, at times, a thrilling sensation, that of riding at thirty miles an hour enclosed in a wicker hamper on the rear of an automobile.
At times the car ran smoothly and swiftly; at others it jolted heavily over a rougher road.
It was not dark in the basketlike receptacle into which Patsy had fairly crammed himself, yet the wickerwork was so compact that he could not see out unless he raised the cover, and that he did not venture to do.
Neither could he hear anything that was said by the two women on the front seat of the car, owing to the constant noise of the vehicle.
He knew, however, that he was on the road to Badger’s place, and speeding to the assistance of Nick Carter, and that was good enough for Patsy up to that time.
After half an hour’s run, as nearly as he could judge, the cramped and twisted young detective felt the car sweep in a swift curve out of the direct road it had been following, and speed along a much less smooth and even way.
“We have entered Laurel Road,” he rightly conjectured. “In five more minutes we should arrive at Badger’s house. Providing that I am not discovered in this infernally tight box, I there may hear something to serve my purpose. If I can learn definitely that Nick is out here, and then discover just where he is located, the rest of the job should be fairly easy.”
For his own peril, let it be what it might, the brave youngster had not even a passing thought.
Presently the car turned again, and began to slow down, and a moment later, when the noise of the motor abated, Patsy could plainly hear Vic Clayton addressing her companion.
“There is Amos on the side veranda, Claudia,” she cried, in satisfied tones.
“So I see, Vic,” was the reply.
“Things must still be all right out here, old girl, since he appears to be taking it easy, and is smoking a cigar.”
“I will round that side of the house before running the car to the stable,” said Claudia.
“You can drop me there, too.”
“We’ll both stop there, and let Amos put the car under cover. Yes, I judge that things are all right out here, as you say.”
“They’ll soon take a turn for the worse, I’ll wager my life on that,” thought Patsy, with grim anticipations.
It was then nearly seven o’clock, and the dusk of the early evening had begun to fall.
As the car approached the side veranda and came to a stop, Badger rose out of a chair in which he was seated, and strode to the steps leading down to the driveway.
Though his dark features wore a look of evil complacency, he at once addressed his wife in rather uneasy tones.
“Well, what’s the verdict?” he asked.
“Nothing wrong, Amos,” she cried, as both women came down from the car.
“Did you stop at your rooms, Vic?”
“Certainly,” laughed the latter. “Don’t you notice that I have changed my coat?”
“Ah, yes, I see.”
“I did that only to indicate that we had some motive for visiting the rooms,” she glibly added. “We had a visitor, too, while we were there.”
“Who was that?”
“A chap named Henderson.”
“Henderson?”
“That’s what he said, Amos, and whom do you think he inquired after?”
“Not Nick Carter!” cried Badger, with brows quickly knitting.
“None other.”
“The devil you say! There may be something back of that.”
“Nothing that involves us, I reckon,” declared Vic confidently.
“Why do you feel so sure of it?”
“Because he was sent to my rooms by the clerk in the hotel where Carter was stopping, and to whom he had mentioned coming to my place. He merely wanted to see him on business, Amos, and couldn’t locate him.”
The last was said with much significance and a loud, derisive laugh, in which Amos Badger now joined.
“Not locate him, eh?” he cried, with a shrug. “Well, if anybody locates him after to-morrow, Vic, I’ll take a permanent seat in the back row.”
As may be inferred, this conversation took place some little time before the interview with Nick himself, as related in a previous chapter.
“You’ll take a seat in that stone hotel in Charles Street, you mean, along with all the rest of us,” Vic bluntly rejoined.
“You’ll soon be there!” thought Patsy, who was listening intently to all that was being said.
Not so much as a glance had been bestowed upon the hamper, which externally presented no unusual appearance, and Patsy felt tolerably safe in his concealment.
The end was not yet, however.
“What have you done with him, Amos?” Claudia now asked, as Badger came down the steps to run the car to cover.
“With Carter?”
“Yes, of course. We started for town, you know, the moment we had him safely landed here.”
“Conley now has charge of him,” said Badger.
“Where?”
“In the old wine-vault.”
“Are you going to confine him there?”
“Yes, till I do worse to him.”
“Has he come to himself?”
“Not yet,” Badger promptly replied. “Those were three ugly blows that Vic gave him.”
“I was taking no chances by falling short of my duty,” put in Vic, with a cruel laugh.
“They’d have killed him for sure, Vic, if his head were not as tough and hard as a darky’s.”
“He would then have been out of our way, at all events.”
“Conley will soon have him revived, I think, and then we will have a talk with him, and force him to confess what is being done against us,” added Badger, approaching the automobile. “I’ll stow the machine while you two go in and eat your dinner. It’s already on the table.”
“Had yours?”
“Yes.”
“Send Jerry in here to tell us when his patient revives,” called Vic Clayton, as she mounted the steps. “I want to go out there and have a look at him.”
“All right,” growled Badger, as he sprang into the car.
Then the two women entered the house.
In another moment the car started again with a whir and rumble, and Patsy mentally sized up the situation as he saw it.
“We have hit the nail on the head, all right,” he said to himself. “These crooks are all that we have suspected, and they have Nick imprisoned out here, after knocking him on the head. They shall be paid with interest for the blows given him, however, as surely as the sun sets in the west.
“Confined in the old wine-vault, eh? I wonder where that is located. Evidently it is not connected with the cellar of the house, since that she devil of a fortune-teller wants to go ‘out’ somewhere to see Nick.
“Conley, plainly enough, is the stableman we saw to-day, and, since he has Nick in charge, it’s a good bet that the vault mentioned is either in the basement of the stable or that long carriage-house which adjoins it. I’ll wager that I speedily find it, give me half a chance.”
“Hello! what’s the meaning of this?”
Patsy had suddenly felt the car lurch heavily, and sway to one side, then plunge forward as if it were going down a steep incline.
“We cannot be going directly into the stable,” he quickly reasoned. “The run into that is on the level, but we’re descending some short, steep place.”
“By Jove! I have it. Badger is taking the car into some place from which Conley brought that one this noon, which Chick felt sure had not come out of the stable. These crooks must have some secret hiding-place for their several cars and horses, and Badger is about taking this one into it. Fortunately, I shall now know all about it.”
Patsy was correct in these conjectures.
Badger had run the car around a corner of the stable, then down to a short fence enclosing the space below the building, which stood on a slope of the land.
In this fence was a door about wide enough to admit the car, and Badger quickly sprang down to open it.
As the latter did so, there fell upon Patsy’s ears a sound that chilled his blood, despite the strong nerves and invincible courage of the young detective.
The sound was the sudden threatening barking of a dog, then confined in this basement garage.
“By thunder! it’s that Cuban bloodhound!” was Patsy’s mental exclamation.
He felt a thrill of dismay when he now recalled the huge beast, which he had not once thought of since undertaking the hazardous venture in which he was at present helplessly launched.
“If I escape detection by his ugly nostrils I shall be lucky,” he said to himself. “If he scents me before I can make some kind of a move to escape from this basket, I shall be a gone goose for sure.”
These thoughts passed quickly through Patsy’s mind while Badger was opening the door mentioned.
Then out came the dog, nearly as large as a small calf, leaping about his rascally master, and barking furiously.
“Gee whiz! that’s a pleasant sound,” murmured Patsy, with an irrepressible shudder.
“Down, Pluto!” roared Badger angrily. “Keep down, I say! Close that trap of yours, you brute, or I’ll break every bone in your ugly body. Get out, you cur!”
With the last of these exclamations, the huge dog was dealt a resounding kick in the ribs, which sent him yelping out across the lawn, at which Patsy breathed a sigh of relief.
“I’m safe for a few minutes, at least,” he decided.
Then he heard Badger shout commandingly:
“Here you, Conley! Come here with the lantern, so I can see to run in this car. Look lively, old pal!”
Patsy wondered why he had shouted so lustily, and now he ventured to raise the wicker lid about half an inch and peer out.
