The Second Nick Carter MEGAPACK®, page 19
This name produced a great impression.
“Why has he kept silence?” asked Nick.
“He promised me that he would do so as long as his conscience would permit. I called upon him on the morning after the crime.
“He believed me when I asserted my innocence. He agreed to be silent for the sake of my family.”
“But who is the dead woman?” asked Nick.
“I have not the least idea.”
“You did not know her!”
“No. Let me tell the full story. It was a chance acquaintance. I met her on the street that afternoon.
“I was walking behind her on Twenty-third street. You know what wonderful hair she had. I was admiring it.
“Suddenly I saw her drop a little purse. I picked it up and handed it to her, and somehow we fell into conversation.
“Her manner mystified me. Sometimes she seemed to be laboring under some secret grief which nearly drove her to tears. In another moment she would be apparently as merry as a schoolgirl.
“She showed no reserve whatever, but something in her manner warned me that she was a lady, and I did not presume upon her confidence.
“We walked together a long while, and at last we found ourselves near that restaurant. How we came there I do not know. I paid no attention to where we were going. T was too much fascinated by my companion.
“Suddenly she said: ‘It is late and I am hungry. Let us go to dinner.’
“I thought it a strange thing to say, but I was glad enough to comply. We went into that restaurant because it was right before us.
“I signed the first name that came into my head, and then Corbut showed us into the private dining-room.
“I ordered a dinner, but before it was served, I began to be a good deal surprised at my companion’s behavior. She paced up and down the room, and every now and then she listened at the door which was between us and room A.
“‘I have all a woman’s curiosity,’ she said, ‘I’d like to hear what those people are saying over their dinner.’
“I tried to make her sit down, and playfully took hold of her. Then I made a discovery which frightened me.
“The woman had a pistol in her pocket.
“Suddenly she turned upon me and exclaimed:
“‘What shall we do after dinner? I’ll tell you what I’d like. I want to go to the theater. Let’s see something real funny. Yes, I must go. You run out now and get the tickets. There’s a place just down the street where they’re sold. You can get back before your dinner is cold.’
“Of course, it was perfectly plain that she was trying to get rid of me. Well, I had no objection. That pistol had scared me badly. I didn’t want to be mixed up in a scandal.
“So I took my hat and cleared out. But once on the street, my courage came back, and also my curiosity. I wanted to know more of that strange woman.
“I bought the theater tickets and hurried back. I opened the door of room B.
“You know what I saw. She sat there dead, with the pistol by her side. She had committed suicide.
“I rushed out with the intention of calling for help, but fear overcame me. I looked around into the hall. This man Gaspard was at the desk.
“I dared not summon him. I turned and ran.”
Hammond ceased, and a sigh ran around the room. Nick could read relief in all the faces. The mystery was solved. The innocent man was no longer to suffer under unjust suspicion.
That was what could be seen in the faces. Hammond’s words had the ring of truth. Neither the superintendent nor Nick nor any other person there doubted a single statement of his story.
“When Gaspard identified me as the man in room A,” Hammond continued, “I thought I saw a chance to save Mr. Jones very easily, and so I told a falsehood.”
“It was a foolish thing to do,” said Nick. “The truth is always best. If we had known at the outset what we know now, Mr. Jones might have been spared a great deal of trouble. Since the woman committed suicide—”
“Hold on!” cried the superintendent. “How do you account for the murder of Corbut?”
“He must have found the body and robbed it. Probably he took some money and a diamond ring. There was the mark of a ring on her finger, but the ring was gone.
“Corbut fled with these things. He engaged Harrigan’s cab. He was decoyed to that flat by some woman, probably, who knew that nobody was in it, and was there murdered.
“Of course, neither Mr. nor Mrs. Jones had anything to do with it. Now, if Mr. Jones would only explain how he happened to be at that restaurant, the case would be clear. We know positively that he was there.”
A great light of hope had shone in Jones’ face while Hammond was telling his story, and when Nick added his explanation of Corbut’s death, the prisoner nearly laughed for joy.
“It’s true I was there,” he said. “My wife and I dined in room A, and—”
“Fool!” exclaimed the woman, in a terrible voice. “Don’t you see that this is a trap?”
In her wild excitement, she covered Jones’ mouth with her hand to prevent his speaking further.
“That is true,” said Nick. “It was a trap, and the wretch has fallen into it. Jones, you have put the halter around your neck.”
“No! It is a lie!” exclaimed Jones, freeing himself from the woman’s grasp. “I tell you that I was in room A. The crime, if there was a crime, was committed in room B.”
“No, it wasn’t,” said Nick. “It was committed in room A.”
CHAPTER X.
THE TRUE STORY OF MRS. JOHN JONES.
Jones fell back into his chair. The woman bit her lip till the blood spurted out.
Then suddenly the color left her face. She sat up, staring straight before her, and she did not move during the explanation which Nick gave.
While he was speaking, the detective watched her narrowly. Certainly she was meditating some remarkable action. He wondered what it could be.
“Yes,” said Nick, turning to the superintendent, “we have at last straightened out the matter of those two rooms and their occupants.
“As to the spot where the crime was committed, I have not been in doubt from the first.
“You will remember that the fatal wound was visible on both the woman’s temples. The bullet passed entirely through her head.
“But where was the bullet? That was the question which I asked myself at once.
“I could not find it in room B, where the body lay. Then I tried room A, with no better success.
“At this point Chick took up the hunt, and carried it to the end. The bullet was in neither room. It was just between them.
“You remember that there was a door which I found fastened upon both sides.
“Chick opened that door, and in its framework, the wood of which was old and soft, he found the bullet.
“The mark was covered when the door was shut. Therefore the door must have been open when the shot was fired.
“The position of the bullet shows that the shot was fired from room A. Then the woman, for some reason, had got into that room. She had unlocked the door on her side and had managed to induce the persons on the other side to slip their bolt.
“Now, why did she do this? Of course there is only one answer. Jealousy was her motive. The man in room A was her husband.
“I have satisfied myself of that. She must have known that he was going to dine in that house with another woman.
“It is clear that she made the acquaintance of Hammond because she was determined to get into that restaurant, and women are not admitted alone.
“The dropping of the purse was, of course, a very simple trick. She had noticed Hammond behind her, and as he was evidently a gentleman, she decided to use him for her purpose.
“You have heard how she led him to the restaurant. Of course it was only by chance that they got the room next to that in which her husband was.
“Hammond has told how she listened to the voices, and how she got rid of him.
“What followed can be easily understood. She got into room A. She drew her pistol and attempted to shoot either her faithless husband or his companion.
“Jones disarmed her and shot her with her own pistol.
“Then he carried her into room B, and put her in that chair.
“At that moment Corbut entered, for the door of room B was not locked.
“In some way they bribed him to keep silence. They sent him into room A, where he locked the connecting door on that side.
“Jones fastened it on the side of room B and fled. It was then that Gaspard saw him coming out of room B. And that’s what mixed the case so badly.
“It gave us the wrong arrangement of men in those rooms. That was the only reason why I ever doubted Jones’ guilt. I was convinced that the man who had brought the woman to the house was not the man who had shot her.
“You did not know, Mr. Hammond, that when you told me, in my house, that you were the man in room A, that you practically confessed to being the murderer.”
At these words, Hammond gave a dry and painful gasp. He saw what an escape he had had.
“As to the two women,” Nick continued, “it is easy to read the secret.
“Jones had two wives. The real wife, now dead, lived in the flat the address of which Jones gave me. This woman lived in the Fifty-eighth street flat, where Corbut was murdered.
“Jones divided his time between them. He really loved this one and wished to be rid of the other.
“His true wife surprised his secret at last, and it led her to her death.
“That night after the murder the plan was formed by which this woman was to personate the other. The striking similarity in the hair, which was the most conspicuous beauty of each, suggested the plot.
“Perhaps Jones had thought of such a thing long before. That may have led him to keep his real wife practically unknown in this city, while he was frequently seen with this woman.
“As to the dresses, this woman, who is a very clever dressmaker, as I am told, doubtless had time to copy the other’s costume in the night and the day following the crime.
“She did most of the work in Albany, where she went as soon as possible. Then wearing the duplicate dress, she went to her friends in Maysville, and afterward came here.
“Is it all plain now?”
“It is clear as a bell, Mr. Carter,” said the superintendent.
“Wait a moment!”
It was the woman’s voice. She spoke calmly, and looked straight into Nick’s face.
“You have made one grave error,” she said. “It was not John who killed that woman; it was I.
“She tried to shoot him, and I wrenched the pistol from her hand. I shot her dead.
“The plot was all mine. It was I who bribed Corbut. It was I who killed him.
“John brought him to our flat. I sent my husband away, and when he returned a few minutes later, Corbut was dead. John had no guilty hand in either crime.
“He fainted at the sight of Corbut’s body. When he came to himself, the body was no longer to be seen. I had put it into the trunks. It was I who afterward sent them to Gaspard.
“These crimes I committed for love of this man. I had been his wife for five years, and for three of them I did not know he had another.
“And when I found it out, I did not do as this woman did. I simply loved him more.
“I love him still, and because I love him I tell the truth to save him. Yes, more, because I love him, I will shed more blood. He shall not see me imprisoned or condemned to death. I will spare him that pain.”
As she spoke, she drew a little ornamental dagger from her dress. It was a mere toy. Nobody would have supposed it to be a deadly weapon.
However, Nick sprang forward to prevent her from doing herself an injury.
He was too late. She plunged the dagger into her brain.
So firm and true was her hand that the slender blade pierced the thin bone of her right temple, and was driven in until the hilt made an impression on her white skin like a seal upon wax.
Jones uttered a scream of horror at this sight. He, too, had attempted to stay her hand, but had been too slow.
As she fell, he plucked the dagger from the wound and attempted to drive it into his own brain. But Nick caught his arm and wrested the blood-stained weapon from him.
Deprived thus of the means for ending his life, Jones fell upon his knees before the woman and covered her hands with kisses, nor could he be taken away, until the hands were chilled by death.
And that was the strange end of the affair. The woman’s confession, though it may not have been true, will doubtless save Jones’ life.
At the time of this writing the district attorney is of the opinion that a plea of murder in the second degree had better be accepted. There is no indication that the prisoner will fight the case.
So Jones will spend his days in prison, though he will escape the death chair.
A word should be added about the witness, Gaspard. He has been cleared of all reproach, and has sailed for France with his bride.
NICK CARTER’S GHOST STORY
Originally published in 1894
CHAPTER I.
THE VANISHING THIEF.
Nick Carter’s friends often ask him whether, in the course of his remarkable experience as a detective, he has ever encountered anything which could not have been the work of human hands.
Few people, nowadays, will own that they believe in ghosts. Yet most of us would be less sure about it in a grave-yard at midnight than on Broadway at noon.
A man who can tell a reasonable story about having seen a ghost may not find many believers, but he will get plenty of listeners, for we are all eager to hear about such things.
So Nick, who always likes to oblige his friends, does not deny the existence of spirits when he is asked whether he ever saw any. On the contrary, if he has the time to spare, he usually tells the following story:
A broad-shouldered, square-jawed, bright-eyed young man called on Nick one afternoon, and was ushered into the study.
His card had gone up ahead of him, and it bore the name—Horace G. Richmond.
Nick ran his eye over his visitor, and decided that he was a fellow who knew the world and was getting everything out of it that there is in it.
He met Nick’s eye with the air of a man who is going to do something unusual, and wants to announce at the start that he can back it up.
“I have a case for you, Mr. Carter, if you will take it,” he said.
“State it,” replied Nick.
“It’s a robbery case, and a mighty queer one. I don’t pretend to understand it or any part of it.”
“Who’s been robbed?”
“My uncle, Colonel Richmond, or, I should say, his daughter, Mrs. Pond. But the robbery affects my uncle perhaps more seriously than his daughter. It is on his account that I am here.”
“Tell the story.”
“I’ll do it, but first let me say that whatever others may think of the case, I believe it’s just simply theft. Mrs. Pond has a lot of jewelry and somebody is stealing it a piece at a time.
“That’s my view, but my uncle’s is different. He says that these robberies are not the work of human hands.
“Now, as for me, I try to keep my feet on the earth all the time. I want you to understand right at the start that I don’t believe in any stuff about ghosts and hobgoblins.
“In my opinion, ghosts that steal diamonds ought to be in the jug, and will probably get there unless they turn over a new leaf.
“My uncle doesn’t see as straight as that. Perhaps you remember that, three or four years ago, he fell into the hands of a couple of sharks who pretended to be mediums.
“He had always believed in spiritualism, and those crooks caught him just right. They called up the spooks of all the dead people he could think of. They got messages from the spirit land seven nights in the week and two matinees. My uncle simply went wild about it. You remember. It was all in the papers. They worked him beautifully, and if I had not stepped in and exposed them just in time they’d have got every cent he had.”
“That would have been quite a haul,” said Nick.
“Well, I should remark! He’s worth more than four million dollars. I tell you, those bogus mediums thought they’d struck something very soft.
“However, I showed them up, and convinced my uncle that they were rank frauds. They’re in Sing Sing now.
“My uncle did not give up his belief in spirits. He said ‘these people are frauds, but there are others who honestly and truly hold communication with the departed.’
“I tell you, we’ve had a hard time keeping him out of the hands of sharpers since then. But we’ve succeeded.
“And now, by bad luck, this queer affair has come up, and all my uncle’s faith has returned. He wants to consult mediums, and all that sort of thing.
“That’s the only serious part of it. The jewels that have been stolen aren’t worth over a couple of thousand dollars, all told.
“Of course, it’s a nuisance to have such a thing happen in anybody’s house, but we wouldn’t care much if the mysterious circumstances were not driving my uncle’s mind back to his pet delusion.”
“What are these mysterious circumstances?” asked the detective.
“Why, it’s like this: Colonel Richmond’s aunt, Miss Lavina Richmond, was a queer old lady, who was once very rich. At that time she had a passion for collecting jewels. She used to invest her money in diamonds, just as another person might buy houses or railroad stock.
“Only about a tenth part of her fortune was invested so that she got any income out of it. In the last part of her life she lost all that part of her property, so that she hadn’t anything in the world but her jewels.
“She wouldn’t sell one, and there she was as poor in one sense as a lodger in City Hall Square—for she hadn’t a cent of money—and yet owning diamonds and other precious stones worth nearly a million dollars.
“She wouldn’t borrow on them; she wouldn’t do anything but keep them locked up; and so she had to depend absolutely on my uncle for the necessities of life.
