The Second Nick Carter MEGAPACK®, page 49
He went about his duties in an absent-minded way, however, and had done a great deal of thinking before he encountered Crawford that afternoon, as he was making his rounds. The two men greeted each other cordially, and after Floyd had looked about to see that they were unobserved he said quickly:
“I’ll walk along for a short distance with you, if I may, Mr. Crawford. I find myself in a very difficult position, and what I’ve decided to say seems like a very serious breach of confidence. I feel that I must say it, though, because otherwise the responsibility would be too heavy for me to bear.”
Crawford looked at him keenly.
“Is it about Jimmy Stone?” he asked.
“How did you guess?” was the surprised query.
“Oh, I’m not blind, Charlie, and I can put two and two together. Jimmy hasn’t been himself for months, and I know others have noticed it. I saw him talking with you this morning. Have you any idea what is the matter with him?”
The young physician tapped his forehead significantly.
“I’m afraid it’s—a little of that,” he answered reluctantly.
“You do? I feared something of the sort, but I hoped I was mistaken. What a pity! Jimmy has always been one of the finest and whitest men that ever stepped the earth, and a friend worth having. I’ve worried and worried over him lately, and tried to recall anything I had said or done that might have turned him against me. I haven’t been able to think of a thing that any man in his sound sense would resent to such an extent, and I’ve been obliged to come to the conclusion that he was not altogether responsible. Do you think anything can be done for him? We’ve both got plenty of money now, and I’m ready and willing——”
“I’m sure you are, Mr. Crawford,” Floyd assured him, “and I hope Mr. Stone can be helped. In fact, I’m almost sure he can be. He’s absolutely normal in every other way, and this change is so recent that the trouble can’t be very deep-seated. He has promised me that he will consult a famous alienist in New York.”
“He has?”
Crawford gave a start as he put the question.
“Then you’ve actually talked with him about it?” he went on wonderingly. “Has he sought your advice?”
“Hardly,” was the reply. “I butted in, and, of course, he was up in arms in a moment. Nobody likes to be called crazy—least of all a crazy man. It had to be done, though. If I tell you something, will you give me your word not to use it in any way against Mr. Stone?”
“Of course. I’d protect Jimmy’s life at the risk of my own any day.”
“I haven’t a doubt of it, but this is asking a great deal of you. Mr. Crawford, it was—it was your partner who fired that shot at you this morning.”
Crawford gave the young doctor a long, searching look, and then said quietly:
“That isn’t exactly news to me, Charlie. I guessed as much.”
“You did? And yet you could greet him as you did?”
“Why not? It was not the Jimmy Stone I’ve known for twenty years or more who did it. It was this surly, glowering chap who has stepped into his shoes. I don’t bear any ill will—I can’t. I’ve been looking for something of the sort, and of course I’ve tried to protect myself and shall continue to do so. I have no intention of having him confined, though, and you must promise me that you won’t take any such steps. There’s no danger to any one else, and if I choose to run the risk it’s my own business.”
“I knew that would be your attitude,” Floyd told him, “and I allowed myself to promise Mr. Stone that on certain conditions I would not play the part of informer.”
“You accused him of it, then?”
“Yes. I witnessed the whole thing, and told him I had done so. I used my knowledge to extract a couple of promises from him, but since then I’ve been wondering if I did right. I’ve worried a lot about the possible consequences to you, and finally I made up my mind that I’d simply have to warn you. Strictly speaking, I didn’t give my word to say nothing to you. I simply agreed not to inform the authorities; but of course Stone did not dream that I would tell you, and I feel like a sneak in doing so. I couldn’t bear to let you remain in ignorance, however, for if I had, I would have felt that I was indirectly responsible if anything happened to you.”
Crawford nodded slowly and gripped the young physician’s shoulder.
“I understand, Charlie,” he said. “It was a knotty problem, but you’ve solved it the best you knew how, and I thank you for your warning, although it wasn’t necessary. What were the promises Jimmy gave you?”
“I made him swear that he would make no further attempt on you unless in self-defense. Nothing can persuade him, you know, that you aren’t gunning for him, but I knew if he kept that promise nothing would happen. It was a long chance to take with a man in his mental condition, I suppose, but I couldn’t bear the thought of giving him up to justice.”
Crawford nodded understandingly.
“Nor can I,” he said. “I hope he’ll keep the promise, knowing the light in which your testimony would place him if he didn’t, but I don’t intend to change my plans in the least. I’ll keep an eye on him as best I can, but we’ll travel together unless he refuses. If he finishes me—well, so be it. The responsibility will be mine, not yours. But what about the other promise? Was it that he should seek the advice of a specialist in New York?”
“Yes. I gave him the name of Doctor Stephen Follansbee, the famous head of St. Swithin’s Hospital. Doctor Follansbee is at the top of his profession in New York, and has a great reputation for handling such cases in an unusual way without resorting to the customary confinement of the patient.”
“Good! Nothing could be better! If Jimmy goes to him, we’ll hope that all will come out right, and that I’ll soon have my old partner back. I thank you from the bottom of my heart, Charlie, but we’d better separate now. If Jimmy should happen to see us together, or hear that we had been, he might smell a rat and make things decidedly unpleasant for you.”
They shook hands again and separated, but Doctor Floyd felt that he had one more duty to perform that day. When he returned to the rough little shack which he occupied, his first act after supper was to sit down and write a rather lengthy letter. It was addressed to his former professor, Doctor Follansbee, and in it he gave the celebrated alienist a history of James Stone’s case, so far as he knew it. He wished Follansbee to receive the letter before Stone’s arrival, and to have something else to go on besides the man’s own statements.
Incidentally, knowing that Follansbee’s charges were very high, he thought best to mention the facts concerning the recent sale of the mine. He informed the specialist that Stone and Crawford had been equal partners in the Condor, and that the share of each was reputed to be five hundred thousand dollars. For no particular reason, he added that so far as was known Stone and Crawford were alone in the world, and that the general understanding was that each had drawn a will in favor of the other before the estrangement had come about.
Young Floyd was nothing if not thorough, but had he known the consequences which would follow the writing of that letter he would have cut off his right hand rather than send it.
CHAPTER IV.
CRAWFORD IS TROUBLED.
The boat deck of the Cortez was of wide expanse, shaded by gleaming canvas.
The South American liner had just passed Sandy Hook, bound inward, and was making its stately way toward New York harbor. It was late in the evening, and in a couple of deck chairs two figures were seated. The men were chatting together quietly. The taller of the two, clean-shaven and keen-faced, was puffing contentedly on a fragrant Havana.
They were Nick Carter, the distinguished New York detective, and his leading assistant, Chick Carter, who were returning from a couple of weeks’ holiday spent in Jamaica. The Cortez had touched at Kingston on its way north from South American ports, and it was there that the detective and his assistant had come on board.
“Evidently we won’t be home until to-morrow morning,” Chick Carter said quietly. “It will be too late for disembarking to-night. Of course we could get a special dispensation, if necessary, but I don’t believe in pulling wires unless there’s need for it. All the same, I’ll be glad to get back into harness again.”
Chick grinned in the darkness. He had enjoyed their short stay in beautiful Jamaica, but he had noted that his chief had chafed at the idleness, especially during the last few days.
“Let’s hope there’s something waiting for us that will let us sit up and take notice,” he said. “I feel fit to tackle anything.”
They were both in evening dress and awaiting the sound of the dinner gong, which soon called them to the saloon.
There were over fifty first-class passengers on board, and at the detective’s table were two men who had interested him. They sat side by side opposite to him, and their broad shoulders and tanned features told plainly that they were men who had spent the greater part of their years out of doors in some hot country.
Their manners and dress were curiously alike, but their faces differed greatly. The man who sat on the right, and who Nick had found out was Winthrop Crawford, had an open, kindly countenance. The trim gray beard did not quite hide the friendly lines about the mouth; and the eyes, although set in a network of wrinkles—such as one always notices on the faces of those who have peered long over sun-drenched stretches of plain or mountain—were wide and blue and looked out on the world in a genial fashion.
His companion, however, was almost the opposite, so far as looks were concerned. There was nothing repellent about his features, to be sure, but his expression was far from agreeable. His eyes were hard and suspicious, his lips usually wore either a snarl or a sneer, and his brows were drawn together with a surly frown most of the time.
It was the head steward who had told Nick the names of the two men, and had also added the information that they had been until recently joint owners of a big silver mine in South America.
The second man, James Stone, was the older of the two, and it was his peculiar manner that had interested the detective first of all. During the four or five days since Carter and his assistant had boarded the Cortez, they had never heard Stone say more than half a dozen words at a time to any one, even to his companion, Crawford. At the table Nick noted that Crawford often tried to engage his partner in conversation, but his efforts were always doomed to failure. Moreover, the detective had observed the perplexed, anxious look which had come into Crawford’s eyes many times after these rebuffs.
The two mining men were in their places when Carter and Chick dropped into their seats. Once or twice in the course of the meal the detective caught Crawford glancing across at him with a look of interest, and wondered what it meant. He was not surprised, therefore, when, after the meal was over and he had entered the smoking room, he heard a voice at his elbow, and, turning round, saw the bearded face of Winthrop Crawford at his side.
“I hope you’ll excuse me, Mr. Carter,” the man said in a deep, melodious voice, “but I’ve just heard from the steward who you are, and I’d like to make your acquaintance.”
As a judge of character Nick Carter had no superior, and he saw that the man in front of him was of the sterling, honest type; therefore, he had no hesitation in holding out his hand.
“It’s only another case of diamond cut diamond, Mr. Crawford,” he answered, with a smile, “for I must also plead guilty to having made inquiries about you.”
Crawford pulled out a cigar case, and Nick accepted the “weed,” after which they strolled across the big room and seated themselves on a comfortable settee.
“I’m returning to New York after an absence of a quarter of a century,” Crawford explained, “and I don’t believe I know a single soul there.”
“You are taking a well-earned vacation, I suppose?” the detective remarked.
“Something of the sort,” was the answer. “As a matter of fact, I have no occupation now, since my partner and I have sold out our mining interests in South America. I have nothing definite in view, but I’m sure I shan’t be content to remain idle for long.”
He leaned back and puffed at his cigar.
“I’ve had a pretty tough time of it,” he went on. “The usual experience of those who knock about the world seeking their fortunes; but I think I can safely say that I’m secure now for the rest of my life—unless I make a fool of myself.”
“I’m very glad to hear of it,” Nick declared heartily. “I understood that you and Mr. Stone had been fortunate.”
Crawford nodded his head, but a shadow passed over his face.
“It isn’t necessary to go into details, Mr. Carter,” he replied, “but your informant was quite correct. Stone and I discovered and developed the Condor Mine in Brazil. We worked it ourselves for over a year, and then decided to sell out and come back home. It netted us about half a million apiece. That’s very little, of course, as you count wealth up here, but it’s enough for us to live on in comfort for the rest of our lives. We have no one dependent on us—unfortunately.”
“I’m sure you deserve it all,” the detective told him warmly.
Crawford’s eyes grew misty with a host of memories of hard days and lean ones—days when the nearest approach to a meal had been another notch in the belt and the hope of something more substantial on the morrow.
“Yes,” he said thoughtfully, “I’ve earned it; and that brings me to something I wanted to say. I’m a little afraid of your New York, Mr. Carter. I know much more about prospecting than I do about finance. As I’ve told you, there’s nothing to occupy my mind, and I suppose I’ll soon be looking about for investments. If I’m not very careful, I’m likely to fall among thieves.”
He leaned across and placed his hand on Nick’s arm.
“Even in South America we hear of Nick Carter,” he said, with a quiet nod of his grizzled head, “and I count it a very fortunate chance that I should have run across you here on this vessel. I have engaged rooms at the Hotel Windermere, and I’ll be very glad if you’ll give me your address. I should like to have some one to go to for advice if I find that the sharks begin to gather.”
Then, as the detective remained silent, Crawford went on:
“It must be a strictly business undertaking, you understand. If I’m doubtful about any concern or individual, I would like to call on you and have you give me a report. I should expect you to make the usual charge for such work—in fact, I would be willing to pay more than that, because, as a friendless man who doesn’t understand the game, I would profit more than usual by such invaluable assistance.”
There was something curiously winning about Crawford’s voice, and the man appealed strongly to Nick. The sort of assistance he asked for was hardly in the detective’s line, but the simple, direct appeal gained the day.
“Very well,” he said, taking out his case and handing a card to Crawford. “Let’s hope for your sake that you won’t have any very urgent need of me, but here’s my address, and you can ring me up at any time. I shall be very glad to do anything I can.”
Crawford had just placed the card in his pocket when the door of the smoking room opened and James Stone appeared. There was a little bar at one end of the room, and it was toward this that Crawford’s partner was headed. Stone’s eyes traveled across to Crawford, and the latter made a move as though to rise to his feet, but his partner turned his head away quickly and went on his way. There was more than a suggestion of surliness, if not of enmity, in the way he ignored Crawford, and the latter leaned back again with an involuntary sigh.
Nick caught his eye.
“I can’t make it out,” Crawford said at last, the troubled expression deepening on his face. “I suppose you’ve noted that Stone and I hardly exchange a word.”
CHAPTER V.
ANOTHER MURDEROUS ATTACK.
“I must admit that I have noticed it,” Nick returned, “and it struck me as being rather curious, under the circumstances.”
“It beats me,” Crawford declared, glancing down at the bar, where the broad-shouldered figure of his old comrade was standing. “Jimmy and I have been chums for years. We’ve worked together and starved together, and five years ago he saved my life at the risk of his own. He dived into a flooded river, and it was touch and go whether he brought me out or not.”
The deep voice shook for a moment. “It’s beyond me,” he continued. “For the last few months he’s been a changed man. I can hardly get a word out of him, and many times I’ve caught him looking at me as though I were his bitterest enemy.”
There was no doubting the sincerity of Crawford’s emotions. His tanned face twitched, and his hard, work-worn hands were clasped in a tight grip as they rested on his knees.
“Something has gone wrong,” he concluded, “but what it is Heaven only knows. Would you believe me if I told you that he——”
The detective waited curiously, but Crawford did not complete the sentence, and a little silence fell between the two.
As Stone had tossed off his drink, he passed them once more. When he reached the door, however, he halted for a moment, then, swinging around on his heel, beckoned to Crawford. It was almost a gasp of relief that broke from the latter’s lips as he rose.
“Hello!” he murmured. “He wants to speak to me, does he? Excuse me, Mr. Carter.”
The eager way in which he hurried toward his partner revealed to the detective how anxious he was to make friends again.
The two figures passed out through the doorway, and Nick mechanically picked up a magazine from a neighboring table. Half an hour passed; then, leaving the smoking room, the detective went off in search of Chick. His young assistant was not to be seen, and presently Carter returned to the boat deck, found a quiet gap between two suspended boats, and, leaning on the rail, watched the distant lights along the coast.
Perhaps fifteen minutes later the detective heard a quick, muffled cry, followed by the creak of a boat as some heavy object swung against it. He straightened up and listened. A moment later a half-choked voice came to him:
