CHAPTER V.
PATSY'S TIP.
Gaspard's declaration produced a stunning effect upon Hammond.
At first he seemed thunderstruck. There was a look in his face which made Nick say to himself, "It isn't true."
But whether the accusation was true or false, Nick knew at once that Hammond recognized Gaspard.
Yet he couldn't be a regular visitor to the place, because Gaspard had said that he had never seen either of the two men before the fatal evening.
Therefore, as Hammond had recognized Gaspard, he must be the man who was in room A, because the man in room B had not seen the head waiter, according to Gaspard's story.
Hammond, after the first shock of surprise, recovered his nerve wonderfully.
He calmly took a chair and sat there in deep thought for nearly five minutes. He paid no attention to questions.
Finally he looked up and said:
"I don't know why I should deny it to you. There is no charge against the man in room A."
"None whatever," said Nick. "He is wanted merely as a witness."
"It occurred to me that you might have some theory of a conspiracy in which both men were concerned."
"I never thought of it."
"Then I am not to be put under arrest?"
"Certainly not, unless some new evidence appears, and I do not expect it."
"Very well; I was the man in room A."
"And who was the lady?"
"I decline to mention her name. She has nothing to do with this case. You will easily understand that I do not wish to bring a lady's name into a tragedy of this kind."
"I can understand that. Now tell me why you feel so sure of this man Jones' innocence."
"Will you promise to keep me out of this affair as much as you can?"
"Why do you wish it? What are you afraid of?"
"Well," said Hammond, looking very much embarrassed, "I'm a married man, very respectable sort of a fellow; and the lady with whom I dined was not my wife. It's all right, you know. My wife is not a jealous woman. But the thing would not look well in print."
"I won't make this public if I can help it, Mr. Hammond. Not that I have much sympathy for you. You shouldn't have been there. But the publicity would annoy your wife, and do nobody any good."
"Thank you," said Hammond, with a grim smile; "now I will tell my story. There is very little to tell.
"We arrived before the other party. We heard them go into room B.
"By and by, I went out into the hall to find the waiter, who didn't answer my ring. I saw this man," pointing to Gaspard, "at the desk, and should have spoken to him, but just then the waiter hove in sight at the end of the hall.
"So I went back. Just as I was closing the door of our room, I heard the man come out of room B.
"I didn't see him, but I know that he went down the front stairs, for I heard his footsteps, and also heard the door shut.
"The waiter came in and finally went out again. We. were just ready to leave the place when we heard the pistol-shot in the other room.
"Then we got out of the house just as fast as we could. It was cowardly, perhaps, but I knew that something terrible had happened, and I didn't want to be mixed up in it.
"Of course I wanted to keep the lady out of it, too, and—and—well, you can see that there were many reasons why I should have decided to make tracks."
"You know that the man was not in room B when the shot was fired?" said Nick.
"I'm sure of it."
"He might have come back."
"No; the front door makes a loud noise when it is shut I should have heard him if he had come in that way. And if he had come the other way this man would have seen him."
"You didn't see him at all, did you?"
"No."
"So you can't say whether Jones was the man?"
"No; but I'm sure he wasn't the murderer."
"You think it was suicide?"
"I'm sure of it. How could it have been anything else? The woman was alone."
"There might have been somebody else in the room."
"No; our waiter told us that the party consisted of only two."
"You mean Corbut?"
"I believe that's his name—the fellow who disappeared."
"How do you account for his disappearance?"
"I don't; but perhaps he was afraid of being mixed up in the affair. He may have a record which won't permit him to go before the police, even as a witness."
"How could he have got that cab?"
"I've thought a good deal about that. It was mentioned in the papers. I believe he may have slipped out the front way, called the cab, and then gone back to get something.
"Perhaps he went back for his clothes but didn't dare to take them."
"And how about the cabman's story of the man who engaged the cab?"
"The cabman's a liar. That's plain enough."
"I'm afraid he is. Now, Mr. Hammond, could either Corbut or this man Gaspard have got into room B without your knowing it?"
"Easily. Great heavens, I never thought of that! One of them may be the murderer!"
Gaspard, at these words, turned as white as a sheet.
He was so frightened that his English—which was usually very fluent—deserted him, and he mumbled protestations of innocence in his mother tongue.
"Thank you, Mr. Hammond," said Nick, without appearing to notice Gaspard's distress. "I have no more questions to ask, but I would be obliged to you if you would wait here a few minutes for me."
Nick went into another room, where he knew that Patsy was waiting.
A set of signals is arranged in Nick's house, by which he always knows when one of his staff gets in.
"Patsy," said Nick, "there's a fellow up stairs whom you'll have to shadow."
"Gaspard?"
"No; a man who calls himself Hammond. Gaspard has identified him as the man who was in room A."
"Look here," said Patsy, "am I a farmer, or is the man Gaspard the greatest living identifier?"
"What do you mean?"
"Why, it strikes me that he picked out his men a good deal too easy. If it's all straight, I'd like the loan of his luck for a few days.
"That identification on the elevated station looked to me like a fake. I don't believe he ever intended that you should get hold of the man.
"In my opinion, he's simply running around identifying everybody he sees."
"But this man Hammond admits it."
"Is he telling the truth?"
"No," said Nick, with a peculiar smile, "I don't believe he is."
"Well, then, Gaspard's a liar, and if he's lied here, he may have done the same thing in Jones' case."
Nick looked shrewdly at his youthful assistant. He is very fond of this bright boy, and gives him every chance to develop his theories in those cases in which he is employed.
"Come, my lad," said the famous detective, "tell me what has set you against Gaspard."
"He's going to skip."
"Is that so? Well, this is serious."
"It's a fact. I got it from one of the men in the restaurant. My man was told of it by Corbut."
"Corbut?"
"Yes; and there's another suspicious circumstance. There's a Frenchwoman who is going to give little old New York the shake at the same time as Gaspard. They're going back to sunny France together.
"Now, nobody knows this but the man I talked with. Gaspard thinks that Corbut was the only one who knew it.
"So it was for Gaspard's interest, in case he really did this job, and lifted some valuable plunder off that woman, to get Corbut out of the way.
"Did he pay Corbut to skip first? And is he now identifying Tom, Dick and Harry for the purpose of bothering us and keeping us busy till he can light out?"
"It's worth looking into," said Nick. "At any rate, you stick to Gaspard. I'll put somebody else onto Hammond."
CHAPTER VI.
MRS. JOHN JONES.
Nothing of great importance occurred in the case until the next afternoon when Nick was at Police Headquarters.
He was talking with Superintendent Byrnes.
"The identification of that woman gets stronger all the time," said the superintendent. "I'm beginning to think that she is really the wife of our prisoner."
"It looks so," said Nick.
At that moment a card was brought in. The superintendent looked at it and whistled softly.
Then he handed the card to Nick, who read the name. The two men exchanged glances, and both smiled.
"Mrs. John Jones," said Nick; "well, this puts a new face on the matter."
"It's a great case," was the reply. "I'm mighty glad you happened to be on the scene at once."
He turned to the officer who had brought the card, and directed that Mrs. Jones should be admitted immediately.
A pretty young woman entered. She was of about the same height as the unfortunate victim of the tragedy in the restaurant, and much like her in build.
The faces did not resemble each other in outline, but the coloring was similar. There was a faint resemblance in the large, light blue eyes.
The hair was of the same peculiar shade, and nearly as luxuriant. But nobody would ever have mistaken one woman for the other, after a fair look at their faces.
The costumes, however, were positively identical. Mrs. John Jones, to all appearances, wore the very same clothes as Nick had seen upon the woman in room B.
Mrs. Jones was evidently very nervous, but she made a fine attempt to control herself.
"You have my husband under arrest, I believe," she said. "And he is accused, they say, of killing me."
She tried to smile, but it was rather a ghastly effort.
The superintendent motioned the woman to a seat.
"Mr. John Jones is here," he said, "and he is suspected of murder."
"I have read about it," replied the woman. "There certainly appeared to be evidence against him, but of course you must be aware that I know him to be innocent."
"How?"
"Because I was with him when the crime was committed. At half-past seven o'clock of that evening we were walking toward the Grand Central Depot.
"We had dined in our flat. The people who say they saw us go out tell the truth.
"But we came back. It was my intention to take an afternoon train, but I decided to wait.
"So we came back and had dinner. Nobody saw us go in or out of the flat.
"After dinner we walked to the depot, and I took the eight-ten train for my home in Maysville, ten miles from Albany.
"I arrived in Albany Wednesday morning, and remained there with friends throughout the day and night. Then I went to Maysville, where I heard the news, and came back at once."
The superintendent touched his bell. Two minutes later John Jones was brought into the room.
"Amy!" exclaimed he. "How came you here?"
He ran up to her, and they greeted each other affectionately. The woman, who had controlled herself up to this point, burst into tears. Jones turned in wrath toward Nick.
"Haven't we had enough of this infernal nonsense?" he exclaimed. "You have raised the devil with my business and scared my wife into a fit. Now let me out, and arrest the Ameer of Afghanistan. He had more to do with this affair than I did."
Nick did not reply, but he made a secret sign to the superintendent.
"You are at liberty, Mr. Jones," said Byrnes, calmly. "I regret that it was necessary to detain you so long."
"I have no complaint to make against you," said Jones. "It was that man's work, and he shall pay for it."
He scowled at Nick, and then, after bowing to the superintendent, walked out of the room with his wife on his arm.
"Shall I call a man?" asked Byrnes.
"If you please," said Nick. "My force is pretty busy."
"Musgrave!" said the superintendent.
A man appeared so suddenly that he seemed to come out of the wall.
"Shadow the couple that has just left here," said Byrnes. "You are under Mr. Carter's orders until dismissed by him."
Musgrave turned to Nick.
"I have no special instructions," said Nick, "except that you keep your eyes on the woman."
The officer saluted, and vanished almost as quickly as he had come in.
At half-past seven o'clock that evening Musgrave was on guard outside the flat, the address of which had been given to Nick by Jones.
An old man selling papers came along the street, calling "Extra!" in a cracked voice.
Musgrave bought a paper.
"Well," said the newsman, in Nick Carter's voice, "what have you to report?"
"From headquarters they went to an employment agency on Sixth avenue. They engaged a colored girl as a servant.
"They then came straight here, and the girl followed them. Mr. and Mrs. Jones have not been out since."
"Are you sure of that?"
"Perfectly. There is no way to get out of that house from the rear."
"How about the fire-escape?"
"There is only that one on the side which you can see. The little yard back of the house is walled in by buildings."
"So Mr. and Mrs. Jones must be inside?"
"Yes."
"And the girl?"
"She is out. She has been going on errands half a dozen times, but usually to the grocer's or the butcher's around the corner. I don't know where she has gone this time. She's been out about a quarter of an hour."
"All right. I'm going over there."
Nick changed his disguise to that in which Jones had seen him. He did it in the hall of the flat house, while waiting for the door to be opened in answer to his ring.
Jones met him on the upper landing.
"Look here," said Jones, when he recognized Nick, "isn't this going a little too far? What do you want now?"
"I would like to ask Mrs. Jones a few questions if you have no objections."
"I object very seriously."
"Will you ask her if she is willing to see me?"
"No; I won't."
"Then I shall have to use my authority."
"Don't do that. Come now, be a good fellow. Amy is sick with all this worry. She's just gone to bed. Let her alone until to-morrow."
"I will," said Nick. "Good-night."
He descended the stairs and rejoined Musgrave, who was standing in a dark place on the opposite side of the street.
"Have you seen a light in that window?" asked Nick, pointing to the flat.
"No."
"Then Jones lied to me a minute ago when he said that his wife had just gone to bed. That window is in the principal bedroom of the flat."
"There's been no light there."
"Then they've fooled you, Musgrave."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that Mrs. Jones is out."
"It can't be possible."
"It's true. She's gone out disguised as her own servant."
"I can't believe it. Why, the girl's black as your hat."
"That's why they engaged her, in my opinion. It made the trick easier. A black face is a good disguise. But I'm going to be sure about it."
"How?"
"I'm going to see whether the colored girl is in the flat."
"How can you get in?"
"I'm going down the air shaft. The servant's room opens on that shaft. They'll have made her go in there so that her light won't show, as it would if she were in the kitchen."
Nick went to an engine-house near by, where he secured a coil of knotted rope.
He wished to make his investigations secretly, so as not to put Jones on his guard. It would not have been safe to get into the flat by the ordinary methods.
By using the fire escape of the building next door to the flat house, Nick got to the roof.
The top of the air shaft was covered with a framework, in which large panes of glass were set.
Nick removed one of them. Then he made his rope fast, and crept through the space where the glass had been.
The Jones' flat was next to the top, so Nick had a short descent.
But there was an awful stretch of empty air under him as he hung there.
The shaft went to the basement floor, about seventy feet below the level of the window which opened into the room occupied by the Jones' new servant.
He found that window readily. One glance through it was enough to satisfy him.
There sat the colored girl, reading a book. Nick's suspicions had been correct.
Naturally he did not delay very long in the air shaft. He had a hard climb to make, hand over hand, to the roof.
The instant that his eyes rested on the girl, he began the ascent.
He had gone up less than six feet when the rope suddenly gave way, and he found himself plunging downward through the shaft.
CHAPTER VII.
THE WARDROBE OF GASPARD'S FRIEND.
Nick Carter is hard to kill. A good many crooks have tried to put him out of the world, and a fair percentage of them have lost their own lives in the attempt without inflicting any injury upon Nick.
He is a man of resources, and that's what saves him. When one thing fails him, he finds something else to take its place.
And so, when that rope gave way, he took the next best thing.
That happened to be the sill of the window of Mr. Jones' bath-room. Nick seized it with a grip of iron as he shot downward.
The strain on his arms was something awful, but he held on. His fingers gripped the wood till they dented it.
In two seconds he had scrambled through the window into Jones' flat.
It was done so noiselessly that the colored servant in the room directly opposite, across the narrow shaft, was not disturbed in her reading.
From the bath-room Nick made his way to the hall, and thence to the parlor, where Mr. Jones—to judge by the light in the window observed by Musgrave—had decided to spend the evening.
Mr. Jones was not visible when Nick looked into the room.
The bedroom adjoining was also empty.
Nick ran through the flat, but saw nobody. He returned to the parlor, and there stood Mr. Jones under the chandelier.
"Well, upon my word!" exclaimed Jones, "how did you get here?"
"I might ask you the same," said Nick, "but it isn't worth while."
"I've been here all the time."
"Except when you were on the roof."
"Nonsense! What should I be doing on the roof."
"It wasn't what you were doing; it was what you were undoing that bothered me. You were undoing the knot with which I fastened my rope before I descended your air shaft to get a peep at your servant."
"Nonsense again, Mr. Carter. How could I get to the roof?"
"I'll show you just how it was done. In the first place, you saw me coming back to the house, and you guessed what I was going to do.
"You went into this room," and Nick dragged Jones into a sort of closet adjoining the parlor, "and you got out of that window onto the fire escape.
"That led you to the roof, and the rest was simple. You saw me go down, and you tried to make me go down farther and a good deal faster. But you failed, and the game's up. Now come to headquarters again."
"What for?"
"For trying to kill me. That's the charge against you. And I haven't got through with you on that other matter."
"But for heaven's sake pity my wife!"
"What's the matter with her?"
"She will be crazy when she gets back and finds me gone."
"One of my men will tell her where you are. Why did you lie to me about her going out? I've a great mind to place her, too, under arrest."
"You can't do it. It's no crime to dodge a detective. I admit that she did it, but for a very innocent purpose. She has gone to see our lawyer."
"Very well; I will attend to that later. Now, come with me."
Nick took Jones to the street. Musgrave got a policeman, and Jones was put in his care.
Musgrave remained on the watch for Mrs. Jones, while Nick went to get a report from Patsy, who was shadowing Gaspard.
Jones' last words to Nick were these:
"I am a victim of circumstances. I had nothing to do with the murder in the restaurant, nor with any attempt upon your life. You are doing me a grave injustice. If you were not as blind as a bat you would see who the real criminals are."
These words were pronounced in a calm and steady tone, and it cannot be denied that they produced a great effect upon Nick.
"If it should prove that I have wronged you," he said, "I will repay you for the injury to the limit of your demand."
And the detective did a lot of hard thinking while he was walking toward Gaspard's lodgings, where he expected to meet Patsy.
Certainly if Jones ever succeeded in establishing his innocence he would have won a friend in Nick Carter, whose good will is worth a fortune to any man.
Nick found Patsy outside the house where Gaspard lodged.
"I'm dead onto this fellow," said the youth. "He's just about ready to flit. He's bought lots of stuff to-day, and is flush with money.
"A man just went in there with a suit of clothes. Two delivery wagons from dry goods stores have been here. I suppose that the stuff they brought belongs to the woman who is going with Gaspard."
"Have you seen her?"
"No; she has kept mighty dark."
"Hello! what's this?"
Nick drew Patsy more closely into the shadow of the steps by which they were standing.
A carriage rumbled over the pavement and stopped before the door of Gaspard's lodging-house.
"Upon my word," said Nick, "it's my old friend Harrigan on the box. The way people keep bobbing up in this case is something wonderful."
"Perhaps the woman's in the cab," whispered Patsy.
On the contrary, the cab was empty.
Harrigan got off the box and rang the bell.
Nick heard him ask for Gaspard Lebeau. Gaspard was summoned.
"I've two trunks for you," said Harrigan.
"For me?" asked Gaspard.
"Yes; a young woman hired me to bring them, and she said it would be all right. You'd pay the price."
"What sort of a woman?"
"A very gallus French siren with a big white hat and a black plume as long as the tail of me horse."
"All right," said Gaspard, promptly; "bring in the trunks."
They were carried up the stairs to Gaspard's room.
Harrigan mounted the box and drove away.
"Follow him," said Nick. "Bring him back here in about half an hour."
Patsy darted away in pursuit of the cab.
Nick walked up to the door of Gaspard's house and rang the bell.
He was directed to the Frenchman's room.
Gaspard was examining the two trunks. He looked very much embarrassed at the sight of Nick.
"What's all this, Gaspard?" asked the detective. "I hear you're going back to France."
"I? Oh, no. New York suits me much better."
"But what are these trunks doing here?"
Gaspard looked particularly foolish.
"They are the property of a friend—a lady. To tell the truth, I hope to marry her. A charming girl, monsieur; and innocent as a dove."
"Why does she send her trunks here?"
"Ah, that I do not know. It was not agreed upon."
"Have you any idea what is in them?"
"Her wardrobe. Ah, she is extravagant. She buys many dresses. But then, what would you have? When one is young and beautiful—"
Gaspard finished his sentence with a sweep of the arms.
"They are heavy," said Nick, lifting one of the trunks and setting it crosswise on a lounge.
He took a bunch of keys from his pocket. Gaspard seemed aghast.
"You would not open it?" he cried.
"Perhaps it won't be necessary," said Nick. "This may answer."
He drew a knife from his pocket and opened one of the blades, which was sharpened like a very large nut-pick.
With a sudden movement, he struck this into the bottom of the trunk, and then withdrew it.
A dark red stream followed the blade when it was withdrawn. The end of the trunk projected over the side of the couch, and the red fluid dripped upon the carpet.
"My God!" exclaimed Gaspard. "It is blood!"
"So it would seem," said Nick, quietly.
He set the trunk upon the floor and snapped back the lock with a skeleton key.
Then he threw open the lid and revealed a mass of excelsior and scraps of newspapers.
This being torn away disclosed a dead and ghastly face—the face of unfortunate Corbut, the waiter.
CHAPTER VIII.
TRACING THE TRUNKS.
Corbut's body had been cut in two. Only half was in the trunk which Nick had opened.
The other half was not, however, far away. It was in the other trunk.
Both trunks contained considerable blood, but they had been neatly lined with rubber cloth, apparently taken from a rubber blanket and a man's heavy waterproof coat.
It was so fitted that the trunks, when closed, were water-tight.
"The neatest job I ever saw," said Nick. "Come, Gaspard, tell the story."
"I swear to you," cried Gaspard, "that I know nothing about it."
At this moment Patsy rapped on the door. He had brought back Harrigan.
"Come in!" said Nick; and they both entered.
"Holy mother!" shrieked Harrigan, when he saw the open trunks. "So help me, gentlemen, I don't know nothing about this business. I ain't in it. I'm tellin' yer straight. Youse don't believe I had anything to do wid this, do yer?"
"You brought the trunks here," said Nick.
"Lemme tell youse all about it," cried Harrigan, who was so anxious to tell that he couldn't talk fast enough. "De French leddy struck me on me old place. You know. Where I was de odder night.
"She talked a kind o' dago, but I tumbled to what she was a-givin' me. This was about half-past seven o'clock.
"'Meet me,' says she, 'in an hour.' An' she give me street an' number.
"It was West Fifty-seventh street; but dere ain't no such number. Dere's nuttin' but a high board fence.
"But that didn't make no difference, 'cause when I got dere, her jiblets was a-standing on der sidewalk, waitin' for me.
"'Drive over ter de corner,' says she, 'and' turn round an' come back.'
"I did it, an' when I got dare, she showed me dese two trunks. I hadn't seen 'em before.
"Den she give me dis mug's address, an' two bones for me fare, an' tole me ter come down here, which I did, an' I wish ter —— I hadn't; see?"
"That's a pretty good story, Harrigan," said Nick. "Patsy, get a policeman to stay here with Gaspard."
Patsy brought the blue-coat in a few minutes.
"Now, we'll go up to Fifty-seventh street," said Nick.
Half an hour later they had found the place where, as Harrigan claimed, "de French leddy" had delivered the trunks to him.
"I t'ought o' course she'd been fired out o' some boardin'-house," said Harrigan. "Dere's a hash-mill dere on der right. I had an idea she'd been trun out o' dere."
Nick meanwhile had been examining the sidewalk with the aid of his dark lantern.
"Clever work," he said. "There are no marks on the sidewalk. The trunks were not dragged. That woman must be pretty strong. You say you didn't see the trunks when you first drove up?"
"No."
"Then they couldn't have been here. Where were they? Not in any of these houses. She couldn't have got them out quick enough. Then they must have been behind that fence."
There was a little gate in the fence, which Nick opened as he spoke.
"Ah, here we have tracks," he said. "It's all clear enough now. The trunks were brought across this vacant lot from one of the houses facing the other street."
The lot is the width of three flat houses, which stand behind it. There are no gates in the fence between the yards of the houses and the lot, but Nick found a wide board that could be pulled off and replaced without much trouble.
Passing through the opening made by taking away this board, he found himself in the yard of the middle house.
"The trunks came from here," he said. "They were lowered down in the dumb waiter to the cellar and then carried through the lot to Fifty-seventh street.
"I'll leave the rest of this job to you, Patsy. Find out all you can and have as many witnesses as you can get together, at the superintendent's office to-morrow afternoon, at three o'clock. We're going to have a special examination into this case."
The special examination began promptly at the hour named by Nick.
All the persons hitherto mentioned in connection with the case—except, of course, the two victims—were present. There were also several witnesses whom Patsy had secured.
"The case which I have made out," said Nick, "is perfectly clear. It begins with Gaspard's identification of the prisoner, Jones.
"We know that he was at the restaurant when the crime was committed. His name is on the books.
"In some way, which I am not now prepared to fully explain, the waiter, Corbut, obtained a knowledge of the crime. It was necessary for the criminal to get Corbut out of the way.
"I saw Corbut get into a cab at the door of the restaurant. The driver, Harrigan, testified to taking him and another man to a point on West Fifty-seventh street. He was not sure of the exact spot, but he fixed the locality in a general way.
"From that point all trace of Corbut was lost for a time. At last his body was found.
"I succeeded in tracing the body back to a place near the spot where Harrigan last saw Corbut alive.
"I discovered that the body had been removed from a flat house on West Fifty-eighth street.
"My assistant, Patsy, questioned the people in that house. He learned that the third flat had been occupied by a couple who lived very quietly.
"The man was often away. I now desire to ask the witness, Eliza Harris, who lives in that house, when she last saw the man in question—the man who rented that third flat."
A bright-eyed little woman arose at this, and said:
"I see him now. There he is!"
She pointed to John Jones.
"He wore a false beard," she continued, "but I know him. And there's the woman."
She stretched out her hand toward Mrs. Jones.
"To their flat," Nick continued, "as I have every reason to believe, Corbut was taken by Jones on that night, and there he was murdered and his body cut in two.
"It was placed in the trunks. Jones intended, probably, to remove it next day, but his arrest prevented.
"Of course it was necessary to get the body out of the way very soon. But Jones was too closely watched. That work had to be done by the woman, and she did it exceedingly well."
Nick told how Musgrave had been duped.
"Now," he continued, "nothing remains but to clear up the details of the crime in the restaurant. I shall proceed to state exactly how it was done."
At this moment Jones, who had previously remained perfectly calm, uttered a horrible groan, and half arose to his feet. He sank back fainting.
And then came a surprising incident, for which even the shrewd superintendent of police had been wholly unprepared.
A pale-faced man, who had been sitting beside Nick, arose and cried, in a voice that trembled with emotion:
"Stop! Stop! I can bear this no longer!"
It was Hammond, the man who begged Nick to save Jones.
While Nick had been speaking, Hammond's eyes had been fixed upon Jones' face. He had watched the agony of fear growing upon the wretched man and gradually overcoming him.
And when the burden became too great for the accused to bear, Hammond also reached the limit of his endurance.
"I can't stand it," he cried. "You shall not torture this innocent man any longer."
"What do you mean?" asked the superintendent.
"This is what I mean. The fear of disgrace has kept me silent too long. Now I will confess everything. Do you think I will sit here and let an innocent man be condemned and his wife put to torture to save me from the just punishment of my fault?
"Never! Listen to me. It was I who took that unhappy woman to the place where she met her death. It was I who wrote that name in the register.
"I! I, and not that innocent man, was her companion. The waiter, Gaspard, is mistaken.
"I am the man who was in room B!"
CHAPTER IX.
HAMMOND'S STORY.
The effect of this statement can hardly be exaggerated.
It shook the very foundation of the case against the prisoner. If Gaspard's identification could be disproved, it seemed almost sure that Jones was saved.
Even though it could be shown beyond a doubt that Corbut had been murdered in a flat which was rented by Jones, that would not prove that Jones had done it.
The murderer was evidently the man who had ridden in the cab with Corbut. And Harrigan, the only witness, had failed to recognize Jones as that man.
The suspicion must instantly arise that a plot had been carefully laid, with the purpose of putting the crime upon Jones.
Some enemy had signed his name on the register, and the same cruel wretch had decoyed Corbut to the vacant flat and murdered him there. It was easy to suppose that the criminal knew the flat to be empty and had obtained a key.
It might have been by this secret enemy's connivance that the trunks were removed and sent to Gaspard.
But if Hammond was the wretch who had done all this, why had he confessed?
All these and many other thoughts must have rushed through the mind of the superintendent, in the pause which followed Hammond's declaration.
Byrnes looked at Nick for an explanation.
"This is an extraordinary statement, Mr. Hammond," said Nick. "Have you any evidence to support it?"
"I have ample evidence. I was seen in the company of the woman now dead, not fifty yards from the restaurant on the night when she met her death. I can call one of the most prominent and respected men in this city to prove that. The Rev. Elliot Sandford is the man."
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."