The Four-Fingered Glove; Or, The Cost of a Lie

CHAPTER XVI.

IN HOURLY PERIL OF DEATH.

“Indeed, sir, I did not know it.”

“Possibly not. Now listen.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You have said that Miss Mercedes seemed startled when she saw Paul Rogers for the first time.”

“Yes.”

“You have told me that, although Isabel seemed to come to the house without especial recommendation, she seemed not unknown to Orizaba, and that, in fact, there seemed to be an understanding between them.”

“Yes; I often thought there was.”

“And you have spoken of a rather striking resemblance between your mistress and Isabel.”

“It was striking, sir, all but the profile.”

“Did it ever strike you that there was also a faint resemblance between Miss Mercedes and the man she called her cousin—Ramon Orizaba?”

“Quite so; her mother used to speak of it often.”

“Well, now, did that resemblance extend to Orizaba and Isabel?”

“Yes, sir; decidedly. There was quite general comment about it among the servants.”

“What was your own opinion about it?”

“Why, I thought it rather noticeable. I once told Isabel that she might readily pass for Mr. Orizaba’s sister.”

“What reply did she make?”

“She laughed and said that she was one of those persons who resembled almost everybody or anybody.”

“Humph! Now tell me: What effect did the sudden and tragic death of Orizaba seem to have upon Isabel?”

“None at all that I could notice. I thought she was paler than usual, but we were all of us that. I do not think she acted any differently from the others.”

“You have known Miss Mercedes so long and so well that you would notice anything which seemed to affect her, at once, would you not?”

“Surely.”

“You know, of course, that Mr. Reginald did not like Orizaba?”

“Certainly. We all knew that. He did not disguise the fact.”

“How did Miss Mercedes feel toward him?”

“I think she dreaded him. If she were anybody else, I should have said that she feared him—and yet, she was very gracious to him.”

“Do you think by any possibility that she was in love with him, or that she had ever been in love with him?”

“N-no.”

“Why do you hesitate?”

“Because of several contradictory things she did. I used sometimes to think that she despised him; again I would think that she dreaded him; again that she was fond of him. I know that she was very kind to him, and I know, also, that she often supplied him with money. I even know of one occasion when Isabel carried money to him for her, and—that reminds me of one thing which I had totally forgotten. She called him by his first name.”

“Who did?”

“Isabel. She called him Ramon when she gave him the money. I think the money surprised me more than the use of the name, and I was incensed because my mistress had trusted her instead of me.”

“And so you forgot the use of the first name. All right, Sarah. Now I want you to tell me exactly what you fear might have befallen your mistress—what the fear was that induced you to come to me.”

“I don’t know, sir. I fear everything. I cannot get it out of my head that some dreadful thing has happened to her. It was not like her to go away like that. It was not like her to bid me good-by as she did. It was totally unlike her to leave such a message for Mr. Reginald.”

“And,” said Nick, “it was unlike her to pack her trunks in the way she did—to take away the articles she did—to care about her own photographs—to cover her mouth with her handkerchief when she was bidding you good-by—to have been gone an entire week without sending you word after she said that she would do so—in fact, Sarah, there is nothing connected with her going away that is at all like Mercedes Danton, is there?”

“Not a thing, sir; not one.”

“And so you have become frightened lest, in some way, she has been induced to go away against her own wishes and will; lest she has been unduly influenced. Is that it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now, Sarah, if you were ill, and obliged to go to the doctor, would you tell him only half of your troubles, or would you tell him all?”

“I should tell him all, sir. What do you mean by that question?”

“Never mind; answer me another. How do you suppose I manage to earn my living at the detective business?”

“Why, sir, how can I answer that?”

“I will answer it for you. I accomplish that difficult task by understanding perfectly when people are telling me the truth and when they are deceiving me. Now there is a difference between telling a downright lie, and only telling a part of the truth and withholding the remainder. I don’t think you have told me a lie, to-day, Sarah, but I am quite sure that you have not told me all the truth. There is something you have kept back—something that I should know.”

“Mr. Carter, I——”

“I would not amount to much at my business, Sarah, if I was not sharp enough to discover that much in your conduct this evening.”

“But, really, sir, there is nothing more that I can tell.”

“Tut-tut, Sarah, there is something more that you can tell me, if you will, and that something is about—who shall I say it is about, Sarah? Shall I say it is about Paul Rogers, the fugitive valet, who murdered Mr. Orizaba, or shall I say that it is about Isabel—or, better still, shall I say that it is about both of them?”

“There is nothing more that I can tell, sir.”

“Now, Sarah, that is pure obstinacy. I know that there is something more. You could, for example, tell me why it was that your mistress was startled when she beheld Paul Rogers acting as valet to her brother—and you could also explain why you were almost, if not quite, as much astonished yourself.”

“One might suppose that you were present at the time, sir.”

“Sarah, you were in Europe with your mistress while she was at school there; you know perfectly well that you both knew Paul Rogers at that time, and you know that you would not have known him in a way to have affected you when you saw him again, if his position at that time had been in accordance with his valethood, later; and, therefore, you know that Paul Rogers was not his true name any more than valet was his true position. Who was he when you knew him in Europe, Sarah?”

“There is nothing more that I can tell, sir.”

“Not even to save your mistress from probable peril?”

“Not even to save her from positive death, sir,” she said, and her lips shut tightly together over her teeth.

“What!” exclaimed Nick. “Is it so serious as all that? This is worse than I supposed. You are keeping the secret because your mistress has sworn you to secrecy, and has charged you never to tell, even to save her life or your own. Is it not so?”

“I have nothing more to tell, sir.”

“All right. If you won’t, you won’t, and I see that you are determined to say no more. But, all the same, Sarah, I will find a way to make you speak, or I will discover what I wish to know in some other manner. You may return to the Fells now. I shall be there in the morning.”

Sarah rose to her feet and started toward the door, but before she had crossed the room she stopped and began to sob.

Nick remained silent, watching her, and presently she turned and faced him again.

“I think my heart is breaking, sir,” she said. “I do not know what to do.”

“There is only one thing for you to do if you would serve your mistress whom you love, and that is to tell me everything you know which will throw light upon this strange disappearance. Has it occurred to you, Sarah, that the woman in the coupé, who put her handkerchief to her mouth when she bade you good-by, was not your mistress at all, but was in reality Isabel Benton, dressed in her clothes? Has it occurred to you that the woman in the other seat of the coupé was not Isabel, but was, in reality, the woman who had been hemming linen in the house and who was sent away—but who did not go—the preceding night?”

“Where, then, was my mistress?”

“Where, indeed?”

“But if she was not in the coupé, where could she have been? She was not in the house.”

“No. She was not in the house, because she had been carried out of the house,” said Nick.

“Carried out of the house! Oh, God! You don’t mean——”

“I don’t know what I mean, Sarah, save that she had been spirited away in the night, after you had put her to bed—after she had been drugged, or possibly murdered.”

“Murdered! My Mercedes? No, no, no! I will not believe it. No, no, no, no.”

“If she was not murdered then, Sarah, rest assured that she is in hourly peril of death,” said Nick slowly. “The conspirators who dared to take her away, and who dared to plot the substitution of another in her place, will not hesitate to put her out of the way the moment they can do so with safety.”

CHAPTER XVII.

A QUESTION OF FOUR LIVES.

“I am only groping in the dark about her now, Sarah, but I think there is a deeply laid plot here, that is destined to affect the entire family of Dantons. The mother was taken ill suddenly, and her son believes that she was poisoned. She is better now, and, probably, out of the reach of her enemies. I would not be surprised to hear, almost any day, of the death of Reginald’s father, who has about concluded his European trip, and must be on the point of returning home, especially since he has heard of the tragedy at his house and must know how it has affected his family; and I would not be surprised to hear of an attempt on the life of Reginald within the next few weeks. Don’t you understand, Sarah?”

“No, sir, I do not.”

“Why, it is simply that there is a certain woman in the world whom we know as Isabel Benton, who believes that she can personate Mercedes Danton so well that if her father, and mother, and brother were out of the way she would have no difficulty in deceiving the rest of the world. It is all very simple—awfully simple after what you have unconsciously revealed to me to-night—all of which I think I should have sensed before this, and which I would have done, had my mind been upon it. Go home now, Sarah. Be prepared to tell me all you know, in the morning. I can wait until then, but I charge you, if you would save the lives not only of your mistress, but of your mistress’ father, mother, and brother, keep no secrets back from me. It is no longer a question of one life, or two; it is a question of four lives—four human lives, which these fiends coldly intend to sacrifice to their greed for wealth and luxury.”

As soon as Nick was alone, he repaired to the telephone and called up the favorite club of Reginald Danton.

“Mr. Danton has just gone out,” he was told, “but he said that he would return in half an hour. No; he did not say where he was going, but I think over to the Waldorf.”

“All right,” said Nick. “If he comes in ask him to wait for the gentleman who met him at the Fifth Avenue front of the Waldorf just before dark this evening.”

For a moment, after he hung up the phone, he stood with his hands behind him, in deep thought; and then he hurried to his dressing-room, from which, after a quarter of an hour he emerged, but so altered in appearance that he bore not the slightest resemblance to himself.

He was now, in every feature of his make-up, a typical Frenchman—a Boulevardier with a title or two to his name and ample time and money at his disposal. As he sauntered out upon the street, he murmured to himself:

“If Danton is at the Waldorf I will run across him there; if he is not, I can look him up at his club later.”

When he arrived at the hotel he entered by the Thirty-third Street door and strolled slowly through the building toward the office. From there he made the rounds of the corridors and also peered into several of the rooms, but nowhere did he get a glimpse of the man he sought. It was evident to him that if Reginald had indeed come to the Waldorf, he had already taken his departure.

Now, it so happens that the Waldorf is a hotel where one rarely takes the trouble to examine the register—indeed, it is rarely in evidence; and they keep three or four on tap, as it were, so that there is always one in which you may write your name while the others are in use by the bookkeepers.

Nevertheless, it so occurred that as Nick was passing the desk in the office, one of the registers was lying idle on the counter near the registry clerk’s window.

Without any object whatever in view, save only the thought of killing time, Nick paused, and, having turned the book around, drew it toward him.

He scanned the names without motive and without even comprehending those he read, idly turning the pages of the book backward, until suddenly he started—violently, for him, although the start was wholly inside and would not have been noticed by a person beside him—nevertheless, he started, for, written upon the register in rather a bold but plainly a feminine chirography, he read the name:

“Miss Mercedes Danton.
“Two maids.”

He glanced hastily at the top of the page to discover the date of registry, and also made a mental note of the number of the suite placed against the names, and then he stepped away again and dropped into one of the big armchairs to think.

The date of the registry was exactly one week old, showing that the entry had been made the very day when Mercedes was supposed to have disappeared from her home, and Nick smiled when he thought how thoroughly a person may disappear from view in the very heart of New York by simply going to a hotel and by giving orders that you are not “in” to anybody while in town. It is only necessary after that to remain in one’s room.

“Now here is a remarkable circumstance,” mused Nick. “If I am right in my conjectures, the woman who is masquerading as Mercedes Danton is in this hotel at the present moment, and she has managed in some way so to hedge herself about that she has not the least fear of what may happen, even if her name is discovered on the register—which it is not likely to be, save through some such accident as mine. To prove that, I will go to the room clerk and inquire for her.”

He sauntered up to the desk and asked:

“Is Miss Danton stopping here? Miss Mercedes Danton?”

“No. Gone. Went away a week ago,” replied the clerk shortly, and without raising his eyes. But Nick was satisfied. He returned to his chair and reseated himself.

“It is quite evident,” he mused, “that I have received the stereotyped answer prepared for any person who happens to inquire for Mercedes Danton. It is also equally evident to me that she is at this moment in this hotel—that is, the woman who represents herself to be Miss Danton, and that instead of wasting my time in running after her brother, I had better look into this matter here and now.”

He crossed the corridor to the locality of the pneumatic tubes which are used as mediums of communication with the upper floors, and asked one of the clerks there to tell him the exact location of the suite he wanted to find, and then he made his way through the building to what is known as the Waldorf side of the hotel and so ascended in the elevator.

Having stepped out at the floor he had desired, he sauntered carelessly through the corridor, passed the door, continued on his way to the far end of the hall, and then retraced his steps. Then, having taken note of the number of the room directly opposite the one that was occupied by the woman he quested, he descended again to the ground floor and went out of the building.

He hurried at once to his own house, and, without altering his disguise, for it served as well as any for the work he had in view, he hastily packed a grip that was liberally pasted over with tags and labels.

Nick Carter had determined upon one of the boldest moves of his career, as will soon be seen—a move, too, for which many of his critics might be inclined to censure him, since it involved entrance to a woman’s room without her permission—but, yet, he was convinced that the end he had in view justified the means that were necessary to accomplish it.

Even when he began the packing of his grip, he hesitated; but assured as he was that four lives were in immediate peril, he cast his scruples to the winds and continued with his preparations.

The articles with which he supplied his grip were simply such as he might find it necessary to use in the work he had to do, and in a surprisingly short space of time from the moment he entered his house he left it again—but not, however, before he had made use of the telephone to call up the manager of the Waldorf and ask if he could be accommodated with a certain room, and he gave the number of the one directly opposite the entrance to the suite that was charged against the name of Mercedes Danton.

The reply to his request was all that he could desire, and, accordingly, he returned, grip in hand, to the Waldorf, without delay.

Fifteen minutes after entering the hotel, he was assigned to the room he sought, and had sent up his grip.

The time was as yet early in the evening—barely ten o’clock—and as at least two hours must elapse before he could commence operations as he had planned them, he determined to walk over to the club which Reginald Danton most frequented, and, perhaps, in that manner kill two birds with one stone—that is, see him and give him the warning he had intended to convey before he discovered the name of his sister on the register, and so been forced to alter his plans.

But even while he was standing near the desk, turning over his plans for the night in his mind, he heard the voice of Reginald behind him, and saw him saunter through the corridor in the direction of the café, in company with two others.

“Good,” said Nick to himself, and he followed them, noticed where they seated themselves, and then, returning, sent a boy to tell Reginald that a gentleman wished to speak with him at the desk.

Reginald appeared in a moment and stood looking vacantly around him in search of a familiar face, but, seeing none, was about to return to his friends when Nick touched him on the shoulder.

Reginald Danton wheeled instantly and confronted Nick. A frown appeared on his face, and was then succeeded by a smile, for, after all, he thought, this stranger might be the person who had sent for him.

“You wish to speak to me?” asked Reginald.

“Yes,” replied Nick, in his natural tones, although in a low voice. “Tut-tut, Danton, don’t look so surprised. You recognize my voice, of course.”

“Yes; but it is the only thing about you that I do recognize,” said Danton.

“Naturally, since it is all I wished you to do. But stroll with me through the corridor for a moment. I want to talk to you.”

CHAPTER XVIII.

UP AGAINST IT IN EITHER CASE.

“Eh?”

“Who is with you?”

“Oh. Nobody in particular. They are only time-killers. The fact is I have been so upset since that episode of the carriage, when I thought I saw my sister, that I cannot get the idea out of my head that she is here in this hotel. I was glad of any excuse for sitting around here for an hour or so.”

“Even though you sat in the café where there is not the slightest possibility that you will see her if she is here?” asked Nick.

“Yes; even so. Oh, I haven’t the faintest idea that I will see her again, you know.”

“Let me ask you, Danton, if, when you use the pronoun ‘her,’ you mean your sister, or the woman you saw in the cab and whom you thought was your sister?”

“You seem to be mighty well convinced that she was not Mercedes.”

“I am as positive as I can be without having established the truth of my statement.”

“Well, whether the woman I saw was Mercedes or somebody else, I cannot get it out of my head that she is here in this hotel.”

“She is here in this hotel.”

“Ah! You know, then?”

“Yes.”

“How did you find out?”

“Never mind that now. Come, let us return to your friends. You may introduce me as an old friend from Paris, the Marquis de St. Cyr—and then, as soon as it is politely convenient, I want you to shake them and give your attention to me. I have suddenly determined to initiate you into real detective work to-night.”

“Eh? Do you mean that you want me to help you?”

“Just that, if you are game and care to do so. If you think I may depend upon your discretion and—sand.”

“Sure thing, Carter! You may depend upon both.”

It was midnight when they had parted from the friends of Reginald Danton and had repaired to the room to which Nick had been assigned; and then, in a low tone, but with great earnestness, Nick outlined what he intended to do and the manner in which Danton could assist him.

“To begin with, Danton,” he said, “you had scarcely left my house before Sarah Kearney put in an appearance, and from her I have gleaned enough of the facts connected with the departure from home to assure me that she has been made the victim—or, rather, one of the intended victims—of a very deep plot which includes your whole family. Then, my young friend, I was seeking you in order to warn you to be especially on your guard, when quite by accident I discovered that Mercedes Danton and two maids are registered here at this hotel. In fact, they are at this moment occupying the suite that is directly opposite this one.”

“Gee whizz! Is that so?”

“Quite so. Now listen to me quietly and patiently, and I will tell you how I have sized up the circumstances connected with the events that have happened in your family lately—and what I want you to do to help me to-night.”

“Go ahead, old man. What is it?”

“In the first place you must understand that the man has never been born into the world who is always right; I am not an exception to the rule, and while I believe in the theories I have worked out from what has been told to me, there is always the possibility that I may be wrong. Now, Danton, it is highly important that I should enter that room opposite us, before morning——”

“Eh? What the dev——”

“Wait. I must know before daylight if the woman in that room is your sister, or an impostor. If she is really your sister, then there is nothing more for me to do in the premises, save to await the morning and then send up my card in the usual way in the hope that she will receive me in the interests of her brother.”

“Well; and if she is not——”

“If she is not your sister—why, then, I know already who she is, and I will not be long in determining how to act.”

“If she is not my sister, who is she?”

“Isabel Benton.”

“The devil you say!”

“Well, if I am right in my conjectures, a sort of a she-devil, I grant you.”

“But, I mean——”

“I know exactly what you mean; better than you do yourself—but don’t let us get away from the main subject until I have finished what I have to say on that point.”

“All right. Go ahead.”

“Well, then, in plain English, if by any possibility I am mistaken, and the woman in that room is Mercedes Danton, I tell you frankly that I would rather be shot than to enter there without her permission. You see——”

“Wait half a minute, Carter. I want to ask you a question.”

“All right. What is it?”

“This: If it were any other woman on top of the great green earth, not my sister—any other woman in the world except Mercedes Danton, would you feel any hesitation about entering her room, if you considered the act as a necessary part of your duty?”

Nick looked calmly into his companion’s eyes and replied slowly:

“No; I don’t think I should hesitate.”

“Good! I understand you, Carter, better than you think. Now another question: If Mercedes Danton were not in question, you would not even stop to consider that your premises in this case are correct, would you?”

“No; I don’t think I should.”

“That’s all right, Nick, old man. It would seem that I was not so far wrong as one might suppose when I teased Mercedes until she was angry. But we’ll drop all that now. You had got as far as saying that you would rather be shot than enter that room under certain circumstances. Go ahead from there.”

“If by any chance your sister is in that room, why, it would be no great crime for her brother to enter it without her knowledge, just to ascertain if she is really there, while, for me to do so, would be——”

“Terrible, eh? Let it go at that. But, I say; do you think for a moment that I’m going to burgle that room?”

“That is exactly what I expect you to do.”

“It strikes me that the shoe is on the other foot now, with a vengeance.”

“How so?”

“Why, this way: If I burgle the room, and it is my sister’s room, no harm is done. If I burgle it and it is not my sister’s room, then the devil is to pay.”

Nick laughed outright.

“If you enter the room and my sister is there,” continued Danton, “you are up against it, and if I enter the room and my sister is not there, I am up against it.”

Nick Carter’s face suddenly became grave.

“We are wasting precious time, Reginald,” he said. “Now I want you to listen while I tell you a story.”

“All right, old chap. Go ahead.”

“Carry your mind back to the time when you first engaged Paul Rogers as your valet.”

“Hello! Harking back to that, eh?”

“Yes. Be serious now, for it is a very serious matter.”

“Well?”

“How was he first brought to your notice so that you were inclined to take him into your service?”

“I think he was recommended to me through Orizaba; through some friend of his, if I remember correctly.”

“I had scarcely hoped for so good a reply as that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Did Orizaba tell you that he personally knew Rogers?”

“No; I remember distinctly that he assured me he had never seen him.”

“Now, in the light of all that occurred later—the murder of Orizaba and the written confession of Rogers, together with his flight, little things have gone out of your mind. I want to know if in the beginning of Rogers’ employment in your service, you ever noticed any sign that passed between him and Orizaba by which you might be led to suppose that they were not unknown to each other?”

“No. I never saw a thing: but then I would be the last person in the world to see such a thing, even if it existed.”

“Now, one more question and then I will tell my story. Did it ever occur to you that Rogers and the maid, Isabel Benton, were anything more than mere fellow servants in your household?”

“Sure! He was dead stuck on her. I bantered him about it often—when I was half-full.”

“Good. Now I will tell the story.”

“I hope it is as good as the introduction is exciting.”

“Good or not, it is logical. It is wholly made up from my practise of putting two and two together, but the more I have thought about it, the more convinced I have become that it is correct.”

CHAPTER XIX.

THE PLOT FOR MANY MILLIONS.

“No. It was not noticeable in her case, I think, although the person whom I am about to mention as looking like him also resembled your sister. I mean Isabel Benton.”

“By Jove, you are right!”

“My theory tells me, in short, that Isabel Benton and Ramon Orizaba were brother and sister.”

Benton whistled softly to himself.

“It goes still farther,” continued Nick. “We will say that the relation between Orizaba and your mother did exist, in fact, and that thus far he was not an impostor.”

“Yes.”

“Beginning at that point we must go back to the time when Orizaba first discovered that the relationship existed, and that his American relatives were rich. We will picture him as—what he doubtless was—a sort of half-adventurer, half-gentleman, who lived by his wits, as he did not cease to do after he made the acquaintance of your mother. Discovering, we will say, that he was blessed with rich relatives in America, he made himself known to them, and, by his adroitness, won himself into a position of recognition. It appears, and quite plainly as you know, that your mother and sister supplied him with an allowance out of their own funds. Your sister did this to please her mother, and your mother did it for the honor of her family—because he was a blood relation, however distant, and she would not consent that he should incur the contempt of her husband and son.”

“I guess that is about right, Nick.”

“The sums with which they supplied him were, however, not sufficient for his needs, and, being aware of your proverbial carelessness in money matters, he did not hesitate to forge an occasional check in your name. This, I think your sister knew about; perhaps your mother also knew it. It was the fear that he would repeat that act too often, and so be discovered, which led your sister to give him more money, and often—for I find through Sarah that she did so.

“Now—you have intimated, in the past, that Orizaba had the temerity to make advances for the hand of Mercedes in marriage. That is the real reason why you hated him, for, otherwise you would have liked him. You have told me yourself that everybody did like him—that he had a way of ingratiating himself into the good graces of everybody.”

“It is true, too.”

“Mercedes doubtless gave him to understand that there was no hope for him in that direction, and so he turned his attention to another matter—one that had presented itself to him from the first moment when he met your sister, but one which he did not seriously consider until he knew that there was no hope that she would ever consent to be his wife.

“But, then, he recalled the fact that he had a sister—and what is more important, that the ties of blood had barked back as it will sometimes strangely do, so that with a little assistance from the arts of dress and of making-up, there was a resemblance between them sufficiently marked so that under proper conditions one might readily pass for the other. It remained, therefore, only necessary to bring about those conditions.

“We will say that he communicated with his sister. That they met and the whole plan and plot was outlined between them. That she was brought out of obscurity somewhere, and, after some necessary coaching, was introduced into your home in the capacity of maid to Mercedes. It was a simple matter for her to dress so that the resemblance to her mistress should be as little noticeable as possible. The very accomplishment she wished to make use of later on was covered with every art she could employ, so that it was hardly to be seen at all while she was in the house, save at rare intervals. One of those rare intervals I know about, as well as the fact that she delighted to practise in the part of masquerading as Mercedes. Sarah surprised her once, dressed in your sister’s clothing, and standing before a glass engaged in studying her part, in character.

“Now, we have that much, and we will take a step backward again.

“After the murder of Orizaba, you know I went through his papers very thoroughly. I found the story of the Nemesis, as you know, and Rogers’ letter developed the fact that he was that interesting character. But here is a nice little point in the plot—or, rather, two very nice points: Orizaba did not suspect that Rogers was the Nemesis who had been pursuing him for so long a time, for the reason that Rogers was all the time the husband of Orizaba’s sister, Isabel. Don’t you see?”

“Not quite. There are wheels within wheels there.”

“Very well, we will say that ten years ago Rogers took the trail of Orizaba, intending to kill him. In pursuing him, he encountered Isabel, the sister of his intended victim. He fell in love with Isabel, and married her. Having done that, he posed thereafter as the fond brother-in-law, while in reality he was the Nemesis who was bleeding Orizaba all the while, and who had sworn some day to have his life. Why, we do not know, and it does not matter; but that is why, try as he might, Orizaba could never discover the identity of the man who pursued him.

“Now, let us take another step backward. We will say that one day Orizaba confided his plot to Rogers; that he told him of the strong likeness between Mercedes Danton and Isabel. With their heads together, it was an easy matter for those two men to work out the plot by which, ultimately, they were together to enjoy all the millions that your own father has amassed, and which one day are intended to be divided between you and Mercedes. They were not working for one million, but for a hundred millions. Think of it, Danton; it was a game worth playing, and worthy of the brains they put into it.”

“By Jove, Nick! But how——”

“Wait. Rogers was introduced into your service as a valet, in order to study the lay of the land, so to speak, before he would consent that his wife should become involved. Later, his wife, Orizaba’s sister, the woman whom we know as Isabel Benton, was brought forward as maid to Mercedes. The mine was laid. It only remained for Isabel to study her part until she had it learned to perfection, and then to fire the mine.”

“But, I say, Nick, you don’t mean to say that she believed she could fool me—to say nothing of my father and mother—do you?”

“Certainly not.”

“Then how——”

“You, as well as your father and mother, were condemned to death.”

“Good Heaven!”

“With you three out of the way it would be an easy matter to deceive others. When the little matter of the quarrel, which amounted to nothing, occurred between you and Mercedes, Isabel overheard it, doubtless, and as the time was ready to act, she acted. She had already started her warfare against your mother. You say you thought your mother was poisoned by something she had eaten. I have no doubt that she was, only I have many doubts that it was accidental. The poison was somehow administered by Isabel, and in getting your mother out of the house, she did what she wanted to do; for she opened the opportunity for her own disappearance, after which there were other ways in which you and your mother were to be gotten rid of after some approved plan which offered small chance of detection. Isabel was establishing an alibi for herself, as well as for your pseudo sister. You would have had another Cadillac needle jabbed into your back, on the street somewhere; your mother would have been poisoned again while she is in Newport, and your father—well, he may or he may not get home alive. Let us hope that he will; that the time is not yet ripe to play their act upon him, and if our work to-night is good, I hope we can prevent the further working of the plot against you.

“Hush! Don’t interrupt me yet. There is absolutely nothing that we can do to prevent the happening of the things I have mentioned, except what we have elected to do to-night. Now let us take one more step backward.

“We will say that we are almost at the time for the culmination of the plot. We will say that we can look in upon a reverie of Rogers wherein he cogitates upon the mightiest stroke of all. He hates Orizaba. More than that, he fears him. Still more, with Orizaba out of the way there will be one less person to enjoy the millions of your father when they shall have been won. Still more yet, there is a chance that by murdering Orizaba, he can throw suspicion upon you, Danton, and this he decides to do. That later he changed his mind on that point is one of the psychological puzzles of the human mind. I won’t pretend to answer that, unless it was the thought that he could still further divert suspicion from himself in the final crimes, if, by chance, suspicion should ever fall upon him. In putting Orizaba out of the way, Isabel was both neutral and passive. There had never been affection between them, nor did she delight in the thought that her brother would be master of that future in which she wished to be the queen.

“There! That is the story I have woven from the somewhat tangled thread provided by Sarah Kearney. Now I come down to the night of the disappearance of Mercedes.

“Sarah put her to bed as usual, Saturday night. Sunday morning, Sarah was sent away upon a cooked-up errand. When she returned, the baggage had been taken from the house, and her mistress, as she supposed, was in the act of driving away in the coupé. As a matter of fact, Reginald, it was Isabel who was inside the coupé, posing as Mercedes, and it was a woman who had been introduced into the house to do hemming on linen who was acting the part of Isabel.”

“Where, then, was Mercedes?”

“I can only guess at the reply, but there is no doubt in my mind that she had been drugged and taken secretly from the house during Saturday night, and—I say, Danton, the registry down-stairs shows two maids. What if one of those maids is your sister, still under the influence of drugs? What if, after all, she is in that room across the hall?”

CHAPTER XX.

THE PLOTTERS BROUGHT TO BAY.

Nick opened the door, and, after directing Danton to remain where he was until he was ready for him to proceed, crossed the hall and applied his marvelous pick-lock to the door.

It was a matter of only a moment for him to spring back the lock, and gently to push the door ajar, in the meantime, having assured himself by a quick glance up and down the hall that there was no immediate fear of interruption.

As the door upon which he was working swung open not more than half an inch, he could hear voices proceeding from the room which adjoined that one, and he could see, also, by the light which reflected into the room before him, that it was itself unoccupied.

The voice that had arrested his attention was a man’s voice, and, turning, he made a hasty gesture toward Danton to remain where he was, and then stepped boldly through, closing the door behind him. The presence of a man in the room and the instant recognition of the tones of that man’s voice had driven all thought of the delicacy of his undertaking from his mind at once.

For Nick Carter to hear a voice once was always to remember it, and the instant those tones fell upon his ear he knew that he was in the presence of the master conspirator, in short, that the man, Rogers, was at that very moment at his mercy.

Having closed the door gently, he dropped upon the floor and crawled forward until he could peer through a crack between the folding-doors which connected the two rooms, and he almost exclaimed aloud when his eyes lighted upon the scene thus unfolded to his view.

At the first glance it seemed almost as if Mercedes herself was seated there, conversing with Rogers, so exact a copy had she managed to produce of the young woman she had plotted to impersonate. But even as Nick took in the details of her appearance, she spoke, and she did so with the voice of Isabel Benton.

“Oh, no,” she was saying. “I will experience no difficulty in getting her away from this hotel. Give yourself no uneasiness on that score. I have already made every arrangement. The doctor has given his opinion, the management of the hotel is ready to assist me in taking her out as quietly as possible. They are no more anxious to make an exhibition of a sick guest than I am of a sick maid; and Paul, her own brother would not know her, she is so wasted and changed. I don’t know what the drug is that you gave me to administer to her, but, whatever it is, it has done its work well. Mercedes Danton, the real, goes out of existence to-morrow when we ship her off to Canada. After that, you can put her out of existence in fact, at your own sweet pleasure. I wash my hands of it.”

“And your part here? What will you do?”

“Oh, I’ll play my part, all right. Don’t worry about me. You say the servant whom you have ‘fixed’ at the house in Newport, where the old lady is staying, will do her work this week, and that Mrs. Danton is too ill to travel here now. Well, that means that I have nothing to fear from that source; and Danton père—if your plans do not fail in regard to him——”

“They cannot fail. He will die on shipboard on the way over, of apoplexy, or of something that will look much like it. They haven’t time to hold autopsies on ocean steamers. I’ll take care of that. The steward who is to put him out of the way has worked for me before; he will not fail. But what of the son?”

“You leave the son to me. He has just twenty-four hours more to live and then, pouf! He goes out of existence. Thus all the obstacles are removed. Thus we will come into the millions.”

“You are a great actress, Isabel. You play the part superbly. Even now—here—to me—you look it thoroughly.”

“Play the part? It is thrice easier than it was to play the maid. That was hard. But, come. You must be going.”

Nick waited to hear no more after that, but he turned and glided back to the door, and in another moment was again in the hall, with it closed and locked behind him.

With a hasty word of warning and instruction to Danton, who retreated within the room, Nick sauntered down the corridor a few steps, waiting till the door of the suite supposed to be occupied by Mercedes Danton and her maids should open to permit the departure of Paul Rogers—and he had not long to wait.

When the man came out into the hall, and closed the door behind him, Nick was not ten feet away from him, and, as Rogers, after one sharp glance in his direction, turned to hasten in the opposite direction, Nick quickened his step so that in a moment he was close beside the conspirator and murderer.

He seemed to be in the act of passing Rogers, when suddenly he turned in his track.

His arms shot out and the fingers of one hand seized upon Rogers’ throat, effectually shutting off all hope of his crying out or otherwise giving an alarm. With the other hand, the detective seized him around the body, and then, with a leap, he hurried him toward the open door of his own room where Danton was standing in the doorway awaiting him.

The whole thing occurred so quickly that five seconds had not elapsed from the instant when Rogers came out of the room opposite before he was safely behind closed doors in Nick Carter’s room, with irons upon his wrists and ankles and a gag thrust into his mouth.

“This is the luckiest night’s work I ever did in my life,” said Nick, looking down upon his captive, who was glaring up at him with fierce eyes, but who was utterly helpless nevertheless.

“I see that you do not know me, Paul Rogers,” he said. “Perhaps, however, you will know this gentleman;” and he brought Danton forward where the prisoner could see him.

“The game is up, Rogers,” continued Nick. “I think I can assure you that Mr. Danton’s father will not die of apoplexy on board the ship which is to bring him over here; also that his mother in Newport will not be poisoned this week, and also that Reginald will live somewhat more than twenty-four hours more. Neither do I think that Mercedes Danton, the real, as your wife correctly calls her, will take that little trip to Canada.”

“What the devil does it all mean?” asked Danton, almost beside himself with curiosity.

“It means,” replied Nick, “that when I opened the door opposite, I heard Rogers’ voice inside the room, so I thought that instead of sending you there to reconnoiter, I would do the thing myself. I happened, fortunately, to surprise a heart-to-heart talk between this chap and Isabel, in which, in a very few words, they betrayed the whole plot, almost exactly as I outlined it to you. And, by the way, Reginald, I don’t blame you for supposing that Isabel was your sister when you saw her in front of the hotel in the carriage. I would have believed the same had I seen her instead of you. Now, I want you to sit here with our gentle acquaintance while I go down and interview the management of the hotel. This is one of the circumstances which they like to manage in their own way, and when I tell them that it need not be known that anything has occurred in the hotel, there will be no difficulty in getting our prisoners to police headquarters without delay.”

“But where is Mercedes? Where is my sister? Has anything happened to her? You have not told me that yet, Nick?”

“To be sure I haven’t; but do you suppose that if anything had happened to her, I would be almost joking with this brute here on the floor? Wait, Danton. She is under the influence of drugs, and is, doubtless, quite ill; but I think we will soon bring her out of that.”

* * * * * * *

Half an hour later there was a sharp summons upon the door of the suite opposite the room where Nick Carter had related the story to Reginald Danton.

Presently, after the summons had been repeated a second and a third time, there came a voice from the other side, inquiring who was there.

“A telegram,” replied the hotel detective, whereupon he was told to wait a moment, and presently the door was partly opened and the face of Isabel—it was uncannily like the face of Mercedes—appeared in the opening.

But she had no time to ask questions, for the door being ajar thus far, was quickly pushed wide open by the men outside, and, almost before the woman was thoroughly awake, she found herself a prisoner.

It was broad daylight, in the same suite of rooms at the hotel.

Mercedes Danton, pale as a ghost, but seemingly more beautiful than ever, was lying on the couch near the window so that the cooling breeze of the June morning could fan her brow. Seated beside her and holding her hand in his was her brother, and, standing near them, looking down with untold pleasure and satisfaction in his eyes, was Nick Carter.

“How much we owe to you, Mr. Carter,” she said to him, lifting her matchless eyes until they rested upon his face with a glance that was almost a caress.

“To me?” he replied, smiling. “Say, rather, to yourself.”

“How to me?” she inquired.

Nick turned away without answering, and Reginald smiled upon both his sister and his friend.

“How to me?” she repeated, looking at her brother for a reply.

“Why,” he said, smiling, “because everybody who knows you, loves you, Mercedes. Even I, your brother, love you. Even——”

“Shut up, Danton,” ordered Nick. “Speak for yourself, and give the same privilege to others.”

CHAPTER XXI.

NICK DISCOVERS A NEW MYSTERY.

The idea that all that time he was lying low for the very purpose of averting suspicion from his real plans never once occurred to anybody.

The trial was short, although the prisoner was forced to spend many weeks in his cell in the Tombs before the case was reached on the calendar. The result was a conviction, and Nick felt that a great load had been lifted from his mind when he learned that Rogers, strangely calm in the face of the verdict, had been led from the court-room a condemned murderer.

If Nick could have known what that calm, unruffled demeanor meant he would not have been so greatly relieved.

Following his usual custom of washing his hands of a case after turning a criminal over to the proper authorities, Nick, when he had placed all the evidence at his command in the hands of the district attorney, had gone away to New Brunswick, on a fishing-trip.

Isabel Benton could not be connected with the murder at all, either before or after the fact, and the charge against her had been so vague that she escaped with a light sentence in the penitentiary.

Mercedes Danton, worn by the thrilling events of the past few weeks, went to Europe, and Reginald betook himself to parts unknown to pass away the hot season of the year.

But even on his outing trip Nick Carter was destined to be called into a case of mystery that, however, was so soon solved that the detective regarded it as only one of the side issues that come to him now and then, and which he dabbles in either from motives of friendship, curiosity, or amusement. In this case, however, it led to a strange development.

He was about to bring his visit to an end, and was spending his last evening of “loafing” in the cozy study of his host, Jack Northrup, smoking and chatting, when the servant announced a visitor.

“George Smart. I wonder what brings him down here?” said Northrup, as he read the card that the servant brought to him. “Show the gentleman in here. George is a young lawyer, and an awfully nice chap. You’ll like him,” he continued, turning to Nick as the servant retired.

The lawyer promptly followed his card and greeted Northrup cordially as he entered the room with the air of a man of determination and quick action.

“Why, George, what brings you down here?” asked Northrup.

“Business,” replied Smart promptly. “You didn’t think I had wandered down to this hole in the world for pleasure, did you?”

“My friend, Mr. Carter,” said Northrup, laughing at the lawyer’s wry face, as he introduced the men. “Now lay off your coat and join us in a pipe. You will stay all night, of course, and as we have fished all the streams in the neighborhood dry by day and told about it at night we will be glad to compose ourselves and listen to the tale of the business that brings you to this ‘hole.’ Your business always has a romantic side, George, and I am sure that it must be something out of the usual to get you out of New York and away from your office, club, and cronies. Come let’s have it. Our friend Carter here is a bit interested in the law.”

“Why, it’s a deuce of a mess altogether,” said Smart, as he pulled up an easy chair and filled a long pipe. “And it concerns one of your neighbors, too, or, rather, his heirs.”

“Not old man Peters?” said Northrup.

“Yes—his estate.”

“Must have left a handsome fortune. He had no direct heirs, had he?”

“Yes, one—a burglar.”

Both listeners uttered a cry of surprise.

“A burglar his heir?” said Nick, in astonishment.

“And to a big, round sum, too,” said Northrup, with manifest surprise.

“Yes, and I cannot find the burglar or the will, now.”

“How do you know that his heir is a burglar?” asked Nick.

“Because he told me so.”

“But how do you know he made such a will?”

“Because I drew it.”

“Phew. This is a romance indeed. Tell us all about it, George.”

The lawyer settled back in his chair as if preparing for a long session. He was pleased to have aroused the interest of his auditors, and was not loath to tell the strange story. But he puffed contentedly at his pipe for a moment before proceeding, seeming to enjoy the impatience of the two men, who were leaning forward in their chairs expectantly.

“It was just a week before Mr. Peters’ death that he sent for me to draw his will,” said the lawyer finally, deciding to satisfy the curiosity of his hearers. “He had no immediate fear of death, although as you know he had been partially paralyzed for many years. The document was a very simple matter. As you say, he had no direct heirs at law, and he wished to will his entire property to a man whom he designated as Red Morgan—— Did you speak?” the lawyer asked, turning to Nick, who had uttered a suppressed exclamation.

“A sudden pain in my side. It’s nothing. Don’t let me interrupt you.”

“Although the will tells nothing of the history or character of the heir to this large fortune, old Mr. Peters related to me the little he knew of the man and his reasons for his singular disposition of his wealth. As you know, he was always eccentric and of firm and determined mind. After he had outlined to me the brief document that I was to draw for him I tried to dissuade him from this peculiar disposition of his property, urging that it might result in all sorts of claims being set up by all sorts of crooks and criminals.

“But he would not listen to me. ‘I have sent for you to make my will, Smart,’ he said. ‘I am of sound mind and perfectly competent. I have no near relations who have any claim on me or my posthumous generosity. The money is mine, and I purpose to do what I like with it. If you do not want to draw the will I’ll get some one who will.’ Well, there was no gainsaying him, and, of course, there was no real reason why he should not devise his property in this way if he chose. Only I could see all kinds of trouble coming to me, as I was to be the arbiter and see to it that the right man got the money, and also that the conditions of the will, which were also simple, were carried out to the letter.”

“But why did he make such a strange disposition of his property?” asked Northrup.

“I am coming to that. This is the story he told me:

“As you, and, as far as that goes, the entire countryside knows, Mr. Peters was in the habit of keeping a large sum of money in the house. He had been frequently warned that it was a bait for burglars, but in his stubborn way he paid no heed to his advisers. The money was kept in a safe in his room, and the key he always carried with him and at night slept with it under his pillow. This, of course, was little security, as after-events proved, for every one knew that ‘old man Peters always had a thousand dollars or more in his safe,’ and just as many knew that the key was to be found under his pillow at night. Just how this knowledge reached the inner circles of the criminal world is something it is hard to explain. But it did.

“Well, one night Mr. Peters, who lived alone, as you know, with an old servant, was awakened by a noise in his room. As he opened his eyes without stirring he saw the forms of two men, who had just entered by the window which opened onto the roof of a porch. The room was dimly lighted by a new moon, and, as his eyes became used to the semidarkness, he could see every movement the men made, and he was soon impressed with the remarkable fact that one of the midnight visitors was unaware of the presence of the other.

“It was a singular scene that the old man witnessed as he lay there quietly in bed watching the catlike movements of the dark forms. It would have been a trying situation for an ordinary man, but old man Peters did not have a nerve in his body, and was as brave as a lion. Had he been physically able he would undoubtedly have engaged his unbidden guests in a little rough-and-tumble fight without recking the results. But his paralyzed limbs would not permit any such demonstration, and he just lay there watching and waiting.

“He had a keen sense of humor, had Mr. Peters, and it was this that nearly cost him his life and made Thomas Danton his heir. As he watched the foremost man moving stealthily about getting his bearings, and just as stealthily followed by the crouching figure of the other, the scene—one thief dogging another—struck him as so ludicrous that he laughed outright.

“That laugh was nearly fatal. With a snarl of rage the first man sprang to the bed, and, seizing the old man by the throat, raised a gleaming knife.

“‘Curse you, take that,’ he hissed, and the knife was about to descend when the shadow sprang upon him and wrenched the weapon from his hand.

“‘We will have no murder done while I am here, Dan Flynn.’

“The first man released his grip on the old man’s throat and turned upon the man who had seized him. His surprise when he recognized him was evident.

“‘Red Morgan! What are you doing here?’

“‘The same thing you are, Dan, only I don’t intend to see any violence done an old and helpless man.’