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

CHAPTER XXVIII.

NICK CARTER’S LITTLE COUNTERPLOT.

It may seem strange to the reader that he should have adopted the disguise he did, in order to see and talk with Mercedes Danton, but there was a distinct method even in that move. He had no desire to conceal his identity from the young lady herself, although for the present and for reasons that were perfectly obvious to himself, he did not care, as yet, that either old Peter Danton or his wife should be made aware that Nick Carter was meddling in their affairs.

Nick had taken the conduct of the case on his shoulders entirely because of his own wish to do so, and was, therefore, acting in a manner which might be deemed officious by the old man, who was cranky and difficult to deal with at the best.

The detective knew that the financier would pooh-pooh any idea that a conspiracy had been organized against the peace of his family. If he had been told that there was a conspiracy against his bank accounts he would have believed the report without question, on the principle that it would be an act of wisdom to guard against such a contingency in any event; but a conspiracy against the happiness and peace of his family, or even against his own life, unless it were formed somewhere in the Street and aimed in reality at one of his deals, he would refuse to comprehend or believe.

But with Mercedes it was different.

She had already been through one experience of the kind, and had promised, upon Nick’s advice, to keep the matter a secret from her father and mother. Hence, while she was in a measure prepared for what Nick had to impart to her, her father and mother were not.

And there was another reason why the detective believed it wise to disguise himself as effectually as possible.

He had no doubt—if the story told to him by Tom Morgan was true—that there could be emissaries of Paul Rogers at the pier when the ship was docked, for he reasoned that they would not waste time in beginning their operations.

He naturally did not wish to have any of these agents of the murderer-conspirator recognize him nor suspect that he was present, and he most certainly did desire to see without himself being seen.

Mercedes did not depart from her usual custom on that particular morning.

Soon after the appearance of dawn in the east, and sometime before the sun was up, she appeared on the deck, and as soon as she did so, the captain, acting upon Nick’s request, approached her and said a few words to her in a low tone.

Almost immediately thereafter she crossed the deck to the spot where Nick was standing leaning against the rail, and in a position he had selected so that they would be sufficiently apart from other passengers who might appear on the deck. He did not care to be overheard in what he had to say.

“The captain told me that you wished to speak with me,” she said in a low tone. “He said that you had something of importance to communicate to me. Please tell me who you are, sir, for I do not know you.”

“Don’t you recognize my voice?” asked Nick, smiling, and speaking in his natural tones.

Mercedes started back with a little cry of pleased surprise, and then again looked at him doubtfully.

“Sure,” she said, “you are not—no, you cannot be—Mr. Carter.”

“Nick Carter; no other; and wholly at your service,” he replied.

“Why have you come here in this disguise? Has anything happened to my brother?”

“Oh, no. I think not. At least, nothing of which I am informed. I have come to meet you hidden behind a disguise because I had good reasons for desiring that you should be the only person aboard this ship—aside from the captain, of course—who would know me.”

“But why?”

“First tell me that you are glad to see me.”

She smiled brightly at him, and then said demurely:

“But I do not see you. I see only a man who is past fifty, who looks as if he had just come in from feeding the stock and milking. I don’t call that seeing you, because it is not in the least like you.”

“At least you hear me,” said Nick.

“Well, I’m not so sure of that, either. Your appearance is so at variance with my conception of the manner of your meeting me——”

“Ah!” said Nick. “Then you did expect me to meet you?”

She bit her lips in momentary vexation, and then said, with a smile:

“Certainly I expected to meet you somewhere, at some time, again.”

“All right,” replied Nick. “We will let it go at that, but in the meantime please remember this fact: If you cannot see me, I can see you quite plainly, and——”

“And, of course, you are glad to see me. Let it go at that, Mr. Carter.”

“All right,” he said, again. “Now to business.”

“Is there business?”

“Yes; serious business. Paul Rogers has escaped from prison, and Isabel Benton has been released from prison. Both of those interesting events took place yesterday.”

“Indeed! Well, Mr. Carter, have I anything to fear from them? Is that why you are here?”

“Yes; that is why I am here. I will not say that you have anything to fear, because it is not in you to fear things—is it?”

“Not especially, I think.”

“But you have much to guard against—much to make you watchful—much to keep you on the alert lest your enemies again find an opportunity to make trouble for you, and I fear that they are contemplating a renewal of their machinations.”

“And that is why you are here?”

“That is why I am here.”

“It seems too bad that we have to meet a repetition of all that trouble, is it not?”

“Yes; and I want to arrange so that there will be no possibility of a third effort on their part, after we have headed them off on this one. I have made up my mind that there is only one way to accomplish that thoroughly, and at the same time to be sure that I am affording you, as well as the other members of your family, all the protection possible, and so I have come here to-day to make a strange request of you.”

“Say, rather, a command,” she said brightly, “for I already see that you will insist upon it.”

“Very well; put it that way. Is it true that you have taken the cares of the conduct of your household equally from the shoulders of your father and mother? In short, that you are the one who is consulted when there is any change to be made in the personnel of your service at home?”

“Quite so. My father never did bother with the home part of his existence, and my mother leaves it all to me.”

“How do you like your present butler?”

“I am afraid that I do not understand.”

“That’s easy. I want you to fire him and give me the job.”

“Mr. Carter, I——”

“Well, you need not fire him; just give him a vacation. Let him go home and see his parents, or something like that. I want to fill his place. Don’t you understand?”

“I don’t think I do understand.”

“I want to become, for a time, a member of your household, and to be your butler seems the only available plan that is worthy of adoption. I want to watch over you, and to be your butler. I’ll wager that this is the first time in your life when a confessed admirer has offered to become your butler, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she replied coolly, “and it is also the first time in my life when I have felt it my duty to grant what one of them has asked. You shall be my butler, Mr. Carter. Could I say more?”

“Good,” said Nick, chuckling audibly. “You will have no trouble in sending old Simmons away on a vacation for a time. Now, I want you also to engage a new stable-boy.”

“You are not expecting to serve in both capacities, are you?” she asked.

“Oh, no. I have a young friend who is sometimes handy to have about. I want him there.”

“Consider the new stable-boy engaged. I will give directions about him as soon as I reach home.”

“Excellent. You can let it be supposed that he came over on the same ship, if you care to do so. I’ll guarantee that he will be sufficiently Irish to fool the best of them.”

“Is there anything else?”

“Yes; one more. I want to put one more man in your house. Where shall I put him?”

“Bless me! Are you going to fill Linden Fells with men?”

“Not quite. Only three. I want another place inside the house for my assistant, Chick.”

“How would he like to serve as valet?”

“Valet to whom?”

“My father. We always keep a valet for him, and he never in the world knows that he has one, for if there is a commodity in the world for which he hasn’t a particle of use, it is a valet; so you see the position is a sinecure; perhaps your assistant would like it—or, perhaps, you would prefer it to the somewhat arduous one of butler.”

“No, thank you. I’ll stick to the butler.”

“And when do you propose appearing on the scene with your assistants?”

“At once. To-day. I will report within two hours after I know that you are safely at home, and Chick and Patsy will be there before night. And now, as there are other passengers coming on the deck, I’ll leave you. Please do not speak to me or notice me again, no matter what happens. When I appear at the Fells, you can call me by the name of the old butler—Simmons; will that do?”

“Very nicely, indeed. There is only one question I can think of which I would like to ask you, and that is, when shall I have the pleasure of seeing you in person?”

“Before very long,” replied Nick, as he turned away.

CHAPTER XXIX.

IN THE HOUSE AT LINDEN FELLS.

For Nick had been the “butler” at Linden Fells an entire week. Chick had in the meantime filled the post of valet to Mr. Danton, for whom, as Mercedes had predicted, he never once had a service to perform. The old man thoroughly despised valets, and would not have one near him. He argued that his wife and daughter merely required the services of an extra person in the house and that they chose to hire that person under the name and guise of a valet for him—which, as a matter of fact, was not far wrong.

Patsy filled the rôle of extra stable-boy during this interim—and Patsy enjoyed it.

“Sure,” he said, “there’s nothin’ I’d ruther do on earth than shake hands wid a hoorse!” and it was true. He loved all horses and preferred their society to men.

During the week there had been moments when Nick had found opportunity of exchanging a few words with Mercedes Danton, but for the most part she had held herself entirely aloof, and had treated him exactly as his ostensible position demanded that he should be treated.

Indeed, Nick had insisted on that point, and he often smiled to himself at the literal manner in which she had taken him at his word.

During the week, also, Reginald had returned; but he was rarely at home, and he took no more notice of the new butler than he would have taken of a post, had it been stationed in the front hallway of the house—probably not as much, for the post would have been out of place there while a butler was a part and parcel of the furniture.

It was plainly to be seen, however, that Mercedes did not like the situation at all. She had shown no outward feeling about it at all at first, but as time went on and finally lengthened into a week, she became restless under the conditions, and, at last, on the day which completed the week’s stay for the detective, she found an opportunity to send her mother out on a solitary drive in the victoria, and then, when she was sure that there would be no interruptions, she called Nick into the library.

“Don’t you think, Mr. Carter, that this has gone far enough?” she asked, somewhat coldly.

“That what has gone far enough?” replied Nick.

“This masquerade.”

“No; to be perfectly truthful, I do not.”

“It is becoming intolerable to me.”

“Why?”

“Do you think I can explain to you why? In fact, need I explain to you, why? Don’t you know why as well as I do.”

“I think I can understand how you feel about it—yes.”

“Well, it must cease. You must go away.”

“Pardon me, Miss Danton; I must stay.”

“Against my wishes?”

“Certainly not; but with your approval. If, when I came here to act as your butler, I could have foretold the exact time when your enemies were to make a move, there would not have arisen the necessity for me to play the part I have taken at all. I could simply have appeared here, hidden myself in a closet until the villains announced themselves, as they do in plays, met them in front of the footlights, so to speak, and choked them into submission to the applause of the galleries. Unfortunately, this is not a play.”

“It seems strangely like a farce to me.”

“God grant it may not prove to be a tragedy.”

“I wish you would not take things so funereally, Mr. Carter,” she said, with some show of petulance.

“How can I take it otherwise when I know the seriousness of the situation?”

“But do you know it? Is it not rather due to your imagination and to your—your—what shall I say?”

“Say what you started to say and did not wish to complete.”

“One would suppose you could tell what that was.”

“I could. You were about to add, in effect, that I was overzealous in your behalf. Perhaps I am. I do know that danger threatens you, and I do know that there is no place in the world where I can meet and turn aside that danger as here on the ground where it is sure to fall sooner or later.”

“But this condition is likely to go on for weeks.”

“In that case we must wait weeks.”

“No,” she said. “It must cease. Listen, Mr. Carter; have you not told me that my brother is also in peril? In peril that is really as great as mine?”

“Yes; he is in peril, but it is not as great as yours, because nothing that could happen to him would be as serious as if it should happen to you. In conditions of this kind, we can only go by contrasts.”

“But you leave him entirely unguarded while you devote all your time to watching over me.”

“Pardon me. We are watching over your mother, your father, your home, and your surroundings. Neither is your brother neglected. He comes home usually during the small hours of the morning and goes away again about midday, but there is never a moment when he could run into danger without my knowledge—unless it happened to be inside one of his own club-houses where my shadows cannot follow him.”

“But this espionage seems to me to be something dreadful. The truth is, if you will have it, Mr. Carter, that I cannot bear the thought that you are here in this house acting as a servant. I do not mind the presence of your assistant, or of Patsy, in the stable; but——”

“But you want me to get out.”

“You put the statement in rather a brutal manner, but in plain English I suppose that to be precisely what I do want,” she replied. “Of course, I know that you understand exactly what I mean by that statement, so what is the use of softening it?”

“None whatever; and you could not say words which would delight me more—just at this present moment and crisis.”

“Please go away, Mr. Carter. If this espionage must be continued, send another of your assistants.”

Nick thought deeply for a moment, and then, smiling at her, said:

“Very well. I can send you a man who is almost as old as the one who went away to make room for me, but he is perfectly reliable. I will give you a letter which you will hand to Chick. You shall send him into the city this afternoon, and he in turn will send out the man who is to take my place. Will that do?”

“Admirably,” and Mercedes smiled brightly. Then, impulsively she took a step forward and put out her hand. “Please do not misunderstand me,” she began, but he stopped her.

“I understand you perfectly,” he said. “I realize now that I should have sent an assistant in the first place instead of coming myself; but you——”

“Please say no more now,” she interrupted. “You cannot know how terrible it seems to me to be on terms of intimacy with my butler.”

“It is, perhaps, a good lesson in sociology,” said Nick. Then he seated himself at the library table and wrote rapidly, his instructions to Chick. That done, he sealed the note and gave it to her.

“You will notice that I have sealed the message I have written,” he said. “That is done because I am a butler, and do not know any better; not because I fear that you may read the contents of my letter. The mere sealing of the note is a part of the masquerade;” and he laughed in a low tone.

“Is that necessary, in writing to your assistant?” she asked.

“Quite,” he said. “And now, if you will give that to Chick and then return here, I have two or three more questions I would like to ask you. Remember that in two hours my substitute will be here, and that thereafter I will have no further opportunity for consultation with you.”

The note which Mercedes delivered to Chick, and which took him at once into the city, directed him simply to go there and make himself up according to directions given, and then to return and take Nick’s place as butler, and it explained that Nick himself would, after he was relieved from duty as butler, assume the disguise that Chick had worn and return in his place as valet. So the reader will see that Nick Carter had no intention of leaving the house at all, but determined merely to change places with Chick.

When Mercedes returned to the room where Nick was awaiting her, he pointed to a chair, and then, with slow emphasis, he said:

“Miss Danton, there is a question which I have long wished to ask you and which will seem impertinent. Nevertheless, I assure you that it is important that you should answer it, because since I have been familiar with the incidents connected with this family, many things not on the surface have come to my notice.”

“What is the question, Mr. Carter?”

“It is a question which I might ask of your brother, or father, or mother, if I chose to ask it in another way; but I have thought best to ask it of you, because I think, in your heart, you, of all the family, will best understand my motives.”

“I will understand at least, that you deal without impertinence or idle curiosity, even if your question should appear so,” she replied, in a low tone. “I think I understand your motives, Mr. Carter, and if, in sending you away I have seemed to lack appreciation of them, I assure you that I have not——”

“Hush! I, too, understand. Now listen, for this is the question. Since our acquaintance began, I have taken occasion to look up, rather carefully, the history of your immediate family, and I find that you had an elder brother, six years older than Reginald, to whose memory a small monument has been erected in Woodlawn. That monument was placed there when you were ten years old. The question itself is this: Have you any reason to believe that the brother, to whose memory that monument was raised, is still alive?”

CHAPTER XXX.

PAUL ROGERS’ BLOW FOR MILLIONS.

“Three years later—when you were thirteen—you awoke in the night and saw him at your bedside, did you not?” asked Nick gently.

She raised her eyes then, half-frightened.

“Are you a wizard?” she asked. “I have never told of that circumstance to anybody—not even to Sarah Kearney, my maid, who was my confidant in the other part of it, and whom I swore to secrecy on the most solemn oath I could devise.”

“Sarah has not broken her oath to you. She has told me nothing.”

Mercedes clasped her hands together and gazed imploringly into the detective’s face.

“Then you have seen my brother, Tom,” she said slowly, and with conviction that could not be shaken. “My brother, Tom, who was my idol—whom I worshiped. You have seen him. Nobody else could have told you what only he and I know.”

“Yes, Mercedes——”

“Hush! You must not call me that, now; not yet.”

“I have seen your brother, Tom, and he told me about it—and yet, he does not suspect that I know that you are his sister.”

“He is well? And happy? And—good?” she asked breathlessly, and in a tone which seemed to demand that the answers to her questions should be in the affirmative. And Nick replied in a gentle tone:

“Yes, he is well. I do not think he is quite happy; how could he be so, away from the sister he loves so dearly? And—he is trying to be good, I think.”

“Where is he?” she asked, and Nick smiled kindly as he replied:

“You are asking questions of me instead of permitting me to ask some that are important, but I think I may promise you that he is not far away—that he is watching over your safety at this moment in a manner and under advantages which I could not obtain, however hard I might try—and that he is not very far away from you.”

“Then he is—free?” she exclaimed, with a glad cry.

“Free! Yes. Why do you ask that?”

“Because I was told—oh, kind Heaven, must I confess it?—that he was a prisoner for life in a French prison. A prisoner for life! Think of it.”

“Ah!” said Nick. “Now I think I understand. Now I think it will not be necessary to ask you any more of these harrowing questions. Now, I think I know all the truth.”

“Please tell me what you mean,” murmured Mercedes.

“Some time ago,” replied Nick, speaking slowly, “I had a long talk with your maid, Sarah. From her talk I gathered that when Paul Rogers appeared here in this house as valet to your brother, Reginald, you discovered that he was not a stranger to you. I also discovered that there was a secret connected with your knowing him, which she would not under any circumstances reveal, not even to save your life. When Ramon Orizaba was murdered by Paul Rogers, it was only the horror of the thing which affected you—there was no sorrow in your soul. You believed yourself well rid of both of them, and yet, you were startled lest you could no longer supposedly communicate with your brother, Tom.

“Wait, Mercedes; let me finish. I know that while you have been abroad, you have caused every prison in France and England to be searched, as well as it could be done by others, for traces of somebody. I know that you constantly supplied Orizaba with money, and that even now, in a roundabout way, you are supplying an emissary of Paul Rogers—in short, that you are furnishing the very funds with which he is bribing others to murder your father, mother, and your brother, Reginald, as well as your own self. You do not know that; but I do. You think that he is sending a large part of that money abroad to make easier the prison life of your brother, Tom, and you have so great an amount of money at your command that ten thousand dollars, or even a hundred thousand, is as a drop in the bucket against the purchase of added comforts for him.”

Her head was bowed in her hands now, but she was not weeping.

“Do you remember your horror, Mercedes, when you believed, for a time, that Reginald was the murderer of Orizaba? Do you remember how grateful you were when it was proved to you that he could not have done the deed? And that even after it was proved to you, you still felt gratitude toward Rogers, because he left behind him a letter in which he confessed that he did the deed himself? And do you not see the cold calculation and planning of the fiend through it all? He thought at first that he would convince you that Reginald killed Orizaba. Later, he became afraid that his plans in that direction would not work, and so he made a play to obtain your eternal gratitude by confessing that he did it himself, and thus saving Reginald.”

“And if your own clear reasoning had not convinced me of the real truth, I might still have reason, in my thoughts, for eternal gratitude to him,” murmured Mercedes.

“Exactly. But, the cupidity of Rogers grows with his attainments. Having placed himself in a position where he could command almost any sum from you at any moment, he became dissatisfied with that, and wanted the principal—and, remember this: But for your brother, Tom, who has never been inside a French prison nor in France, so far as I know, and who came to me with a warning of the plot against you, Rogers would have been in a fair way to accomplish every hellish thing he set out to do. Tell me, now, how you first knew Rogers.”

“When I was at school in France he came to me with a message from my brother.”

“Forged,” said Nick.

“Perhaps so; I believed it to be real. He told me that he had been friends with Tom, and—oh, I cannot repeat it all.”

“It is not necessary. I desire only the main facts.”

“I could not command so much money then, because I was only a child, but I found a way to obtain a great deal.”

“And that you gave to him for your brother, Tom.”

“Yes; all of it. There has never been a month since that time when I have been free from the demands of Paul Rogers; but I have not resented that as long as I believed I was benefiting my wayward brother. I have always supposed that a part of what I supplied went to him.”

“Nothing has gone to him. Did not Rogers also endeavor to force himself upon your attentions?”

“Yes; to my shame, he did.”

“To your shame? Oh, no; but to your misfortune and your youth—yes.”

“He is well educated. He represented himself to be of good family——”

“Which I have no doubt he is. Go on.”

“But I stopped all that. I threatened even to desert my brother—which, of course, I did not really intend to do—unless he ceased his attentions. Then Orizaba came upon the scene. I met him before my mother did. It was I to whom the proofs of his relationship were first exhibited. He also had been a friend of Tom’s—at least, so it was said. And—need we go farther into that subject?”

“No. I am very glad that we have cleared the atmosphere of things by this talk.”

“And I am glad, too. More so than you can understand. It seems to me right, now, that you should share my secret, although an hour ago, before you spoke to me on the subject, I would sooner have died than have shared it with you.”

“Has your father or your mother any idea that your brother, Tom, is alive?”

“No. At least, father has none. Sometimes I have thought that my mother is not convinced of his death—and yet, I am sure that she is not convinced that he lives.”

“And Reginald?”

“Reginald believes that Tom is dead, of course. You must know, Mr. Carter, that Tom was my childhood’s idol. He was a saint—a god—a big brother, who was brave and fearless.”

“I understand.”

“Can you tell me no more about him?” she asked pleadingly.

“At present there is no more to tell. I know nothing more than I have told you. He did not tell me that he was your brother, nor was I sure that he was so until I questioned you just now.”

“And, later? Do you think you will see him again?”

“I am sure that I will see him again, and I think I may promise you that some time in the near future, if you will be guided by me, I will bring you together.”

“Oh, thank God!”

An hour later, Chick reappeared on the scene, wearing the disguise which Nick had directed, and was duly installed as butler in Nick’s place. At the same time, Nick took his departure, but only for the purpose of traveling the short distance that was necessary to find a place to make himself into a counterpart of what Chick had been while he was serving in the capacity of valet.

And so their positions were reversed.

Both remained in the house, and the only real alterations in their plans of watching, existed in the fact that Mercedes believed that the detective himself had returned to New York and that she had now to do only with his assistants.

As the afternoon waned, Mercedes became anxious about the extended absence of her mother who, it will be remembered, had gone alone for a ride in the victoria; and now fully three hours had elapsed since her departure. It was unprecedented for her to remain out so long alone.

As Mercedes came out upon the porch for the purpose of directing that somebody from the stable ride down the road in search of the carriage, four men, followed by several others, appeared in the gateway. They were carrying a litter between them, and upon it was stretched the silent and motionless figure of Mercedes’ mother; and Nick Carter, who, as the valet, started at once down the path to meet them, muttered to himself:

“Paul Rogers’ first blow for the Danton millions has fallen.”

CHAPTER XXXI.

ONE MAN AGAINST SIXTY-FIVE.

The horses shied and turned short around, overturning the victoria and throwing Mrs. Danton out on the hard road. She sustained a fracture of one arm and a blow on her head had deprived her of consciousness. She was still unconscious when she was carried into the house, and, although the doctors resorted to every expedient they could summon to their aid, she showed no signs of coming out of the coma into which the shock of the accident and the blow on her head had thrown her.

As soon as the first effects of the arrival of the litter were over, Nick hurried to the stable, and, notwithstanding the objections of the hostler and his assistants, began a hurried examination of the harness.

“Horses don’t act restless like these did, unless there is some reason for it,” he said to the head stableman. “I was a coachman once myself, before I became a valet. Look there.”

He was holding the backband in his hands, and he pointed to a steel burr that had been screwed into the band in such a position that short but sharp steel needles would pierce the delicate skin of the animal that wore the harness.

“What do you think of that?” he demanded.

The hostler was dumfounded and could make no reply. It was plain to Nick, at once, that he was not responsible for its presence there.

Another burr of the same kind was found in the remaining harness, but there was not one among the employees of the stable who could throw any light whatever upon the mystery of how they came there. Even Patsy, when he was taken aside by the detective, assured his chief that he had not relaxed his vigilance for a moment, and that he had done everything he could think of or that ingenuity could suggest to be in a position to know of any planning or plotting that might be going on there. He was certain that the burrs had been introduced into the harnesses by some person who had managed to creep into the stable unobserved, and who had also been successful in getting away undiscovered after he had done his work.

To Chick, when the opportunity came, Nick said:

“I think now that we may look for rapid developments. The plotters have commenced the campaign, and it is more than likely that they will seek to rush things from this out. It is not improbable that they may think I am out of the city and that, therefore, it is a good time to strike.”

Developments did come along rapidly after that.

As soon as Mrs. Danton had been properly cared for, and her husband and son notified, Mercedes wrote a letter to Nick Carter in which she told him of the “accident,” and expressed her regret that she had hastened his departure from the house just at the time when she needed him most; and she closed by saying:

Reginald and his father each arrived at the Fells as soon as possible after they were informed of the accident.

Darkness had fallen by the time the household had settled down to routine affairs.

Two nurses, hastily summoned from the city, were in attendance upon the mistress of the Fells; old Peter, the master, had sought his study, as he called it, a small room which he had caused to be fitted for his sole use and which contained merely a desk, his chair, and a table and book-case. Beside him was his inevitable pot of coffee, which was always near him when he spent an evening at home.

Reginald had gone to his own rooms also, and disappeared utterly from view, but it was supposable that he was reading, and that he also had his pot of coffee near him. This pot-of-coffee habit affected father and son alike, and had extended to the servants, for the coffee was the famous Uarapam brand, which, when properly made, is richer and better than wine.

And so it happened that when ten o’clock was striking, Peter Stuyvesant Danton was taking his coffee in his “den”; Reginald was drinking his coffee in his own rooms; Mercedes was sipping coffee with faithful old Sarah, in her boudoir; Chick, now serving in his capacity of butler, was partaking of the same refreshment in the servants’ hall, unbending his official dignity for the moment, for the purpose of placing himself in an attitude where he could pick up any gossip about the events of the afternoon that might be floating among the help; coffee was also served among the men at the stable, for it was the inevitable habit for the coachman to appear in the kitchen at the proper moment and to return with a pitcher of the delectable concoction; even the nurses, who were attending upon the still unconscious mistress of the house, were served with a pot of coffee, and sat together in the larger of the two rooms, sipping it and talking in low tones about almost any subject which did not include their patient.

And thus it was that from the roof to the cellar of Linden Fells, every inmate—save one—was drinking coffee at ten o’clock that night.

That one exception happened to be Nick Carter; and it was not because he disliked coffee, or because he harbored any suspicion that the coffee had been doctored, that he did not drink it with the rest, for there is, no doubt, that had he been where the “Nectar of Uarapam” could have been offered to him, he would have partaken.

But it so happened that when the house quieted down after the excitements of the afternoon, Nick intuitively smelt mischief in the air.

It was all mere intuition on his part, too, and the only serious treatment he gave it, in addition to his ordinary habit of watchfulness and wakefulness, was to determine that he would take a stroll through the grounds after the others had retired, and that he would keep an especial lookout upon the house from the shrubbery—at least, long enough to satisfy himself that there was no occasion for the exercise of extraordinary vision.

But even Nick Carter could have no idea of the terrible things that were to happen that night. Even he could not be supposed to foresee the plots and plans of so crafty an enemy as Paul Rogers and his gang of sixty or more assistants in villainy.

But back in the city of New York, at about the time when Mrs. Danton was thrown from her carriage, “Red” Tom Morgan, as we know him, was learning for the first time of events that were to happen—or that were planned to happen that same night.

He was told nothing of the runaway. He was given no information about the plan to worry and frighten the horses, in the belief that even if Mrs. Danton was not severely injured by the accident that was sure to follow, she at least would be sufficiently overcome by the shock and fright of the incident, that the household would be upset.

Of that little fact he was not told, because it was not considered necessary that he should know it; but of another and greater event to happen, he was fully informed and requested to play his part in it.

And this event, so far as his information went, was to the effect that the cook at Linden Fells, whose duty it was to prepare the coffee each evening, had fallen under the influence of a bribe, and had consented to drug the concoction, so deftly and at the same time so thoroughly, that within an hour after the time of drinking it not one who had swallowed so much as two tablespoonfuls would be awake or capable of being roused by any ordinary methods.

The hour for the drinking of coffee there was usually ten, or ten-thirty o’clock, and it was, therefore, safe to plan that by the time the midnight hour struck, the inmates of Linden Fells would be slumbering so soundly that an army marching past would not disturb them.

And—in fact, there would be something closely akin to an army on hand at that time, if comparative estimates may be used as standard.

Sixty-five men, not counting Paul Rogers himself—sixty-five desperate criminals—sixty-five human fiends would, during the hours between ten and twelve, approach Linden Fells from every direction, creeping in upon it silently and stealthily through the darkness, while every member of the household was incapable of resistance because stupefied by the drug that had been introduced into the coffee.

Sixty-five men, whose professions ran the gamut of crime from sneak-thievery and pocket-picking to bank-burglary and conspiracy, were to gather around that mansion in the darkness and await the signal of Paul Rogers for their descent upon it.

As a precaution against interruption from the outside, every wire which connected with the house was to be cut, as Dewey cut the cables at Manila Bay.

At a given signal, a certain detail of these men were to descend upon the stable and the remainder were to attack the house, so that if out of all the inmates there happened to be one person who had not swallowed the drug—or even two—that one or two would have no opportunity to escape and so give the alarm.

And then, the sixty-five were to go through the house and loot it at their pleasure. They were given full liberty, by Paul Rogers, to help themselves to anything of value which they could find and which could be carried away without impediment to their escape.

And when the house had been looted of all that was desired, and when Mercedes Danton had been taken out of the house a captive and hurried away through the darkness to a fate concerning which even Tom Morgan was kept in ignorance, then, after that, gallons upon gallons of kerosene-oil were to be scattered throughout the house, the match was to be applied, and old Peter Danton, with his wife and son, and so many of the servants as happened to be there, were to be consumed in the flames.

Thus, it was planned, would all traces of the crime be destroyed.

Thus, by the wholesale murder of the servants as well as their employers, it would not be suspected that the real plan was to put the Dantons out of the world.

Thus it would be easy to explain afterward how great good fortune had kept Miss Mercedes in the city that night—and thus, when Isabel Benton appeared in her place in the world, any difference of character or appearance might easily be accounted for because of the horrors and the terrible losses through which she had passed.

Thus, the reader will understand, the culmination of Paul Rogers’ plotting would be achieved, and while the real Mercedes Danton was quietly put to death, the pseudo Mercedes—Isabel Benton—would appear in her place, in the enjoyment of her fortune and in the exercise of her prerogatives.

All this hellish plan was developed to Tom Morgan—or shall we confess at once what the reader already knows, and saw that he was really Tom Danton?—during the late afternoon and early evening of the eventful day upon which it was to happen.

And when he would have started away at once to warn his sister and his brother of the awful peril that hung over their heads, even if he was compelled to acknowledge his identity in order to do so, he was detained. Not because anybody suspected him of showing any interest in the affair other than that terrible interest which they all enjoyed, but because of the careful plans of their leader who had arranged for the conduct of every separate man with the care of a general in ordering a concerted attack upon the enemy.

This and that group of men were to start for the rendezvous at stipulated times, and they were to meet at specified points so that there could be no miscarriage of plans—and Tom Danton’s orders offered him no opportunity of starting out until nine o’clock.

Fortunately, however, he was to go alone, and he planned that at least he could get his sister and his parents out of the house before it was attacked.

But, oh, the long hours of waiting until the time for his start for the scene of the crime came around. But when he did start, there was no delay in his going.

And up at the Fells, one man sat in a rustic seat under a lattice where he was in deep shadow, waiting and watching for he knew not what.

That one man was Nick Carter, who knew nothing of the plot, or of the drug, which was at that moment being prepared for those who were in the house.

And Nick Carter, with only Burglar Tom Morgan for his aid, was to face all that crew of sixty-five human devils, upon murder and rapine bent.

CHAPTER XXXII.

PAUL ROGERS’ LAST STRUGGLE.

“Don’t make a sound, for Heaven’s sake. There are sixty-five crooks around us somewhere. If they are not here now they are on the way and not far distant. As many as a score of them must be hidden near here now, although I do not think they will approach near to the house before midnight.”

Then, as rapidly as possible, he revealed the awful condition of things to the detective, covering only the main points of the plot, for there was not time to go into detail; but he closed with this statement:

“The telephone wires were to be cut at eleven-thirty, and the electric light wires at midnight. At a quarter past twelve, the descent is to be made on the house.”

“Well, man alive, that gives us an hour and a quarter to work,” said Nick. “We can do a lot in that time.”

“But there will not be a moment between now and then when the eyes of the gang will not be fixed upon the house, and, if they should discover us——”

“Come with me,” was the only reply which Nick Carter made, and he glided away through the darkness.

The detective had provided himself with a key to the side door, and with that he admitted himself and his companion to the Fells mansion.

The hall was brilliantly lighted, and Nick directed that Tom turn off each light as he approached it.

“We must work swiftly and carefully,” he said. “And Tom, let us start right. It will not be a waste of time to say this much to you. I know you. You are Tom Danton, supposed by all your family, save your sister, to be dead. Hush! I have talked with her about you. She loves her big brother now with the same devotion she gave to him when she was a girl. She only wants you to be good, that is all. To-night do your mightiest, Tom, in working for her, and for your father, and mother, and brother. Your mother was injured this afternoon. She is ill unto death. She may not recover. She and Mercedes must be saved first. After them, your father, who is an old man. You must take your sister to a place of safety. I will take your mother. After that you rescue your father, and after them we will get the others out as fast as we can. Now talk quickly. You were born here. You lived here all through your boyhood. There must be a place where we can take them—some place where, as a boy, you played Indian scout, where these fiends will not find them until we have rescued everybody from the house. Think it up while I make use of this telephone before the fiends cut the wire.”

He seized the receiver and placed it to his ear. The instant he got a reply, he said: