CHAPTER X.
LENA’S STORY.
Carter had entered the lower hall of the house without making any noise.
The woman’s attention was not attracted toward him, so he stood back in the shadow and watched her.
She reached the landing, and, stopping in front of the door of the back room, she inserted a key in the lock, opened the door and went in.
Nick knocked on the door of the room.
The woman opened the door.
“What do you want?” she demanded, in surprise.
“Is your name Lena Peters?” the detective asked.
“It is.”
“I want to talk with you.”
Carter pushed his way into the room without ceremony, and closed the door.
The woman’s face became flushed with anger. She stepped back from the detective, and her eyes flashed.
“What do you want?” she demanded, with a string of oaths, and she pulled out of her pocket a small pistol.
“Don’t get excited,” Carter quietly said, with a scornful smile. “Put up your pistol, Lena. I’m not going to harm you.”
“Who are you?”
“I will tell you in a few moments.”
“You are a stranger to me.”
“I guess not.”
As Carter said this, he pulled off his disguise.
Lena uttered a scream, and sank down into a chair.
“Nick Carter!” she gasped, and the pistol fell from her grasp into her lap.
“You recognize me now?” the detective said, with a smile, as he sat down.
From this it will be seen that he and the woman had met before.
After a pause, Carter remarked:
“Let me see, Lena, it is several years since we have had the pleasure of meeting. You haven’t changed any since I last saw you.”
“No,” Lena stammered.
“At that time you were singing at the Empire, on the Bowery, if my memory does not play me false.”
“Yes.”
“A Western divine was robbed in the place of a large sum of money, and you were charged with the theft. It was a cowardly charge. I investigated the case——”
“And you found out that I was innocent.”
“Right.”
“Only for you, I might have been sent to prison.”
“Correct.”
“I——”
“Lena?”
Carter paused, and looked straight into the woman’s eyes.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I want you to give me some information.”
“Mr. Carter, I have always declared that if I could ever do you a favor for what you did for me I would do it.”
“Now is your chance.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Are you acquainted with a man named Dick Darwin?”
“Yes—why——”
“You have called on him a number of times?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“He has a room in the Studio Building, at the corner of Twenty-sixth Street and Broadway.”
“How long have you known him?”
“Only a few weeks.”
“How did you become acquainted with him?”
“I——”
Lena hesitated. She looked at the detective, and her face turned pale.
Carter kept his eyes riveted upon her.
“Lena,” he said, “you must not try to conceal anything from me.”
“Mr. Carter, did Darwin employ you?” Lena asked.
“No. Why?”
“I just wanted to know.”
“What if he had employed me?”
“I am unable to say.”
Lena moved about uneasily in her chair.
Carter kept still.
He was giving the woman plenty of time to think.
There was no need to hurry, for he was confident that he would get out of her all the information he desired.
“Mr. Carter, what do you know about Dick Darwin?” Lena finally blurted out.
“Very little,” the detective replied. “I want to learn what you know about him.”
“You are as sphinxlike as ever.”
“I have to be.”
Another silence followed.
Lena arose from her chair and walked back and forth across the room several times. She resumed her seat again.
“I will tell you everything!” she exclaimed.
“That is right,” the detective said, in an encouraging tone.
Lena leaned back in her chair, and for some moments she sat with head bowed.
At length she looked up at the detective, and said:
“I had a brother, whose name was Edward Peters.
“He was employed by a Mrs. Porter, who lived on Fifth Avenue.
“About ten years ago he was stabbed in the back, and he died in Bellevue Hospital.
“I always believed that some one murdered him, although I could never secure any evidence to prove it.
“He had for a chum a man named George Blanchard.
“Blanchard also died in the hospital.
“Previous to his death he made some kind of a confession to my brother in regard to a will case.
“I tried to get out of my brother what the confession was about, but he would not tell me.
“Three months ago I was looking through a trunk which contained some things belonging to my brother, and I found an old memorandum book.
“I opened it, and I was surprised to find written in it a short account of Blanchard’s confession.
“I was interested.
“At the end of the confession I found a note.”
“What was it?”
“I will get the book and read it to you.”
“Do so.”
Lena got up, walked over to a bureau, opened a drawer, took out a small, leather-bound book, returned to her seat, opened the book and commenced to read:
“‘This night I stopped at the Red Dragon Inn. I gave the confession of Blanchard to the proprietor to lock up in his safe. I have seen Simeon Rich three times. I have told him that unless he pays me ten thousand dollars I will take Blanchard’s confession to the district attorney. I did not let him know where I had put the documents. No one knows about the contents of the papers except myself. Doctor Thompson did not ask to read the confession when he signed his name as a witness.
“‘Rich has promised to raise the money in a few days.’”
“Is that all?” Carter asked, when Lena stopped reading.
“It is.”
“Let me have that book.”
“Here it is.”
The detective glanced at some of the pages, and then placed the book in his pocket.
“What did you do after reading that memorandum?” he asked.
“I knew Simeon Rich,” Lena replied. “I met him some years ago. As soon as I read that memorandum I made up my mind that Rich would have to pay me well to keep silent.
“The thought came to me that perhaps he might have had a hand in my brother’s death.
“I knew that Rich was quite sweet on Isabella Porter, the daughter of the woman for whom my brother had worked.”
“She is dead now—I mean Mrs. Porter.”
“Did you see Rich?”
“Yes; I hunted him up.”
“Where was he living?”
“In the Studio Building, with Darwin, to whom he introduced me.”
“How did you find that out?”
“I called on Miss Porter, whom I knew was living at the Gerlach.”
“What did you say to Rich?”
“I told him that I knew about the confession, and I knew where it was.”
“Was he frightened?”
“Yes. He held a conference with Darwin, and he then told me that they would let me know how much they would pay me.
“I demanded ten thousand dollars.
“We have had several conversations about the matter, and a few days ago I called on Darwin, and he gave me five thousand dollars on account.
“I then gave him a copy of the memorandum in regard to the papers having been left with the proprietor of the Red Dragon Inn.”
“Have you seen him since then?”
“Once.”
“Did he pay you any more money?”
“No, but he promised to do so.”
From what Lena said, Carter knew now how it was that Rich had learned of the existence of the Blanchard confession.
The case was becoming clearer to the detective.
But, still, for all that, he had not secured any positive evidence to prove that Rich had anything to do with the murder.
“Lena,” he said, “you say that you believe your brother was murdered?”
“I do,” the woman replied.
“Do you think Rich had anything to do with it?”
“I am not sure.”
“Will you be guided by me?”
“I will.”
“I want you to put on your things and accompany me.”
“Are you going to place me under arrest?”
“No.”
“Then, what?”
“I am going to take you to my house. I want you to remain there until I have finished the case upon which I am at work.”
“What is that?”
“The mystery of the Red Dragon Inn.”
“And you suspect Rich?”
“I do.”
“I have been reading about that case.”
“You have?”
“Yes, and it has seemed strange to me that the detectives have not been able to find a clew.”
“Will you accompany me?”
“Yes.”
“I may need your assistance.”
“I will help you, Mr. Carter, gladly.”
“Let us start.”
Lena put on her hat and coat, packed a few articles in a valise, and then she and the detective left the tenement.
Day was dawning when Carter reached his home. He conducted Lena to Mrs. Peters, his housekeeper, who gave her a room, in which she promised to remain.
Nick gave her a few instructions, and then he retired to his own room, where he threw himself down upon a couch and went to sleep.
It was late in the morning when Carter awoke. He had an interview with Lena, and then, after partaking of a light breakfast, he went downtown. Chickering Carter and Patsy Garvan, his two chief assistants, were engaged upon another case—in which, by the way, Nick was fated to play a prominent part—so he did not see them that morning.
Nick stepped into the Cosmopolitan Hotel, and saw Mr. Wright, who informed him that his room had been entered during the night by some one.
“I think I know who it was,” the detective remarked, and then he departed, feeling sure that the person who had entered the room was Brockey Gann.
It tickled him to think that the rascal had been disappointed.
Carter called at police headquarters, and there he learned that other detectives had not made a discovery. He informed the chief inspector that he was following a promising clew, and that he might be able to render a report in a few days.
After leaving headquarters, he went uptown to the Knickerbocker Cottage. There he questioned the waiters, and at last he found the man who had served Rich and Darwin on New Year’s Eve.
“Did you hear any of their conversation?” the detective asked the waiter.
“Only a little,” the man answered. “They talked about some man who had just arrived in the city.”
“Was any name mentioned?”
“Yes.”
“Can you recall it?”
“I think it was Lawrence.”
“What did they say about him?”
“I don’t know.”
“What time did they leave here?”
“About half past ten o’clock.”
“Did you hear them mention where they were going?”
“A messenger boy brought Rich a note. He read it, and then I heard him remark that they had better hurry down to McKeever’s saloon.”
“Was that all?”
“Yes.”
“Did you notice the number of the messenger?”
“It was seven-twenty-one.”
“Do you know the boy?”
“He is attached to the office on Broadway and Thirtieth Street.”
The waiter was unable to give the detective any more information.
Carter hurried to the office of the district messenger company.
There he found the messenger boy.
“Do you remember delivering a note on New Year’s Eve to a man who was dining at the Knickerbocker Cottage?” the detective asked the messenger.
“Was he a tall man?” the boy queried.
“Yes.”
“He was with a short, stout man?”
“Yes.”
“I gave him the note.”
“From whom did you receive it?”
“A man.”
“Did you ever see him before?”
“No.”
“Can you describe him?”
“He was pock-marked.”
“Was he a tough?”
“Yes.”
“Would you be able to recognize him again?”
“Yes.”
Carter gave the boy a bill and told him not to mention their conversation to a soul.
From the boy’s description he recognized Brockey Gann.
At McKeever’s saloon the detective was fortunate enough to find the bartender who had been on duty on New Year’s Eve. He was acquainted with the man, and as soon as he made himself known to him he readily answered all his questions.
They retired into a back room together, and as soon as they were seated Carter asked:
“Are you acquainted with a man named Simeon Rich?”
“I know who he is,” the bartender replied.
“Do you remember if he was in here on New Year’s Eve?”
“He was here with two men.”
“At what time?”
“It was about eleven o’clock.”
“Do you know the men who were with him?”
“One of the men was Brockey Gann—the other man I do not know, although I have seen him several times.”
“How long did they remain here?”
“Only a few minutes. They held a whispered conversation and then went out.”
“Did you hear anything they said?”
“Not a word.”
This information only established one fact, and that was that Rich, Darwin, and Brockey were together on New Year’s Eve.
Carter left the saloon.
He stood on the corner some time trying to determine what he ought to do next. He was almost positive that Brockey Gann was the scoundrel who had tracked the murdered man.
But how was he going to prove that?
This was a conundrum.
After a time Carter crossed the street and entered the establishment of a costumer.