Hard thinking and tireless following of trails could usually be counted on to explain the successes earned by Nick Carter and his assistants, but sometimes plain, “bull-headed luck,” as Patsy Garvan would probably have called it, proved to be the determining factor.
That was the case in this instance.
Nick’s other assistant, Jack Wise, the well-to-do young society man, had had nothing to do with the Grantley case at all. He had been doing a little “pussyfooting” in the Harlem section, in connection with a totally different investigation, and was about to enter the subway kiosk at Lenox Avenue and One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street when he saw Doctor Grantley and Doctor Siebold alight from a taxi.
He knew them both by sight. They, however, were probably unaware of his existence, and even if they had known of him, they would have been unable to recognize him, owing to the fact that he was disguised.
Jack was thoroughly familiar with the circumstances connected with the millionaire’s headstrong acceptance of Grantley’s offer to operate, since he had heard it discussed several times by his chief and his fellow assistants.
As a result, his curiosity was aroused at once, and he managed to shift his position in such a way that he caught a glimpse of the man who remained in the cab. The black patches over the eyes convinced him that it was Baldwin, and his familiarity with the financier’s features, as reproduced in the newspapers and magazines, confirmed the impression.
“Here’s a queer go!” thought the young detective, as the taxi continued southward without the two surgeons. “Looks as if they were sending Mr. Baldwin home alone, and they act as if they had been stealing sheep. I wonder what the dickens is in the wind now? Jack, old chap, maybe you’ve stumbled on something that needs looking into. I think you’d better keep in their wake for a while.”
Grantley and his assistant were some distance away before Wise arrived at this decision, but he had no difficulty in keeping in sight of them, despite the fact that they were proceeding eastward at a brisk pace.
They had probably hoped to give the impression that they were bound for the One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street station, but they were a considerable distance from that when they hailed a disengaged taxi.
They jumped into the cab as soon as it came to a stop, and were soon speeding back toward Lenox Avenue again. Jack gave an exclamation of disgust before he espied a garage a few doors beyond, and on the other side of the street. He sprinted across, narrowly escaped a couple of trolley cars, and, as luck would have it, found a taxi standing outside the establishment.
It had just arrived, and the driver was in the act of alighting.
“No, you don’t!” shouted Jack, wrenching one of the doors open and leaping in. “Two dollars extra if you keep that gray taxi in sight!”
The chauffeur looked in the direction that Wise pointed, saw the machine indicated, and nodded his head. In another moment he was back in his seat, and the cab was in motion.
The sixth sense, that plays so large a part in successful detection, had told Jack Wise that something was wrong. Grantley and Siebold gave every indication that they were doubling and twisting for the purpose of throwing off subsequent pursuers.
Their taxi took the shortest route to the Pennsylvania Station, where they alighted and dismissed the cab. Jack’s machine drew up a few moments later, and its occupant slipped the fare and the promised tip into the driver’s hand and told him not to wait.
Wise had made some slight but effective changes in his appearance on the way, and he had no fear of being recognized as one of those who had witnessed the unceremonious parting with Baldwin. Moreover, every advantage was his, for the fugitives could not possibly be prepared for this accidental pursuit. All of their clever precautions were evidently being taken with a view to confusing the detectives later on, when their anticipated inquiries were being made.
Nick’s assistant trailed the two surgeons to a toilet room, where they donned disguises. Their make-ups proved to be excellent and might well have baffled Jack if he had not taken care to avoid mistakes by counting those who went in and came out, eliminating every other possibility.
From the toilet room he followed the two to the check room, where they claimed four new suit cases, which must have been taken down to the station by some one else.
Jack was near enough to use his eyes, and he did so to advantage, with the consequence that he saw the lettered names on the baggage.
Grantley’s cases were labeled “Henry S. Packard, Boston, Mass.,” and Siebold’s, “Arnold J. Taliaferro, Phila., Pa.”
Their plans had been carefully made, and it was plain that they would have given Nick and the others a great deal of trouble, to say the least, had it not been for the chance presence of Jack Wise at that particular corner, and just at the right time—an accident that set at naught all the probabilities and rendered worthless the elaborate subterfuges of Grantley and his satellite.
They had not emptied their bag of tricks, however.
To Jack’s surprise, instead of heading for a train, they emerged from the building and entered a taxi.
It was clear that they were bent upon putting another kink in their trail.
Across the street was a cab stand, and Jack hurried toward it and entered the nearest machine. Again he offered a generous tip, provided the taxi he pointed out could be kept in view.
They lost little time in getting started, and Grantley’s cab remained in plain sight, headed still farther downtown. At Fourteenth Street the chase turned westward, and it was soon clear that Grantley’s goal was the water front along the Hudson River.
Before the river front was reached, Jack thought it best to exchange vehicles. He consulted the meter, learned the amount of his fare, added the driver’s tip to it, and then looked through the little pane of glass at the rear. When a crosstown Fourteenth Street car was seen at about the right distance behind him, he ordered the chauffeur to stop. He thrust the money into the man’s hand as he alighted, waited a few moments, and then swung lightly on board the car as it passed him.
He was sure that his maneuver had not been witnessed by his quarry, on account of the amount of traffic which intervened.
After entering the trolley, he kept his eye on the taxi ahead, which had slowed down. When it turned southward through the maze of streets close to the water, Wise jumped off and followed on foot.
There was still a possibility that the fugitives might give him the slip, but he did not believe it likely. As for their recognizing him, he had made that difficult, if not out of the question, by another clever change of appearance, made during the run of the second cab.
Heavy drays and lighter delivery wagons abounded in this section, and the streets were narrow. As a result, the taxi which Jack was following was making slow progress, and its athletic pursuer found it easy to keep within less than a block of it.
He was thus in a position to see that it stopped in front of the entrance to a small dock, above which appeared the sign: “New York & Buffalo Transport Co.”
“That’s certainly a new one on me!” thought Wise. “Not a very well-patronized line, I take it. Is it possible they’re going to skip on a canal boat—or try to? That’s the only way of getting from here to Buffalo by water. Bright little chaps, those! Nobody else would have thought of that in a hundred years—and when they got to Buffalo, a hop, skip, and a jump across the Niagara River would have carried them into Canada. After that a transatlantic steamer at Montreal or Quebec, I suppose, and then—ta, ta! I saw them first, though, and if the chief doesn’t decorate me with the Order of the Eagle Eye for this, he’s a hungrateful master.”
Jack Wise made himself scarce, and yet took up a position which enabled him to keep track of the fugitives’ movements.
He was in no great hurry to notify Nick or the police. He wished to first make sure that there were to be no more doublings and twistings on the part of Grantley and Siebold.
Apparently, they had reached the end of their New York trail, and Jack was forced into a sort of reluctant admiration for their cleverness.
The man who had driven them—with the unfortunate millionaire—from the Bronx to One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street, knew only the beginning of their wanderings, and even if the driver who had picked them up several blocks from that point could be found, it would only be possible for him to say that he had carried them to the Pennsylvania Station.
The supposition would have been—but for Wise’s timely cut across their trail—that they had taken a train there; and there would have been nothing to disprove that belief.
So far as Grantley and Siebold, in their proper persons, was concerned, the trail had ended there. It was “Henry S. Peckham,” of Boston, and “Arnold J. Taliaferro,” of Philadelphia, two very different-looking individuals, who had taken the taxi at that point and driven to the dock of the New York & Buffalo Transport Company.
The only way in which Jack could have improved on their tactics would have been to buy tickets for some point on the Pennsylvania and actually to pass through the gates toward the proper train, if not to board it.
That would have added to the complications, and it would have been easy enough to mingle with the crowd from some incoming train and so return to the waiting room and the street.
The tracks they had left were confused enough as it was, however.
They dismissed their cab and entered the company’s tiny office, from which they emerged a little later, after which they went on board one of the barges lying alongside the dock.
It was plain to Wise that all arrangements had been made in advance, and that the two had been expected. The captain of the barge greeted them with respect and led them into the tiny cabin.
“Hope they like the accommodations!” murmured Jack, with a grin. “They won’t have time to get fussy over them, though.”
Everything seemed to be in readiness for departure. Towlines were being paid out and made fast, and a powerful tug, with steam up, was in readiness to tow a number of the barges up the river to the entrance to the canal, near Albany, where horse power would replace steam for the long, tedious journey through the canal.
Jack waited until Grantley and Siebold appeared again, without their suit cases, and idly began watching the preparations. He had no reasonable doubt after that that they intended to remain on board, at least during part of the trip.
Reassured as to this, and no longer fearing that an alarm would be premature, Nick’s assistant slipped across the street in search of the nearest telephone. He was perfectly willing that the tug and its covey of barges should depart before help came, for, if desired, they could easily be overtaken on the river long before they had passed the city’s northern boundaries.
The two rascally surgeons had committed themselves now, and they would not leave the canal boat unless they became suspicious, which was extremely unlikely at that stage of the game.
There was no public telephone in the neighborhood, but Wise easily gained permission to use an instrument in a near-by store.
He first called up Nick’s house. Neither the detective nor any of his other assistants was at home, but they had been telephoning back there at frequent intervals in order to keep one another informed of their movements.
Consequently, Joseph, Nick’s highly efficient butler, was in possession of the main facts regarding the crime committed on Mr. Baldwin and the plans for the pursuit of the fugitives.
“Well, as fast as they telephone in tell them I’m accidentally on the job, that I’ve been trailing those fellows all over town, and that I can lay my hands on them at any moment. There’s no hurry, so I won’t notify the police. The chief can do that later, if he wishes. Tell him and the rest of them—except Ida Jones, who won’t be needed—to meet me as soon as convenient at the corner of Fourteenth Street and Tenth Avenue? Got that, Joseph?... All right, then. It’s all over but putting on the nippers.”
He had been careful not to speak any plainer, especially in regard to the fugitives’ whereabouts, for fear some of those who were in the store might tip the wink to Grantley and Siebold, in the hope of earning a reward for the information that they were in danger of arrest.
One who had had less experience in such matters, or had studied the ways of criminals under an inferior master, would almost certainly have chafed under the delay and given way to apprehensions lest the two scoundrels might yet slip through his fingers. But Jack Wise knew when to look for trouble and when to be sure that the wind was in the right quarter.
Forebodings would have been foolish under the circumstances. Grantley and Siebold had made themselves at home on the canal boat, which would require days to reach Albany. The very fact that they had done so proved that nothing had aroused their fears during their zigzag course through the city, and now it was to their interest to do nothing that would whet the curiosity of those with whom they had temporarily thrown their lot.
Therefore, there was no reason to suppose that they would not sit tight so long as nothing disturbed them, and Nick and his assistants could be counted on to see that nothing did—until it was too late for their quarry to escape.
Meanwhile, several of the barges had been lashed together and had started up the river. They were heavily laden, however, and the tug’s pace was almost a crawl.
From the vantage point of a neighboring dock, Jack watched them philosophically.
“By-by, my friends! See you later!”
The words formed themselves in his mind, but instantly the look of anticipated triumph disappeared from his face and one of horror replaced it. He was thinking of the well-nigh unbelievable outrage which had been perpetrated on the trusting financier.
“‘The chair’ is altogether too quick and clean a death for those fiends,” he told himself, “and yet they won’t get even that. They haven’t killed his body, but have only murdered the part of him that’s worth most to him—his mind! Yet all they’ll get, I suppose, is the maximum sentence for performing an irregular operation under the new law. They’ll get that, though, I can tell them! I can never be grateful enough for the chance, or the fate, that threw them in my way just then. I suppose the chief would have nabbed them, sooner or later, but it would have meant a lot of mighty stiff pulling against the current.”
Jack thereupon lounged slowly toward Fourteenth Street and hung about the corner he had named for half an hour or more. At the end of that time Nick put in an appearance in one of his motor cars, and, being familiar with his assistant’s disguise, he picked him out at once.
“What’s this Joseph tells me, Jack?” he demanded eagerly, as he jumped out of the machine. “Do you really know where Grantley and Siebold are?”
“Where?”
“On the barge Mary Jane, bound up the river for Buffalo.”
“Are you sure?”
“As sure as I am that you’re the champion detective of the world.”
Nick ignored this.
“How long ago did they leave?” he asked.
“About the time I called up the house. You can’t lose them, chief. They’re probably off Thirty-fourth Street now. You could come abreast of them on foot without breaking any walking records. Going to notify police headquarters?”
“I’ve already done so. I knew that you could be relied on, and that Joseph isn’t in the habit of tangling messages. The police ought to be along any minute now.”
Two plain-clothes men, armed with warrants, arrived shortly afterward, and Chick Carter came up almost simultaneously. Nick had instructed Patsy and Ida Jones to continue the hunt for Hoff and the nurse.
One of the boats of the harbor squad was summoned to the foot of West Fourteenth Street from Pier A, after a brief consultation, and in half an hour more the little party was in full pursuit.
The low cabin of the canal boat Mary Jane was aft. Nearly an hour and a half after leaving the dock, Grantley and Siebold were sitting just forward of the cabin, on a couple of coils of rope. Their heads were thus below the level of the low roof.
They were conversing in low, guarded tones in order not to be overheard by the captain and hands.
“I’ll confess now,” the younger of the two was saying, “that I never expected to get away from those cursed detectives so easily. It seems almost too good to be true.”
“Pooh!” sneered Grantley. “Like almost everybody else, including those who ought to know better, you have let yourself believe that Carter and his crowd come somewhere near living up to their newspaper reputations. That’s plain nonsense. They don’t. They’re greatly overrated. The detectives of fiction and those of fact are two very different propositions. I’ll admit that Nick Carter is a great deal cleverer than the police, but that isn’t saying much. He’s unusually lucky, too, and that accounts for most of his success, such as it has been. But I haven’t been afraid of him for a moment. Neither he nor anybody else could follow the trail we took, and nobody will think of looking for us on a canal boat. The idea that we would deliberately choose such an infernally slow means of transit will never occur to our enemies, confound them! We’re as safe right now as if we were five thousand miles from New York. And we certainly did a good job. I almost wish I’d left Baldwin with enough mind to realize what had happened to him. I was a little too thorough. When they try the X rays on him, as they undoubtedly will, they will find his cranium absolutely empty. It will be a vast surprise to Vanderpool and the rest of the tribe of medical nincompoops. They’ll stand around in open-mouthed amazement, wondering how he can remain alive after such an operation. I set out to show them something, and I have done it, but I’m sorry now that I didn’t make a little more artistic job of it. I could have removed just enough of his brain to make him a mental wreck, and yet left enough to cause him the greatest anguish of mind over his condition. As it is now, he is nothing but an empty hulk, without intelligence enough to feed or dress himself. He’s deprived of everything but physical sensations, and most of those are missing or robbed of their greatest intensity.”
“I see what you mean, but I wouldn’t worry about that,” returned Siebold. “Your revenge is a thousand times better than killing would have been, and even if you haven’t left him with the power to think, you’ve given the others enough to think about. I’d have given a good deal to see Carter’s face when he opened that envelope and found the pieces of Baldwin’s check. I’ll wager that stumped him. He’ll puzzle over that until he’s black in the face, and never guess your motive for turning down all that money. Even if he knew about Felix Simmons he wouldn’t see through the rest—and he’ll never know about Simmons. It’s fortunate that Simmons——”
The speaker paused abruptly, and he and Grantley looked at each other with a start of apprehension.
They had overheard one of the men on the barge calling to another as he pointed beyond the stern of the unwieldy craft, down the river.
“Look at that police boat footing it up this way, Tim!” were the words that had come to their ears. “Wonder what the cops are up to now?”
In a moment the attitudes of the two fugitives relaxed, and they smiled rather sheepishly. Guilty consciences are not agreeable traveling companions, but their self-confidence and contempt for their enemies reasserted themselves at once.
“This won’t do,” muttered Grantley. “We must get our confounded nerves under better control than that. There’s nobody after us here, and we know it. They’re all running around in circles back there, and we’ll have to stop shying at the mention of a policeman. Let’s have a look at the blamed boat, and then forget it when we’ve shown a little natural curiosity.”
Before they could rise, though, another of the boatmen gave an exclamation which halted the two criminals and left them tense and motionless.
“By George, they’ve done changed their course, an’ are headin’ right this way!” the man ejaculated. “Gosh! I ain’t cracked no safes, I’ll swear! How about you guys?”
The jocular query was addressed to the speaker’s fellows, but that did not give much comfort to the two skulkers in the shadow of the cabin. They decided to remain where they were until they saw which way the cat was going to jump.
Meanwhile, however, Grantley thought it best to pull the wool over the boatmen’s eyes.
“What’s that I hear about a police boat?” he asked lazily. “Tell us when it comes abreast. We’re too darned comfortable here to get up for anything short of a battleship.”
The man made some laughing answer, and Grantley and Siebold managed to keep up a semblance of careless conversation to mask their anxiety.
They had had the best of reasons for believing that effective pursuit was out of the question, but at the approach of the police their guilty fears had instinctively flamed up.
Those who had been watching the boat approach had little doubt now that its business was with the little flotilla of barges, and their mystified comments caused the fugitives’ hearts to sink like lead.
It seemed incredible that their carefully concealed get-away had come to naught so soon. Surely the police boat was not after them. Perhaps one of the boatmen on the Mary Jane, or another of the canal boats, had knocked somebody down in some waterside quarrel. That must be it, and yet——
“Tug, ahoy, there!” an authoritative voice boomed through a megaphone. “Don’t be in a hurry! There are a couple of fellows we want back here.”
The voice was startlingly close, and the sound had hardly died away before the bow of the police boat came into view opposite the criminals’ position.
Their fears were uppermost now, and their terrorized instincts told them that the worst had happened.
With one accord they rose to their feet, whipping out their automatics as they did so.
One penetrating glance was enough for them.
They recognized Nick and Chick, and realized that there was something vaguely familiar about the appearance of a third figure on the police boat’s deck—that of Jack Wise.
Before those about them knew what was happening, they had begun firing.
The tow was a big one, consisting of nine barges in all, lashed three abreast. Grantley and Siebold were on the left-hand barge in the first tier, counting from the front. Therefore, as the police boat had approached on the right, they were obliged to fire across two of the barges.
The approach of the official tug had drawn the attention of the boatmen on all of the barges. Two or three of these curious ones were almost within the line of fire, with their backs turned to the fugitives.
Siebold fired wildly, and one of the bystanders went down, with a groan. The rest scattered or threw themselves flat on the decks.
Grantley, however, in contrast to his nervous assistant, was perfectly cool. The detectives were hardly more than twenty feet away, despite the two intervening canal boats, and the scoundrelly surgeon began pumping away as fast as he could and with the steadiest of hands.
His first shot went just over the detectives’ heads, but the second one would doubtless have caught Nick full in the breast had it not been that the police boat grazed the side of the nearest barge at that moment.
The result was that Nick and his companions were thrown off their balance for the time being, luckily for them. Their efforts to prevent themselves from falling were as effective as if they had been able—and willing—to dodge Grantley’s bullets.
The second of these ripped through Nick’s coat, gouging his side a little.
“Down!” commanded the detective, and, just as the fugitives fired again, the five detectives sank below the level of the police boat’s rail.
All but their heads and weapons, that is. They remained in sight, and their revolvers blazed away in a businesslike volley that woke the echoes of the New Jersey hills.
A naval battle in miniature was taking place off West Sixtieth Street, Manhattan.
The strain had already proved a little too much for Siebold, who was not made of such stern stuff as Grantley. When the detectives dropped down behind the rail of the police craft the younger surgeon looked about him wildly for a hiding place.
He was close to the little companionway which led down a few steps into the barge’s stuffy cabin, and in his unreasoning terror he forgot that he would be bottled up effectually there, even if he should be able to reach that retreat with a whole skin.
With a cry of fear, he threw himself headforemost toward the sunken doorway of the cabin, but a bullet from Chick’s automatic caught him in the shoulder before he disappeared.
A howl of pain followed, and Siebold crumpled up in the doorway, just out of sight of his enemies, who promptly counted him out of their calculations.
Not so with Doctor Grantley, however.
That sturdy rascal had seen as quickly as Siebold had that their position was untenable. The detectives were under cover, while he was exposed. The sides of the canal boat rose only a few inches above the deck, so that there was no shelter corresponding to that of which the detectives had taken advantage so promptly.
In spite of his exposure, however, the murderous surgeon kept his head, and retreated slowly, firing as he went. His shots did no more than to drive a big splinter of wood into Jack Wise’s cheek as they struck the rail of the police boat, but, on the other hand, he seemed to bear a charmed life.
The trouble was that the detectives were trying to wound him slightly in the hands or arms, for the purpose of ending his resistance—or, at least, of rendering him incapable of using his weapon.
Such shots are difficult ones, and that was especially true just then, for a strong wind had sprung up, and was causing the police boat to rock to one tune, and the ponderous barges to another and entirely different one.
Besides, the description of the affray had occupied much more time than the affair itself.
Grantley began to move as soon as Siebold did, but he deliberately took his time about it, being bent, presumably, upon showing his contempt for his enemies’ aim.
Nevertheless, it required only a few backward steps to bring him to the farther corner of the low cabin, beyond which he crouched, unscathed.
He had been wise enough to retreat in that direction, instead of trapping himself in the cabin. He was now shielded in much the same way as his opponents were, and there was only a narrow, open passageway between him and the water.
He could, therefore, fire over the top of the cabin when the detectives approached to dislodge him, and, whenever things got too hot for comfort, he could always plunge into the river and swim for it.
Nick had no intention of wasting more ammunition under those circumstances. He had a plan ready the instant Grantley subsided behind the barge’s cabin.
“O’Brien, you and Gillespie stay on board here,” he said, addressing the two policemen in plain clothes, “and direct the pilot to drop back and then come alongside again beyond the canal boat. Meanwhile, my assistants and I will skip across the barges and smoke that fellow out. See the point? I want you to be between him and the Jersey shore, on the chance that he’ll escape us and dive overboard.”
“That’s the stuff!” was O’Brien’s enthusiastic answer.
He appreciated the quality of the detective’s strategy, and it is probable that, at the same time, he was willing enough to have Nick and his assistants bear the brunt of the danger. That was only natural.
No time was lost in carrying out Nick’s plan. The utmost haste was necessary, inasmuch as, for all they knew, Grantley might already have slipped into the water.
At a word from Nick, Jack and Chick jumped up and followed him on a run, after vaulting over to the deck of the nearest canal boat.
At the same instant the police boat began to back.
Grantley opened fire as soon as he had a target, and the detectives answered him, shot for shot; but no damage was done on either side. Only the upper part of the surgeon’s head showed above the barge’s cabin, and, on the other hand, those who were running over the pitching barges presented difficult marks.
Nick and his companions crossed the first canal boat in a few bounds and jumped to the deck of the middle one of the three which lay side by side.
At that, Grantley ceased firing and his head disappeared. A moment later they heard a splash. The criminal had taken to the water, as Nick had anticipated.
Fortunately, it was broad daylight, and there seemed no likelihood that he could escape them, no matter how good a swimmer he might be, with the shore far away.
As it stood, the detectives were practically out of the race. They could have plunged in after Grantley, to be sure, but there did not appear to be any need of that, unless he should attempt to drown himself.
The police boat would have to take care of him now, and it was quite capable of doing so, to all appearance, although it might be two or three minutes before it could come up with him.
Nick and his assistants had forced the issue so suddenly and dauntlessly that the official craft was still backing past the long line of canal boats when Grantley took to the water. It would have to keep on until it was clear of them and had room enough to swing around and steam behind them.
After one glance at the head of the swimmer and another at the maneuvering police tug, Chick turned his attention to the game he had already brought down.
He did not believe that Siebold was plucky enough to try to shoot any of them in the back, but it was well to put him out of temptation.
As he had expected, the wounded man was too much occupied with his own suffering and to what was going to happen to him to give any thought to revenge.
Chick disarmed and handcuffed him in short order, leaving him where he was.
By that time, a group of excited and curious boatmen had gathered about the detectives, drawn from the several canal boats when they decided that the danger was past.
Nick and his assistants answered their numerous questions briefly, but kept their eyes all the time on the fugitive, who was swimming strongly.
The police boat had been obliged to go astern for some distance downstream in order to get room enough to make the double turn around the string of canal boats, preparatory to straightening out in pursuit of Grantley.
Its bow was now pointed toward the New Jersey shore as it crossed behind the barges. It was about to swerve again and come up along the other side of the drifting tow when the surgeon suddenly and unexpectedly changed his course.
He had been swimming with lusty strokes straight for the western bank of the river, but now he swerved and started at an angle against the current.
His object was apparent at once, and the realization gave the onlookers a thrill.
A racing power boat of the Express type, the sole occupant of which was a pretty girl in oilskins and sou’wester, had been skimming up the river at reduced speed when the unusual encounter began.
The girl had passed the barges and was about opposite the tug which was towing them when the shooting began. She had ducked out of harm’s way, but had slowed down. She was obviously determined to see all there was to see. Accordingly, when Grantley had jumped overboard she had waited only long enough to see that he did not strike out toward her; then she had shut off her power and turned her whole attention toward the novel sight.
When Grantley changed his course he headed directly for her boat.
The girl had made a foolish mistake in throttling her engine, for the current was carrying her down to meet the desperate swimmer.
Nick’s men gasped involuntarily as they saw that Grantley could not fail to reach the power boat before the tug could overtake him, unless the frightened girl came to her senses and forged ahead again.
“Run for it, or he’ll board you!” shouted Chick through his cupped hands.
But the girl’s presence of mind seemed to have deserted her, or else she was torn between the desire for flight and some feminine notion that Grantley might be in distress and needed her help.
At any rate, she looked as if she did not know what to do, and she made no attempt to start the boat.
“Go, child, before it’s too late!” Nick called apprehensively. “If he gets control of your boat we can’t catch him—and he’s a fugitive from justice, who deserves nobody’s sympathy.”
But still she hesitated and looked about her wildly, while Chick and Jack Wise called to the police boat to hurry.
Grantley was within a few strokes of the power boat now, and both were too far from the detectives for the latter to do any good by jumping in.
“That’s a Simcoe Express,” Nick muttered to his first assistant, “and it’s good for at least twenty-five knots an hour to the police boat’s twelve or fourteen. We must go——”
He did not finish his sentence, for Grantley had already laid one hand on the power boat’s gunwale, and was preparing to pull himself over the side.
“Jump overboard, girl!” the detective shouted peremptorily. “We’ll take care of you.”
For a tense moment he feared that the girl would not profit by this advice, either, but her fears got the upper hand when the fugitive’s pale face and glaring eyes came into view above the gunwale.
With a cry of terror, she threw herself over the opposite rail.
“Thank Heaven!” exclaimed Nick, under his breath. “Now that she’s out of the way——”
Again he broke off abruptly, but the action which followed immediately left no doubt of his meaning.
He sank down on one knee, steadied his pistol arm on the other, and took careful aim at the figure which was climbing over the side of the racing craft.
The police tug was coming, approaching now at full speed, but it was at least fifty yards behind.
Doctor Grantley had proved that he was too dangerous a man to dally with. If he was not effectually stopped at once, before he started that blue streak of a speed boat, there was no telling when they would see him again. He was doubtless familiar with marine engines of that type, otherwise he would not have headed for the boat. As soon as he started the powerful motor, he would fade away up the Hudson with the speed of a projectile, and there was no craft at hand that could keep him in sight.
It was no time for halfway measures.
Grantley was climbing into the power boat from the other side. He exposed himself as little as possible as he came over the rail, but the target was big enough for Nick.
The detective’s automatic spoke just once, but the fugitive crumpled up over the gunwale, his legs in the water, his hands groping blindly over the rail of the craft.
A cheer went up from the boatmen, and Nick’s assistants joined in a sigh of relief. A moment later they were both in the water and swimming to the aid of the girl.
The police boat slid alongside the racer with reversed engines. Grantley was taken on board. It was found that he had been shot through the right breast. Nick had taken no chances.
The girl proved to be a good swimmer, but her fright had weakened her to an extent which made her very grateful for the young men’s assistance.
Chick and Jack helped her back to the boat, and, after the former had been transferred to the police tug, Jack piloted the racing craft back to the yacht club from which the girl had set out a short time before.
The wound was a clean one, and, in spite of his age, Doctor Grantley possessed a great deal of strength and endurance. He recovered rapidly, and in due time was put on trial. Doctor Siebold, Miss Rawlinson, the nurse, and Hoff, the German servant—the latter pair having been captured through the efforts of Patsy Garvan and Ida Jones—were arraigned with him as accomplices.
There was another accomplice, however, who shared the ordeal with them, and whose arrest had caused a tremendous sensation in financial and social circles.
The fifth prisoner was Felix Simmons, another of the Wall Street money kings, and J. Hackley Baldwin’s rival.
The tearing up of the check for the quarter of a million dollars had started Nick Carter’s suspicions off on a new line.
Had Grantley merely wanted money he could have earned that sum legitimately, or even more than that, by bringing his great skill to bear—as he had actually done—on the multimillionaire’s eyes.
The fact that he had not been content with that, but had gone on and committed a revolting crime by literally robbing Baldwin of part of his brain, indicated that revenge of some sort had been his motive.
But even so, there would have been no reason, from his unscrupulous standpoint, for his refusing to profit financially by the first operation. His act in destroying the check seemed to show that somebody else was paying for the crime, and that, such being the case, Grantley felt that he could afford the luxury of spurning Baldwin’s two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.
And that, in its turn, implied that the surgeon must have hated Baldwin so intensely that, criminal though he was, he could not bear to touch any of the millionaire’s money if his own wants could be supplied in any other way.
There had been several difficulties about this new theory, notably the fact that Grantley had, apparently, been anxious to get hold of the check in the first place.
The more Nick puzzled over that, however, the more he became inclined to believe that the surgeon’s seeming eagerness to obtain the check had been due to pressure from a third person, his unknown backer.
If such a person existed, it would obviously have been to his interest to have Grantley obtain and seem to make use of the huge fee which Baldwin had promised, for that and Grantley’s own enmity toward the blind financier would supply a sufficient motive for the crime, and prevent the authorities from probing deep enough to discover the surgeon’s secret arrangement with this third person.
On the other hand, if Grantley were shown to have had a quarter of a million, as good as in his grasp, and to have failed to take full advantage of his opportunities, no mere motive of private vengeance would be likely to be accepted as an adequate explanation, and in that case the prosecution would probably attempt to dig up additional facts, to the great embarrassment of Grantley’s principal, or silent, partner.
Supposing such an individual to exist, that was the way the detective pictured him as reasoning. But it was hardly probable that any one of Baldwin’s financial enemies would have been willing to pay Grantley for the crime, and, at the same time, allow the surgeon to carry off a quarter of a million of the victim’s money in addition.
Therefore, it looked as if Grantley’s backer must have prevailed upon him to obtain the check, partly as a blind, but with the understanding that it was to be turned over to him after the transaction had been covered up in some way.
If that were the explanation, it was plain that Grantley had proved false to the bargain. He had not only destroyed the check—which seemed to confirm Nick’s theory that he was not entitled to it, but was expected to pass it on to some one else—but he had, also, by sending the fragments to Nick, given the detective a broad hint that he was looking elsewhere for his pay.
Nick did not believe that Grantley had meant to do any more than indulge in a dramatic defiance, but that was the effect his act had had.
As for his apparent breaking of faith with his unknown confederate, that presented no great difficulties. Grantley would have been quite capable of such an act if he had already received his pay from that quarter. It would have meant neither financial loss nor physical danger to himself, and that was all that would have deterred him.
To make a long story short, the great detective had set to work along this line. With Grantley and his known accomplices safely in custody, he had ample time to carry the investigation as far as necessary.
It is enough to say that it confirmed his theories one after another.
First, he discovered that Doctor Grantley’s original motive had been one of private revenge, of a twofold character. The surgeon’s real name was not Grantley at all, but Standish. He had inherited quite a large sum of money, and, in their younger days, he and Baldwin had both loved the same girl. She had married the future financier and died a few years later.
Standish had foolishly blamed Baldwin for the girl’s preference, and had never forgiven him. He had subsequently changed his name to Grantley, which explained the fact that Baldwin had not suspected his identity.
Years afterward, Grantley, as he then called himself, had invested heavily in a certain copper company, not knowing that the corporation was secretly controlled by the blind financier. The venture happened to be one of Baldwin’s few failures, and Grantley had lost his entire investment.
Afterward, when he had learned of Baldwin’s connection with the punctured bubble, he had gone nearly mad with rage and the thirst for vengeance.
He had bided his time, however. After his sensational trial on the charge of manslaughter, he had decided that the time was ripe. His practice was already ruined, and he had little more to lose, whatever happened.
There was something else to be considered, however.
His income had long been dwindling and his trial had been expensive. He was badly in need of money, and, although he believed he could restore Baldwin’s sight, and thus technically earn a big fee, there were two difficulties in the way:
The first was that he rebelled at the thought of using his enemy’s money, after all that had happened, even though he considered Baldwin responsible for the loss of a small fortune of his own.
The second was that, even if he could bring himself to accept such a fee, his contemplated revenge on the financier would almost certainly prove an effectual barrier between him and the collection of the fee.
While in this quandary, Grantley had thought of Felix Simmons. The latter was Baldwin’s greatest rival in the financial world, and he was personally known to Grantley.
The surgeon had treated him in a professional way some years before, and had reasons to know that Simmons was thoroughly unscrupulous whenever there appeared to be no chance of his being found out.
Accordingly, Grantley had approached Simmons on the sly, and a deal had resulted.
It would be worth millions to Simmons to have Baldwin eliminated from the financial game, and, therefore, he readily agreed to pay Grantley a very large sum—the exact amount was never established—if he could bring about that result.
There must be no suspicion, however, that Simmons had anything to do with the matter, and, to that end, Grantley was to appear anxious to obtain the fee which Baldwin had promised. This fee, however, was to be turned over to Simmons in such a way that his relations with the surgeon should not be disclosed.
In that manner the shrewd Grantley had made sure of a new fortune, irrespective of the success of the operation on Baldwin’s eyes, or his ability to realize on that before the crash of discovery came.
The operations had been performed and the crime committed. Simmons, in disguise, had managed to evade the watchful detectives, and had seen for himself that Grantley had carried out his part of the compact.
He had thereupon paid him the sum agreed upon, in gold, so that there would be no possibility of its being traced to him. Being constitutionally crooked, however, Grantley had failed to carry out his agreement in regard to Baldwin’s check.
His hatred of Baldwin prevented him from trying to realize on it himself. Moreover, he had good reason to fear that Nick Carter would not let him do so, in any case.
But when it came down to it, he could not endure the thought of turning it over to Simmons, for that would be reimbursing Simmons for the amount he had spent on Grantley, and in that case the crooked financier would be paying nothing for the great advantage that would come to him through Baldwin’s withdrawal from the game.
In short, Grantley decided to double cross his powerful confederate, feeling sure that Simmons was not in a position to expose him.
He had not dreamed of the use to which Nick Carter would put the destruction of the check, but even if he had, it is more than likely that he would have persisted. Misery likes company, they say, and it is certain that, when Grantley found himself in the toils, he was glad to see Felix Simmons in a similar plight.
Nick established enough of these facts to convict all of the criminals, and they were sent to prison for long terms.
It was several months after the conviction of Grantley and his confederates that the members of Nick Carter’s household all happened to meet at the breakfast table—a rather unusual circumstance.
The famous New York detective sat at the head of the table. Ranged about it were Chick, Patsy Garvan, and the latter’s young wife, Adelina, and Ida Jones, Nick’s beautiful woman assistant.
It was the latter who held the attention of her companions at that moment. She was a little late, and had just seated herself. Her flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes gave no hint that she had reached the house—they all shared the detective’s hospitable roof—a little after three o’clock that morning.
“You good people certainly missed a sensation last night,” she declared. “It was the strangest thing—and one of the most pitiable I ever beheld!”
Nick, who had been glancing at his favorite newspaper, looked up.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
It was Ida’s turn to show surprise.
“Is it possible you don’t know, any of you?” she demanded, looking around the table. “Haven’t you read of Helga Lund’s breakdown, or whatever it was?”
Helga Lund, the great Swedish actress, who was electrifying New York that season in a powerful play, “The Daughters of Men,” had consented, in response to many requests, to give a special midnight performance, in order that the many actors and actresses in the city might have an opportunity to see her in her most successful rôle at an hour which would not conflict with their own performances.
The date had been set for the night before, and, since it was not to be exclusively a performance for professionals, the manager of the theater, who was a friend of Nick Carter’s, had presented the detective with a box.
Much to Nick’s regret, however, and that of his male assistants, an emergency had prevented them from attending. To cap the climax, Adelina Garvan had not been feeling well, so decided not to go. Consequently, Ida Jones had occupied the box with several of her friends.
Nick shook his head in response to his pretty assistant’s question.
“I haven’t, anyway,” he said, glancing from her face back to his paper. “Ah, here’s something about it—a long article!” he added. “I haven’t seen it before. It looks very serious. Tell us all about it.”
Ida needed no urging, for she was full of her subject.
“Oh, it was terrible!” she exclaimed, shuddering. “Helga Lund had been perfectly wonderful all through the first and second acts. I don’t know when I have been so thrilled. But soon after the third act began she stopped right in the middle of an impassioned speech and stared fixedly into the audience, apparently at some one in one of the front rows of the orchestra.
“I’m afraid I can’t describe her look. It seemed to express merely recollection and loathing at first, as if she had recognized a face which had very disagreeable associations. Then her expression—as I read it, at any rate—swiftly changed to one of frightened appeal, and then it jumped to one of pure harrowing terror.
“My heart stopped, and the whole theater was as still as a death chamber—at least, the audience was. Afterward I realized that the actor who was on the stage with her at the time had been improvising something in an effort to cover up her lapse; but I don’t believe anybody paid any attention to him, any more than she did. Her chin dropped, her eyes were wild and seemed ready to burst from their sockets. She put both hands to her breast, and then raised one and passed it over her forehead in a dazed sort of way. She staggered, and I believe she would have fallen if her lover in the play hadn’t supported her.
“The curtain had started to descend, when she seemed to pull herself together. She pushed the poor actor aside with a strength that sent him spinning, and began to speak. Her voice had lost all of its wonderful music, however, and was rough and rasping. Her grace was gone, too—Heaven only knows how! She was positively awkward. And her words—they couldn’t have had anything to do with her part. They were incoherent ravings. The curtain had started to go up again. Evidently, the stage manager had thought the crisis was past when she began to speak. But when she only made matters worse, it came down with a rush. After a maddening delay, her manager came out, looking wild enough himself, and announced, with many apologies, that Miss Lund had suffered a temporary nervous breakdown.”
Nick Carter had listened intently, now and then scanning the article which described the affair.
“Too bad!” he commented soberly, when Ida had finished. “But haven’t you any explanation, either? The paper doesn’t seem to have any—at least, it doesn’t give any.”
A curious expression crossed Ida’s face.
“I had forgotten for the moment,” she replied. “I haven’t told you one of the strangest things about it. In common with everybody else, I was so engrossed in watching Helga Lund’s face that I didn’t have much time for anything else. That is why there wasn’t a more general attempt to see whom she was looking at. We wouldn’t ordinarily have been very curious, but she held our gaze so compellingly. I did manage to tear my eyes away once, though; but I wasn’t in a position to see—I was too far to one side. She appeared to be looking at some one almost on a line with our box, but over toward the other side of the theater. I turned my glasses in that direction for a few moments and thought I located the person, a man, but, of course, I couldn’t be sure. I could only see his profile, but his expression seemed to be very set, and he was leaning forward a little, in a tense sort of way.”
Nick nodded, as if Ida’s words had confirmed some theory which he had already formed.
“But what was so strange about him?” he prompted.
“Oh, it doesn’t mean anything, of course,” was the reply; “but he bore the most startling resemblance to Doctor Hiram Grantley. If I hadn’t known that Grantley was safe in Sing Sing for a long term of years, I’m afraid I would have sworn that it was he.”
The detective gave Ida a keen, slightly startled look.
“Well, stranger things than that have happened in our experience,” he commented thoughtfully. “I haven’t any reason to believe, though, that Grantley is at large again. He would be quite capable of what you have described, but surely Kennedy would have notified me before this if——”
The telephone had just rung, and, before Nick could finish his sentence, Joseph, his butler, entered. His announcement caused a sensation. It was:
“Long distance, Mr. Carter. Warden Kennedy, of Sing Sing, wishes to speak with you.”
The detective got up quickly, without comment, and stepped out into the hall, where the nearest instrument of the several in the house was located.
Patsy Garvan gave a low, expressive whisper.
“Suffering catfish!” he ejaculated. “It looks as if you were right, Ida!”
After that he relapsed into silence and listened, with the others. Nick had evidently interrupted the warden.
“Just a moment, Kennedy,” they heard him saying. “I think I can guess what you have to tell me. It’s Doctor Grantley who has escaped, isn’t it?”
Naturally, the warden’s reply was inaudible, but the detective’s next words were sufficient confirmation.
“I thought so,” Nick said, in a significant tone. “One of my assistants was just telling me of having seen, last night, a man who looked surprisingly like him. When did you find out that he was missing?... As early as that?... I see.... Yes, I’ll come up, if necessary, as soon as I can; but first I must set the ball rolling here. I think we already have a clew. I’ll call you up later.... Yes, certainly.... Yes, good-by!”
A moment later he returned to the dining room.
“Maybe your eyes didn’t deceive you, after all, Ida,” he announced gravely. “Grantley escaped last night—in time to have reached the theater for the third act of that special performance, if not earlier. And it looks as if he subjected one of the keepers of the prison to an ordeal somewhat similar to that which Helga Lund seems to have endured.”
“What do you mean by that, chief?” demanded Chick.
“Kennedy says that one of the keepers was found, in a peculiar sort of stupor, as he calls it, in Grantley’s cell, after the surgeon had gone. He had evidently been overpowered in some way, and his keys had been taken from him. Kennedy assumes, rightly enough, I suppose, that Grantley lured him into the cell on some pretext, and then tried his tricks. The man is still unconscious, and the prison physician can do nothing to help him. Kennedy wants me to come up.”
“But I don’t see what that has to do with Helga Lund,” objected Chick. “Even if it was Grantley that Ida saw—which remains to be proved—I don’t see any similarity. He didn’t render her unconscious, and, anyway, he wasn’t near enough to——”
“Think it over, Chick,” the detective interrupted. “The significance will reach you, by slow freight, sooner or later, I’m sure. I, for one, haven’t any doubt that Ida saw the fugitive last night. If so, Grantley did a very daring thing to go there without any attempt at disguise—not as daring as might be supposed, however. He doubtless counted on just what happened. If any one who knew him by sight had noticed him in the theater, the supposition would naturally be that it was a misleading resemblance.
“There doesn’t seem to be any doubt that he disguised himself carefully enough for his flight from Sing Sing, and covered his tracks with unusual care, for Kennedy has been unable to obtain any reliable information about his movements. If he was at the play, we may be sure that he restored his normal appearance deliberately, in defiance of the risks involved, in order that one person, at least, should recognize him without fail—that person being Helga Lund. And that implies that he was again actuated primarily by motives of private revenge, as in the case of Baldwin.
“The scoundrel seems to have a supply of enemies in reserve, and is willing to go to any lengths in order to revenge himself upon them for real or fancied grievances. If he’s the man who broke up Lund’s performance last night, it is obvious that he knew of the special occasion and the unusual hour before he made his escape. In fact, it seems probable that he escaped when he did for the purpose of committing this latest outrage. Even if his chief object has been attained, however, I don’t imagine he will return to Sing Sing and give himself up. We shall have to get busy, and, perhaps, keep so for some time. Plainly, the first thing for me to do is to seek an interview with Helga Lund, if she is in a condition to receive me. She can tell, if she will, who or what it was that caused her breakdown. If there turns out to be no way of connecting it with Grantley, we shall have to begin our work at Sing Sing. If it was Grantley, we shall begin here. Did you see anything more of the man you noticed, Ida?”
“Nothing more worth mentioning. He slipped out quickly as soon as the curtain went down; but lots of others were doing the same, although many remained and exchanged excited conjectures. I left the box when I saw him going, but by the time I reached the lobby he was nowhere in sight, and I couldn’t find any one who had noticed him.”
“Too bad! Then there’s nothing to do but try to see Helga. The rest of you had better hang around the house until you hear from me. Whatever the outcome, I shall probably want you all on the jump before long.”
Nick hastily finished his breakfast, while his assistants read him snatches from the accounts in the various morning newspapers. In that way he got the gist of all that had been printed in explanation of the actress’ “attack” and in regard to her later condition.
All of the accounts agreed in saying that Helga Lund was in seclusion at her hotel, in a greatly overwrought state, and that two specialists and a nurse were in attendance.
The prospect of a personal interview with her seemed exceedingly remote; but Nick Carter meant to do his best, unless her condition absolutely forbade.
Nick had learned from the papers that Helga Lund was staying at the Wentworth-Belding Hotel. Accordingly, he drove there in one of his motor cars and sent a card up to her suite. On it he scribbled a request for a word with one of the physicians or the nurse.
Doctor Lightfoot, a well-known New York physician, with a large practice among theatrical people, received him in one of the rooms of the actress’ suite.
He seemed surprised at the detective’s presence, but Nick quickly explained matters to his satisfaction. Miss Lund, it seemed, was in a serious condition. She had gone to pieces mentally, passed a sleepless night, most of the time walking the floor, and appeared to be haunted by the conviction that her career was at an end.
She declared that she would not mind so much if it had happened before any ordinary audience, but, as it was, she had made a spectacle of herself before hundreds of the members of her own profession. That thought almost crazed her, and she insisted wildly that she would never regain enough confidence to appear in public again.
If that was the case, it was nothing short of a tragedy, in view of her great gifts.
Doctor Lightfoot hoped, however, that she would ultimately recover from the shock of her experience, although he stated that it would be months, at least, before she was herself again. Meanwhile, all of her engagements would have to be canceled, of course.
In response to Nick’s questions, the physician assured him that Helga Lund had given no adequate explanation of her startling behavior of the night before. She had simply said that she had recognized some one in the audience, that the recognition had brought up painful memories, and that she had completely forgotten her lines and talked at random. She did not know what she had said or done.
Her physicians realized that she was keeping something back, and had pleaded with her to confide fully in them as a means of relieving her mind from the weight that was so evidently pressing upon it. But she had refused to do so, having declared that it would serve no good purpose, and that the most they could do was to restore her shattered nerves.
The detective was not surprised at this attitude, which, as a matter of fact, paved the way to an interview with the actress.
“In that case I think you will have reason to be glad I came,” he told Doctor Lightfoot. “I believe I know, in general, what happened last night, and if you will give me your permission to see Miss Lund alone for half an hour, I have hope of being able to induce her to confide in me. My errand does not reflect upon her in any way, nor does it imply the slightest danger or embarrassment to her, so far as I am aware. My real interest lies elsewhere, but you will readily understand how it might help her and reënforce your efforts if I could induce her to unbosom herself.”
“There isn’t any doubt about that, Carter,” was the doctor’s reply; “but it’s a risky business. She is in a highly excitable state, and uninvited calls from men of your profession are not apt to be soothing, no matter what their object may be. How do you know that some ghost of remorse is not haunting her. If so, you would do much more harm than good.”
“If she saw the person I think she saw in the audience last night,” Nick replied, “it’s ten to one that the remorse is on the other side—or ought to be. If I am mistaken, a very few sentences will prove it, and I give you my word that I shall do my best to quiet any fears my presence may have aroused, and withdraw at once. On the other hand, if I am right, I can convince her that I am her friend, and that I know enough to make it worth her while to shift as much of her burden as possible to me. If she consents, the tension will be removed at once, and she will be on the road to recovery. And, incidentally, I shall have gained some very important information.”
The detective was prepared, if necessary, to be more explicit with Doctor Lightfoot; but the latter, after looking Nick over thoughtfully for a few moments, gave his consent.
“I’ve always understood that you always know what you are about, Carter,” he said. “There is nothing of the blunderer or the brute about you, as there is about almost all detectives. On the contrary, I am sure you are capable of using a great deal of tact, aside from your warm sympathies. My colleague isn’t here now, and I am taking a great responsibility on my shoulders in giving you permission to see Miss Lund alone at such a time. She is a great actress, remember, and, if it is possible, we must give her back to the world with all of her splendid powers unimpaired. She is like a musical instrument of incredible delicacy, so, for Heaven’s sake, don’t handle her as if she were a hurdy-gurdy!”
“Trust me,” the famous detective said quietly.
“Then wait,” was the reply, and the physician hurried from the room.
Two or three minutes later he returned.
“Come,” he said. “I have prepared her—told her you are a specialist in psychology, which is true, of course, in one sense. You can tell her the truth later, if all goes well.”