Back Aa

Under the Tiger's Claws; or, A Struggle for the Right (Version 2)

Close

<h2>CHAPTER XI. NEW CLUES.</h2> As Gerry drew back, amazed at not finding Flood in his private room, Nick caught one swift, significant glance from John Green, the humpback, whose face had lighted like that of nature after a summer shower. The glance spoke even louder than words, and it told Nick what he already had begun to suspect—that a secret door existed, concealed in one of the walls of the room, by which Flood had easily made his escape. That he had decided to do so, moreover, suited Nick to the very letter; and, with a cautionary wink at the humpback, he observed derisively: “You’re down on a dead card, Gerry, that’s plain enough. I told you that Flood was not here, and as you now may see for yourself.” “But Peters informed me——” “What Peters told you is of no consequence,” interrupted Nick. “It is half-an-hour since Peters admitted him, and Flood has gone out meantime.” <div class="pagenum" id="Page_124">124</div> Much to his own satisfaction, Nick now felt tolerably sure that he spoke the truth, and that Flood had for some reason changed his mind and resolved to evade arrest. With a keen insight that was eminently characteristic of him, moreover, when measuring men’s motives from their conduct, Nick already suspected the occasion of the gambler’s change of mind. Nick did not defer his departure, therefore, merely to have further words with Gerry. Leaving the latter to take what action he pleased, he bestowed upon the humpback a wink that plainly advised a discreet silence, then coolly marched down the stairs and out of the house. He had accomplished more than superficially appears, as will soon become obvious, and had paved the way for another curiously artful move. It was nearly noon when he left the gaming-house, and having removed his disguise at an opportune moment Nick next headed for the Milmore Trust Company, to have a word with President Gilsey. Just as he was approaching the bank building, however, he saw a flashily clad young lady emerge, none other than Gilsey’s stenographer, then about going to her lunch. The instant Nick saw her he was struck with an idea, 125 and, as previously remarked of Nick, to think was to act. He quickly intercepted the girl, to whom he said a bit curtly: “You are Miss Belle Braddon, aren’t you?” Belle arched her brows, stared at him for a moment, then pursed her red lips, and replied: “Yes, that’s my name. But, really, I don’t recall you, neither your face nor your name.” “Oh, yes, you do,” said Nick, with a rather impressive nod. “You just think a bit, and you’ll presently speak it.” “Dear me, is that so?” queried the girl, in tones of insolence. “Ah, now that I look again, I believe I do. You are Detective Carter, are you not?” “Right!” “I saw you in Mr. Gilsey’s office yesterday, did I not?” “Right again, Miss Braddon. And there’s a question I wish you to answer.” “Indeed?” “Why did you tell Moses Flood that Kendall was short in his accounts?” Nick asked the question in a way that sent the color from the girl’s cheeks, and her eyes betrayed that he had hit the nail on the head. <div class="pagenum" id="Page_126">126</div> Yet Miss Braddon flushed hotly after a moment and curtly said, with a resentful frown: “I did nothing of the kind.” “Yes, you did.” “I did not! Why do you say so?” “Because I know that Flood learned of it, and you’re the only person, except Mr. Gilsey, who could have told him. Now, why did you tell him?” Belle Braddon shrugged her shoulders, hesitated for a moment, and then indulged in a low, mocking laugh. “Your assertion is really too absurd, Detective Carter,” she glibly replied. “To begin with, I did not know that Kendall was short in his accounts; and to end with, I have not seen Moses Flood for a week. You think I’m lying, eh?” “Well——” “Oh, I see that you do, so don’t deny it. Come round and call on me some evening, Detective Carter, and we’ll talk it over—or have a game of ping-pong, if you prefer. I mustn’t be seen talking too long with a man on the street. It’s not good form, you know; so I’ll bid you good-by.” With which Miss Braddon gathered up her skirts, gave Nick a nod and smile of the chip-on-my-shoulder type, then tripped away without a look behind her. <div class="pagenum" id="Page_127">127</div> Nick knew that she had lied, but it served his purpose to let her go. Yet he grimly said to himself as he entered the Trust Building: “Don’t be too sure that it’s not au revoir, young lady, instead of good-by. I now suspect you of cutting in this affair a figure bigger than a cipher.” Nick found Mr. Gilsey in his private office, dismayed by the news he had received, not only of Cecil Kendall’s murder, but also of the latter’s recent career, plainly indicating that the deficit at the bank was a deplorable probability. “I now have experts at work on the books, Detective Carter, and we shall soon know the worst,” said he, after their greeting and a brief discussion of the crime discovered that morning. “I am like a man in a nightmare,” he added. “I can scarcely realize what has occurred, and hardly know where I stand.” “That’s not to be wondered at,” said Nick. “The situation is serious enough surely, but I shall continue my work on the case and do the best I can with it.” “You have said that Kendall won a large sum of money last night, of which he was robbed. Do you think there is any possibility of recovering that money?” “I certainly shall try to do so, Mr. Gilsey.” <div class="pagenum" id="Page_128">128</div> “I hope you may succeed.” “I shall make every effort, sir. There are several questions I wish you to answer, and I must then hasten away upon other work bearing on the case. To begin with, Gilsey, has Kendall been observably friendly with your private stenographer, Miss Braddon?” Gilsey looked surprised for a moment, then answered: “Why, yes, I think that he has been. They have frequently lunched in company, and I have heard of them at the theaters together. I cannot, of course, say to what extent their intimacy has gone.” “It does not matter particularly,” replied Nick. “You stated yesterday that she lives with her uncle.” “Yes.” “Who is he?” “He is one of our depositors. His name is Godard—Nathan Godard.” “Oh, ho! Flood’s lookout at the faro-bank!” Nick exclaimed to himself. “By Jove! this affair is shaping itself up in a new light. I begin to scent a rat.” With no betrayal of his momentary surprise, however, Nick presently said aloud: “How large a deposit does Godard carry here?” “Several thousand dollars at times.” <div class="pagenum" id="Page_129">129</div> “Flood’s money,” thought Nick promptly. “Deposited in Godard’s name.” “It is comparatively small now, however, amounting to only a few hundred dollars,” added Gilsey. “Surely, Carter, you do not suspect my stenographer or her uncle of having any part in these crimes?” Nick did not tell him what he suspected. Instead, he said gravely, as he took his hat to depart: “I am not prepared to make any statement, Mr. Gilsey. I have, however, a bit of advice to give you, which I wish you to promptly follow.” “And what is your advice?” “Get rid of your stenographer with the least possible delay, Mr. Gilsey.” “Good heavens!” “When she returns from lunch, sir, discharge her immediately, and without a recommendation,” added Nick. “If she asks you why you do so, inform her that Nick Carter advises it! Nay, even more than that, tell her that I command it.” “But——” “There are no buts, Gilsey,” protested Nick emphatically. “Either do this, and do it this very day, or up go my hands and I drop the whole case. I do not give such 130 instructions as these without an object. When the time comes, Gilsey, you shall know why I insist upon this.” Gilsey did not fancy the expression on Nick’s face, and he wisely pulled in his horns. “Why, certainly, Carter, if you put it in that way,” said he. “I will discharge Miss Braddon the moment she returns.” “Very good.” “But I fail to see——” “You will see at the proper time, Gilsey, take my word for that,” interrupted Nick. “Now, there is one more thing.” “Well?” “Write Nathan Godard at once, and instruct him to withdraw his deposit. Give him no reason, mind you, but insist upon his closing his account here.” “Well, well, this is a curious proceeding——” “He’ll not think so, Gilsey,” Nick again interrupted significantly. “He’ll comply without an objection, take my word for that. Look to it, Gilsey, and leave all the rest to me. I’ll turn a trick for you of some importance, old chap, before this case ends. But no more on that subject just now. I must be off at once.” Leaving the banker to stare and wonder, Nick hastened from the building and headed for home. <div class="pagenum" id="Page_131">131</div> “Nathan Godard, eh?” he grimly soliloquized, as he walked briskly away. “Uncle to Belle Braddon, eh? And she has been hand and glove with Kendall, eh? “Why, it’s as simple as two times two. The girl is queer from her feet up, a clever crook, secretly a capper for the game at Moses Flood’s. As likely as not, Mose does not know of it, but I’d go my pile that Godard has been using the girl for a decoy. “It’s a hundred to one that she started Kendall on the down grade and lured him into Godard’s clutches. When a girl of her stamp works at a respectable vocation, it is invariably with an evil design. From the day she sought employment in that bank, the jade had Kendall marked for her secret prey; and Godard opened an account there only to give things a better look to the poor devil. “Well, well, he has danced his dance and has now paid the price. His blood is on some man’s hands, and I must learn whose. Luckily, I now know some hands that are still clean, despite the mass of evidence to the contrary. Unless I am greatly mistaken, I shall give that central office sleuth, Gerry, a queer feeling before this case goes upon record.” Thus musing, Nick hastened home, where he found 132 Chick just returned from the Carleton Chambers and a call upon young Harry Royal. “Well, what did he have to say for himself?” asked Nick, the moment he entered. “He spoke fairly enough,” replied Chick, laying aside his cigar. “He says he did not go to Fordham last evening, but went directly from the faro-bank to his room in the Carleton Chambers.” “He’s a liar!” exclaimed Nick, frowning. “Ah, you’ve struck a clue, eh?” “A thread, Chick—merely a thread. Yet I’ll wager I know to what it leads. I’ll not delay to explain, for I want a crack at that young man myself. Did you leave him at his lodgings?” “Yes, less than half-an-hour ago,” nodded Chick. “I think you’ll find him there, for he appeared badly knocked out, and said he was as sick as a dog.” “The result of a week’s debauch,” growled Nick censoriously. “It serves him right. Did you inform him of Kendall’s murder?” “He had already heard of it, Nick, and that Flood is suspected of the crime.” “H’m! So the news has spread, eh? Well, I’ll soon settle that chap’s breakfast. I want a bout with him 133 before others can get in a blow. Just wait a bit, Chick; I want your opinion of a disguise.” Nick hurried from the room and Chick resumed his cigar. At the end of ten minutes the former returned, yet one would never have known him. His figure was slightly padded, his brows darkened, his lower features heavily bearded, and he was tastefully clad in a suit of black, with a generous display of immaculate shirt-front and a piercing solitaire stud. Barring the heavy beard, Nick at that moment was a counterfeit presentment of—Moses Flood. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

1 of 2

2 of 2