CHAPTER VI.
HELGA IS AMONG THE MISSING.
Doctor Lightfoot, the actress’ physician, was greatly excited and had just telephoned to Nick’s house, after the detective had left for the hotel.
The doctor had arrived there about half an hour before, for his regular morning visit. To his consternation he had found the night nurse stretched out on Helga Lund’s bed, unconscious, and clad only in her undergarments.
The actress was nowhere to be found.
The anxious Lightfoot was of very different caliber from the prison physician at Sing Sing. He had recognized the nurse’s symptoms at once, and knew that she had been hypnotized.
He set to work at once to revive her and succeeded in doing so, after some little delay. As soon as she was in a condition to question, he pressed her for all the details she could give.
They were meager enough, but sufficiently disquieting. According to her story, a man whom she had supposed to be Lightfoot himself had gained entrance to the suite between nine and ten o’clock at night.
He had sent up Doctor Lightfoot’s name, and his appearance, when she saw him, had coincided with that of the attending physician. He had acted rather strangely, to be sure, and the nurse had been surprised at his presence at that hour, owing to the fact that Lightfoot had already made his two regular calls that day.
Before her surprise had had time to become full-fledged suspicion, however, the intruder had fixed her commandingly with his eyes and she had found herself powerless to resist the weakness of will which had frightened her.
She dimly remembered that he had approached her slowly, nearer and nearer, and that his gleaming eyes had seemed to be two coals of fire in his head.
That was all she recalled, except that she had felt her senses reeling and leaving her. She had known no more until Doctor Lightfoot broke the dread spell, almost twelve hours afterward.
She had met the bogus Lightfoot in one of the outer rooms of the suite, not in the presence of the actress. Miss Lund had been in her bedroom at the time, but had not yet retired.
The nurse was horror-stricken to learn that her patient was missing, and equally at a loss to explain how she herself came to be without her uniform.
But Doctor Lightfoot possessed a sufficiently analytical mind to enable him to solve the puzzle, after a fashion, even before Nick arrived.
The detective had told him that the sight of an enemy of the actress’ had caused her seizure, and it was easy to put two and two together. This enemy had doubtless made himself up to represent the attending physician, had hypnotized the nurse, and then passed on, unhindered, to the actress’ room.
He had obviously subdued her in the same fashion, after which he had removed the unconscious nurse’s uniform and compelled Helga to don it.
The doctor remembered now that the two women were nearly alike in height and build. The nurse had dark-brown hair, in sharp contrast to Helga’s golden glory; but a wig could have remedied that. Neither was there any similarity in features, but veils can be counted on to hide such differences.
Doctor Lightfoot, despite his alarm, was rather proud of his ability to reason the thing out alone. He had no doubt that Helga Lund, under hypnotic influence, had accompanied the strange man from the hotel, against her will.
It would have been very easy, with no obstacle worth mentioning to interpose. No one who saw them would have thought it particularly strange to see the nurse and the doctor leaving together. At most, it would have suggested that they were on unusually good terms, and that he was taking her out for an airing in his car.
The keen-witted physician had progressed thus far by the time Nick arrived, but he had not yet sought to verify his deductions by questioning any of the hotel staff.
Nick listened to his theory, put a few additional questions to the nurse, and then complimented Doctor Lightfoot on his analysis.
“That seems to be the way of it,” the detective admitted. “A light, three-quarter-length coat, which the nurse often wore over her uniform, is also missing, together with her hat. The distinctive nurse’s skirt would have shown beneath the coat and thereby help the deception.”
Confidential inquiries were made at once, and the fact was established that the two masqueraders—one voluntary and one involuntary—had left the building about ten o’clock the night before.
The supposed Lightfoot had arrived in a smart, closed town car, which had been near enough to the physician’s in appearance to deceive the carriage starter. The chauffeur wore a quiet livery, a copy of that worn by Lightfoot’s driver. The car had waited, and the two had ridden away in it.
That was all the hotel people could say. The night clerk had thought it odd that Miss Lund’s nurse had not returned, but it was none of his business, of course, if the actress’ physician had taken her away.
It was of little importance now, but Nick was curious enough to make inquiries, while he was about it, which brought out the fact that a man had registered at the hotel the morning after the affair at the theater, and had paid his bill and left the evening before.
It might have been only a coincidence, but certain features of the man’s description, as given, left room for the belief that Doctor Grantley had really been at the Wentworth-Belding during that interval.
But where was he now, and what had he done with the unfortunate actress?
Such as it was, the slender clew furnished by the closed car must be followed up for all it was worth.
That was not likely to prove an easy matter, and, unless Grantley had lost his cunning, the trail of the machine would probably lead to nothing, even if it could be followed. Nevertheless, there seemed to be nothing else to work on.
The chauffeur of the car might have been an accomplice, but it was not necessary to suppose so. It looked as if the wily Grantley had hunted up a machine of the same make as Doctor Lightfoot’s, and had engaged it for a week or a month, paying for it in advance.
There are many cars to be had in New York on such terms, and they are extensively used by people who wish to give the impression, for a limited time, that they own a fine car.
It is a favorite way of overawing visitors, and chauffeurs in various sorts of livery go with the cars, both being always at the command of the renter.
It would not, therefore, have aroused suspicion if Grantley had furnished a livery of his own choice for his temporary chauffeur.
The first step was to ascertain the make of Doctor Lightfoot’s car. Another make might have been used, of course, but it was not likely, since the easiest way to duplicate the machine would have been to chose another having the same lines and color.
“Mine is a Palgrave,” the physician informed Nick, in response to the latter’s question.
“Humph! That made it easy for Grantley,” remarked the detective; “but it won’t be so easy for us. The Palgrave is the favorite car for renting by the week or month, and there are numerous places where that particular machine might have been obtained. We’ll have to go the rounds.”
Nick and his assistants set to work at once, with the help of the telephone directory, which listed the various agencies for automobiles. There were nearly twenty of them, but that meant comparatively little delay, with several investigators at work.
A little over an hour after the search began, Chick “struck oil.”
Grantley, disguised as Doctor Lightfoot, had engaged a Palgrave town car of the latest model at an agency on “Automobile Row,” as that section of Broadway near Fifty-ninth Street is sometimes called.
The machine had been engaged for a week—not under Lightfoot’s name, however—and Grantley had furnished the suit of livery. The car had been used by its transient possessor for the first time the night before, had returned to the garage about eleven o’clock, and had not since been sent for.
The chauffeur was there, and, at Nick’s request, the manager sent for him.
The detective was about to learn something of Grantley’s movements; but was it to be much, or little?
He feared that the latter would prove to be the case.