CHAPTER IV.
NICK’S CAPITAL WORK.
Nick Carter easily won the commissioner to his own views, and he then returned at top speed to the Columbus Avenue flat. None could have realized more keenly that time was of value, that the political fate of his friend and client, to say nothing of his life, even, depended upon what he could quickly accomplish.
Nick felt that he was equal to the emergency, however, as well as sure of his man, and he was shaping his course accordingly. It was precisely half past ten when he arrived, for the second time, at the home of the murdered woman.
Hawley, the reporter, still was waiting for information. Other reporters had arrived and were blocking the steps. Most of them recognized the detective and awaited him eagerly.
“Nothing doing, gentlemen, at present,” said Nick, threading his way between them. “It’s too early in the game. Wait till I have dug up something definite.”
“But I have been told that the Honorable Arthur Gordon has been arrested on suspicion,” said a persistent one. “Is that true, Mr. Carter?”
“No, no, quite the contrary,” Nick coolly asserted. “Gordon went down to headquarters voluntarily, merely to explain certain circumstances that seemed at that time to have a bearing on the case. That was all a mistake. Gordon is at liberty and has returned to his residence in Riverside Drive. If you publish anything to the contrary, you will make a most egregious blunder.”
“But he was placed under arrest, wasn’t he?” Hawley demanded impulsively.
Nick swung round and eyed him more sharply. There was something about him he did not fancy, something that in a vague way impressed him that they had met before, but he then was in too great haste to seriously consider the fleeting impression. He lingered only for a moment, replying a bit curtly:
“No, no, there has been no arrest. Nothing of the kind. No arrests will be made, in fact, until evidence is found that will warrant it. That’s all, gentlemen, at present.”
Nick turned with the last and strode into the hall.
Hawley gazed after him furtively, with eyes dilating and his pointed beard twitching nervously. He remained only for a moment longer, then descended the steps and hurried away.
Nick found Chick and Phelan patiently waiting for him, though the former immediately greeted him with anxious inquiry.
“Well, is it as bad as it looks?”
“It’s bad enough, Chick,” Nick replied, removing his overcoat and tossing it on a chair in the front room.
“I reckoned you’d think so,” said Phelan.
Nick turned and replied more impressively:
“That isn’t all I think. I am going to confide in you, Phelan, and tell you what I have done and why I have done it.”
Phelan instantly turned more grave.
“It goes without saying, Nick, that whatever you do or have done will be for the best,” he replied. “Do you think I made a mistake in having Gordon arrested so quickly?”
“It would have been better to have deferred it,” said Nick. “I admit, nevertheless, that the circumstances seemed to warrant it.”
“I certainly thought so.”
“That’s neither here nor there, now, for I have talked with the chief and had Gordon liberated. I gave the chief my word that I would find evidence refuting that involving Gordon, and that I would also run down the real criminals. It now is up to me to make good.”
“I hope you’ve not bitten off more than you can chew,” said Phelan inelegantly.
“I don’t think so.”
“What did Gordon say for himself?” Chick inquired.
Nick then told both what Gordon had stated, also his own reasons for the steps he had taken.
“Either he did this, or he did not,” he said forcibly in conclusion. “I feel sure he did not. Who did kill this woman, then, and with what motive? We now will try to find out.”
“Gordon’s story certainly is a plausible one,” Chick declared. “It explains his visit, his letter, and why the disguise was in his pocket. All were mystifying points, as well as seriously suspicious.”
“But think what it doesn’t explain,” argued Phelan, still doubtful. “If others killed this woman after Gordon departed, and if he went directly home, as stated, how came blood on his garments, even in his overcoat pocket, as if that gory jimmy had been carried away in it? How came the jimmy under shrubbery in Gordon’s grounds? It must be the jimmy with which the woman was killed. Where are the Madison letters, if he didn’t get them, and why——”
“Hold your horses, Phelan,” Nick interrupted, then hurriedly searching the open desk. “Don’t ask so many questions. They cannot be answered in advance of an investigation. We have only Tilly Lancey’s word for it, mind you, that a package of Madison’s letters were here, aside from the fact that some one broke into the desk. They are no longer here, at all events, for I have searched it thoroughly.”
“By Jove, this may have been a job to kill two birds with one stone,” said Chick.
“What d’ye mean?” Phelan growled.
“A job not only to get the Madison letters, but also to do it in such a way to fix the crime upon Gordon and defeat him in the coming election.”
“Humph!” grunted Phelan.
“Could you find any evidence, Chick, that others were here last night?” Nick paused and inquired.
“Not an atom, Nick.”
“You searched——”
“Everywhere,” Chick interrupted. “The only window tampered with is that through which Gilroy entered this morning. There is not a sign of anything more. If others were here, they must have been admitted by the woman herself or——”
“Stop a moment,” Nick cut in. “Here is a partly written letter addressed to a woman named Cora, merely an invitation to dine.”
“That’s Cora Cavendish,” said Phelan. “She has been Tilly Lancey’s running mate for a year. She’s a bird of the same feather.”
“Where does she live?” asked Chick.
“She has apartments in the Nordeck, in Forty-fourth Street. She’s a fly jade, if ever there was one.”
“Possibly, then——”
“Wait!” Nick again interrupted. “Here’s an important point. It convinces me that I am right.”
“Right in what?” came from Phelan.
“That Tilly Lancey did not write these words on the wall.”
“Great Scott! Is that so? What’s the point?”
Nick displayed the partly written letter found in the desk, then turned to the wall on which the incriminating words were inscribed.
“Notice the capital A in Gordon’s given name,” said he, pointing. “It has the proper form for the capital. Here, in this letter, are no less than three of the same capitals, and all of a different shape.”
“How different?”
“They are the enlarged form of the small letter, a form which many persons use when writing that capital,” said Nick. “If it appeared only once, it might be attributed to chance, but all three show plainly that Tilly Lancey habitually wrote the capital A in the form of the small letter. Here is the other form, however, in this writing on the wall. Don’t expect me to believe that this woman would, under such circumstances, have changed her habit of writing.”
“By Jove, that is important,” said Chick, eyes lighting.
“But why blood on the tip of her forefinger?” Phelan protested. “Isn’t that enough evidence that she——”
“It is not reliable evidence,” Nick objected, interrupting.
“But the size of her finger tip corresponds with the marks on the wall.”
“That cuts no ice,” Nick again insisted. “Clever crooks, bent upon this deception, would have dragged the woman near enough to the wall, after killing her, to grasp her lax hand and finger and forced it to inscribe the desired words. That is precisely what was done. This inconsistency in the capital A alone convinces me of that.”
“I am not so sure of it, Carter, all the same,” Phelan still objected.
“Well, I am, Phelan, and I was reasonably sure of it from the first,” said Nick.
“Why so?”
“Notice her fractured skull. Such wounds are prohibitive. Tilly Lancey did not recover consciousness, to say nothing of having revived sufficiently to write these words. Furthermore, if she had, she would not have done so.”
“You mean?”
“Here is the telephone stand scarce three feet away,” Nick continued. “With consciousness and reason restored, and sufficient strength to have dragged herself to the wall and written these words, she would have taken a simpler method to expose her assailant.”
“You mean with the telephone.”
“Certainly. It was directly in front of her. She must have seen it. Even if she could not rise, she could have tipped over the stand and got hold of the instrument. In half the time it would have taken her to dip her finger in blood and write these words, she could have told the whole story to a telephone operator, or even have called up the police.”
“By gracious, Nick, that admits of no argument,” said Chick emphatically. “She surely would have done so. The several circumstances combined leave no room for a doubt.”
“I think so, too,” Phelan nodded. “I guess you are right, Carter, after all. I blundered like a fool in getting after Gordon so quickly.”
Nick did not reply.
Crouching beside the corpse of the murdered woman, he took a lens from his pocket and examined her bloodstained finger tip, her hand and wrist, the several wounds in her matted hair, and then he surprised both of his observers by taking out his own handkerchief and dipping it in some of the partly congealed blood, afterward folding it and replacing it in his pocket.
“What’s that for?” Phelan inquired, with brows knit perplexedly.
“Further study,” Nick tersely replied, rising. “I am going to leave you, Phelan, to notify the coroner and take the necessary legal steps. Bear in mind, however, that all this is strictly confidential for the present. Publication might prove disastrous.”
“Trust me,” Phelan assured him. “I’m dumb, Nick, till you remove the seal of silence. You have something else up your sleeve, I infer.”
“Exactly.”
“Go ahead, then, and good luck. I’ll look after things here while you get in your work.”
“Good enough, Phelan,” said Nick, shaking hands with him. “I’ll reciprocate in some way when——”
“Cut that!” Phelan interrupted. “You know I am always at your service. Go ahead and get in your work.”
Nick did not delay his departure. He left the house with Chick and returned to his touring car.
“Home, Danny,” he directed. “I’ll let him drop me there, Chick, and then take you to headquarters. I want Gordon’s garments and that bloodstained jimmie. Tell the commissioner I will be responsible for their safe return. Bring them to the library.”