CHAPTER VIII.
THE CLOSING NET.
Nick Carter was called early to the Clayton residence the following morning. He was summoned by a frantic telephone call from Chester Clayton, informing him what had occurred the previous night, or what he supposed had occurred, and Nick lost no time in responding, in company with Danny Maloney.
It was about seven o’clock when his touring car sped up the driveway and stopped under the porte-cochère.
“Wait here, Danny,” said Nick, springing out.
Peterson admitted him, looking more serious and solemn than ever.
“This way, Mr. Carter, sir,” he said, while Margate also approached through the hall to greet him. “Mr. Clayton is waiting for you in the library.”
Nick followed him and shook hands with Margate, then posing as boldly as ever in the assumed character of the private secretary.
“This is terrible business, Carter, terrible,” he said, with subdued earnestness, while they paused for a few seconds in the hall. “We are literally overwhelmed, all of us.”
“Clayton told me only that his mother is missing and that the nurse has fled,” Nick replied. “Is nothing more known, Garside, of the circumstances?”
“Only what is contained in a note left by the nurse.”
“What does that state?”
“Merely that she fell asleep about two o’clock and did not awaken until after three,” Margate earnestly reported. “She then found that Madame Clayton was not in her room, also that some of her clothing was missing. Terribly alarmed, yet fearing to arouse the house, she at once began a search for her, hoping to find her and lead her back to her room. She found, instead, that the side door of the house was open, and she then knew that Madame Clayton must have gone out-of-doors.”
“The nurse left this information in writing?” Nick put in.
“Yes, in a hurriedly penciled letter,” Margate nodded. “She states that she made a hurried search in the grounds, but could not find Madame Clayton, and that she then returned to the house.”
“And then?”
“She then realized, evidently, that she had been very culpable and feared the censure and punishment she had incurred,” Margate went on. “For she adds that she did not dare to remain here, but was going to leave with what clothing she could carry away. That’s all that her letter states, Carter, but it seems to cover the ground.”
“I agree with you, Garside, as far as it goes,” said Nick, as gravely as if he really meant it. “Who discovered their absence?”
“Peterson, the butler, when he came down from his room. He saw that the door of Madame Clayton’s chamber was open, which is very unusual, and he looked in and found that both women were missing. He then notified me, Carter, and I aroused Mr. Clayton and his wife. Both are nearly overwhelmed by the calamity.”
“No wonder. How long ago was this?”
“Less than half an hour. We notified you immediately.”
“I will have just a word with them,” said Nick.
“Command me in any way, Carter, if I can be of service,” Margate artfully pleaded, briefly checking him.
“Presently,” Nick nodded. “I will see you again in a moment.”
He hastened into the library with the last, where he found both Clayton and his wife, the latter in tears and both ghastly with consternation and anxiety.
Nick said what he could to encourage them, at the same time hurriedly inspecting the letter left by Martha Dryden, and he then observed that Margate had followed him into the room. This was precisely what he had anticipated—and wanted.
“What have you done, Clayton, beyond sending for me?” he abruptly inquired.
“Nothing whatever,” Clayton declared, with a groan. “I’m all upset. I know not what to do.”
“One thing must be done without delay, then, for a starter,” said Nick. “We must try to trace the missing woman.”
“That’s what I have advised,” Margate said quickly.
“Certainly. That’s the first step to be taken.”
“I will go with you, Carter, and——” Clayton began.
“No, no, don’t think of it,” Nick interrupted decidedly. “You are in no fit condition for such work. Besides, it will require only two or three to effectively cover the ground. I have my chauffeur, and Garside no doubt will be glad to aid me.”
“Most assuredly,” Margate cried, eyes lighting. “We should, I think, start in at once.”
“We will do so,” said Nick, turning. “You remain here with your wife, Clayton, till we have ended our search. That will not take long. If it proves futile, I then will decide what next must be done. Come with me, Garside. We’ll pick up Danny on our way out.”
They left the house by the side door, Nick quickly informing Danny of their mission, while Margate pointedly observed:
“Your chauffeur had better go one way, Carter, while we take another direction. Why not let him tackle the front street?”
“Because there is no need of that.”
“Why no need of it?” Margate frowned quickly.
“Because Madame Clayton did not go that way,” Nick explained, now shaping his course in accord with what he thought the rascal really wanted. “She would surely have been seen and detained, if not recognized and brought back here. It is safe to assume that she went through the rear street, where there are few persons even during the day, and only scattered dwellings.”
“That’s right, Carter, after all,” declared Margate, with face lighting. “She must have gone that way.”
“It’s that way for us, therefore,” said Nick, while they walked rapidly through the rear grounds, quickly reaching the deserted street. “Danny now can go one way, Garside, while we go the other.”
“Let him go to the right, then, while we seek her in this direction,” Margate quickly suggested, pointing in the direction of the Busby place, less than an eighth of a mile away.
Nick consented without a moment’s hesitation.
“Come on, then,” said he. “That way for you, Danny.”
Danny hurried away in the direction indicated.
“I’m deucedly sorry for this one reason, Garside, at least,” Nick gravely remarked, as they hastened through the narrow street.
“What reason is that, Mr. Carter?” Margate inquired, with a covert leer.
“Because I had a Philadelphia specialist coming here this morning to diagnose Madame Clayton’s illness.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. I would have called with him about ten o’clock.”
“What’s the big idea? What do you suspect?”
“I have not quite liked the looks of that nurse, Garside, from the start,” Nick glibly explained.
“That so?”
“She don’t look good to me. I’m far from sure that she has not been drugging Madame Clayton,” Nick added.
“But what could she gain from that?”
“I’ve got to dig deeper into the case, Garside, before I can answer that question.”
“It’s doubly necessary, then, for us to find Madame Clayton.”
“Exactly.”
“We may succeed in doing so. She surely could not have gone very far in her weak and abnormal condition.”
“So I think,” Nick agreed. “That’s why I have undertaken to trace her.”
They had come within view of Busby’s upper windows while they were talking.
Margate gazed sharply ahead, then glanced back over his shoulder.
The narrow street was deserted in both directions. As well as one could have told, no mortal eye was observing the two hurrying men.
Margate drew out a white handkerchief, holding it conspicuously in his hand for a moment and then wiping his face with it.
Nick Carter did not appear to observe him. He had known from the first, nevertheless, that the rascal was trying to lure him to some place where, no doubt, Patsy Garvan had been cornered the previous night, he having failed to report the result of this espionage.
Nick now was convinced, too, that his companion had signaled to some one in the grim stone house which they were rapidly approaching.
This was confirmed a moment later, for Busby himself suddenly appeared at the grille gate, when the two men were scarce ten feet from it.
“We might inquire of this fellow,” Margate suggested quietly.
“We will, Garside,” Nick muttered.
There was no need for inquiries, however, for Busby stepped out and quickly accosted them, with a look of grave concern on his wrinkled face.
“I say, gents, you’re not looking for a stray woman, are you?” he asked, glancing from one to the other.
“That’s precisely what we are looking for,” Nick replied, with well-feigned eagerness.
“By gracious, then, it’s lucky I happened out here just as you came along,” declared Busby, with manifest relief.
“An elderly woman,” Nick added.
“That’s right. She pulled my bell along about three o’clock this morning,” said Busby, pointing. “I came out and found her sitting on the sidewalk. She was only partly dressed and didn’t seem to be right in the head. I took her in and my wife put her to bed. We don’t know who she is from a side of leather. I’ve sent for a doctor, but he hasn’t showed up. I was just coming out to look for him.”
“By Jove, this is good news, indeed, Carter,” cried Margate, clapping the detective on the shoulder. “I’ll go in with you and make sure there is no mistake, and I then will rush back and relieve Mr. Clayton and his wife.”
“Good enough!” Nick exclaimed, as if utterly void of suspicion. “Lead the way, my man, and permit us to identify this woman. If the lady for whom we are seeking, you shall be well paid for what you have done.”
“You, too, shall be well paid for what you have done,” thought Margate grimly, while both hastened into the inclosed grounds.
Nick heard Busby close and lock the heavy grille gate, but the sound brought no ominous misgivings to the mind of the detective. He already knew that the net he had spread was fast closing tightly around his victims.
Busby, having closed the gate, hurried on ahead.
Nick followed him up the steps and into the grim old house, into a dimly lighted, bare-looking hall, Margate bringing up in the rear and quickly closing the door.
“This way, gents,” said Busby. “We’ve put the lady in a bedroom on this floor.”
He hastened into a rear parlor while speaking, Nick following.
As the detective crossed the threshold, he received a violent push from behind, a shove that sent him nearly across the room.
Nick turned like a flash and found himself confronted, not by two men, but by four—Margate, Busby, and their two confederates of the previous night, each with a revolver aimed point-blank at his head.