CHAPTER IV.
NICK CARTER’S INSIGHT.
Langham Manor, by which name the great stone mansion and vast estate of the millionaire banker was known, presented a very different appearance in the gray light of daybreak on the following morning.
The beautiful grounds and driveways near the house were littered with bits of rubbish invariable to such an occasion. The lawns were marred with great tire tracks, where divergencies from the driveways had been unavoidable. Hundreds of paper lanterns that had lent an aspect of fairyland to the attractive park now hung limp and discolored below the drooping branches of the dew-damp trees.
Within the house was a mourning husband, robbed of his bride of two short hours, and now resting in merciful slumber under drugs administered by the physician.
Also a sad and anxious father was impatiently awaiting the work of the detectives, necessarily deferred until daylight, but who had been forbidden to accompany them when they left the house at early dawn that June morning. It then was only four o’clock.
“He would be in our way and serve only to hinder us,” Nick said quietly, after he and Chick had turned a rear corner of the house.
“Sure thing,” Chick muttered. “We can do better alone.”
The detectives were not then in evening dress. They wore the business suits and woolen caps in which they had journeyed from New York the previous day in Nick’s powerful touring car. Each had in his pockets, moreover, a brace of revolvers and a disguise or two, taken from their suit cases that morning, without which frequently needed articles they never left home.
Danny Maloney, the detective’s chauffeur, then was asleep in the house, Nick having decided not to arouse him before he was definitely needed.
“I want one look at the grounds near that bulkhead door,” he observed, replying to Chick. “It will show whether Toulon put up any struggle with his three assailants, if there really were three.”
“You doubt that, also?” questioned Chick.
“I doubt most of what Toulon stated.”
“You took extraordinary care to hide your distrust,” replied Chick, smiling.
“Bet you!” said Nick tersely. “He was the best thread I could pick up, if not the only seemingly reliable one, and I made sure of keeping him in the dark.”
“But why did you suspect him so quickly?”
“Because he, or a counterpart of him, had been to Clayton’s room,” Nick explained. “I no sooner began to question him, Chick, than I felt sure I was right.”
“Why so?”
“First, because he has worked only two weeks for Lenaire. That smacks of having got the job with a view to assisting in this crime.”
“I see,” Chick nodded.
“He betrayed himself a moment later by the readiness in which he explained how the knave who had impersonated him could have learned of Lenaire’s message to Vandyke.”
“By listening under the dining-room window.”
“Exactly. His readiness showed plainly that he was prepared with that explanation.”
“True. I suspected that, also your own designs, when you agreed with him so quickly and remarked to me that he had cleared up that point for us.”
“I knew you would, of course,” said Nick. “I then questioned him about the short smoke he came out to enjoy. He said it was from a cigarette and that he is in the habit of using them. He lied. The fingers of a habitual cigarette smoker of his class are invariably discolored with nicotine. There was not the slightest sign of it on his.”
“Good work, Nick.”
“I clinched it by carelessly asking him what kind he smoked,” Nick added. “He hesitated, and then said any old kind. He could not think of the name of one. Whoever heard of a cigarette smoker who could not instantly state what kind he habitually buys?”
“Good work again, old man.”
“I then pretended I wanted one,” Nick went on, smiling. “That caught him again. He had none, but quickly claimed that he had lit his last one and threw away the box. A cigarette smoker always retains the box until he lights his last one. Look around. Toulon could not have thrown a small pasteboard box so far that, if it were out here, we could not see it.”
“Surely not,” Chick agreed. “Naturally, Nick, he would merely have tossed it upon the ground.”
“Certainly. But it is not here, nor does the ground show any signs of a struggle.”
“None whatever.”
“He said he was assaulted from behind, but he displayed a bruise on his forehead, said to have been inflicted with a sand bag,” Nick added derisively. “He should have been bruised on the back of his head, if attacked from behind.”
“That’s right, too.”
“And when I suggested finding on his neck the finger prints of the crook, you saw how quickly he objected and claimed to have been rubbing his neck.”
“True again, Nick, and very significant,” Chick nodded.
“Plainly enough, Chick, all of his story and the evidence we found were cut and dried, fixed for him to cover his tracks,” said Nick. “But the rascal overleaped his mount.”
“He did, indeed, no mistake.”
“Afterward, when I talked with Lenaire, he told me that Toulon had suggested his seeing Vandyke and sending a word of thanks to Clayton. That was covertly done to provide a plausible reason for going to Clayton’s room and getting Vandyke out of the way.”
“Undoubtedly.”
“I have cautioned Lenaire to keep his mouth shut about it. He fell for the suggestion and gave Toulon the message. Toulon then went up and got rid of Vandyke. Instead of returning to the dining room, however, he stole out-of-doors, where he was fixed up as you found him. In the meantime, made up to resemble Toulon, Dave Margate went up and downed Clayton in the manner described. Take it from me, Chick, that’s how the trick was done.”
“And all this, of course, is why you started Patsy on Toulon’s trail.”
“Certainly,” said Nick. “Lenaire and all of his assistants returned to New York in a car attached to the special train. I put Patsy wise to my suspicions and sent him along in disguise to shadow the rascal.”
“But what do you make of Patsy’s telegram?”
Nick took it from his pocket. It had been received at two o’clock that morning, dated from New York at one, and it contained only the following terse sentences:
“Toulon has telephoned long distance. Don’t know what. Heard only a man’s name, Beardly. Find him and get next. Am still trailing Toulon. Patsy.”
Nick read the message aloud and returned it to his pocket.
“It admits of only one interpretation,” he added. “The special arrived in New York about midnight. Toulon, as soon as he was at liberty, evidently telephoned to a man named Beardly. Patsy could overhear only that name, but he knows that Beardly is located in this section, or he would not have wired us to find and investigate him.”
“But no such man is known in these parts.”
“The name may be an alias, or the man may be living with some one who has a telephone, and whose name Patsy could not get. That of Beardly does not appear in the telephone-exchange book. We must follow up the clew, nevertheless.”
“But how——”
“The way may be opened,” Nick interrupted, glancing toward the house. “Here is a door opening upon an entry and stairway used by the servants. The stairs are within ten feet of the rooms occupied by Clayton and Clara Langham.”
“You think she left by this door?”
“I do. She certainly would have been seen if leaving by any other.”
“But would she have gone out with Margate, made up as Toulon?”
“No, probably not,” said Nick. “But suppose Margate removed his mustache and the wig he must have worn, and thrust them into his pocket. Don’t forget that he is a human counterfeit of Chester Clayton.”
“By Jove, I see the point,” said Chick. “You think he fooled Miss Langham into going with him.”
“Exactly,” Nick nodded. “Clayton’s overcoat and hat are missing. It’s a hundred to one that Margate put them on and got away with the girl, who already was clad to leave at a moment’s notice.”
“In that case——”
“We must trace them,” Nick cut in. “Margate, if turning the trick in that way, would not have ventured to the front of the house, nor the opposite side. The couple would surely have been seen and recognized.”
“That goes without saying,” Chick agreed.
“It would have been equally hazardous to have gone toward the stable and garage back of the house.”
“Surely. The driveway was brightly lighted and filled with people.”
“That leaves only the path by these outbuildings and through the east park,” said Nick, walking in that direction. “The path is too hard to have received any footprints, but there is a road through the woodland beyond the park. You can see patches of it through the trees. We may find tracks there.”
“It’s the road most likely to have been selected by the rascal, if he had a conveyance of any kind,” Chick declared.
“That’s the very point.”
“None of the guests, and probably no one else, would have gone as far as that into the woodland.”
“A possibility that may simplify matters,” said Nick. “If we find tracks of a vehicle, or a motor car, we may reasonably infer that we are on the right trail.”
“That’s as true as gospel.”
“I expect, too, that Margate has not fled many miles away.”
“Why so?”
“For several reasons,” said Nick. “First, because the main roads were occupied by numerous cars departing after the reception, and there would have been a possibility of recognition.”
“That’s true.”
“Second, because the scamp would prefer to remain as near as possible to Langham Manor, in order to stealthily learn what would be done and who is suspected.”
“That’s right, too.”
“Third, because it would have been easier to come here last night than from a long distance. Fourth, because Margate undoubtedly has abducted the girl with a view to forcing a big ransom from her father and Clayton, and a near hiding place would be more convenient for getting into safe communication with them, in order to frame up a desired deal.”
“All of those points are too consistent, Nick, to admit of a denial,” Chick agreed. “It’s long odds that the rascal and his victim are within twenty miles of us.”
“More probably half that distance.”
“Do you really think so?”
“I certainly do,” Nick said confidently. “It’s the course that would appeal to me, Chick, if I was doing the same knavish job. Margate is as clever in knavery as I could be, and he may have reasoned along the same lines. If he has—ah, by Jove, this looks very much like it!”
“What’s that?”
Nick stopped and pointed to some damp earth near one side of the path they had been following.
Distinctly outlined in it was a single, narrow footprint. Obviously, it had been left there by a woman’s boot.
“By gracious, I guess you are right,” said Chick, crouching to examine it.
“I think so,” said Nick. “We came near missing it, however, for it’s at one side of the path.”
“They may have strayed a little from it in the darkness.”
“Probably.”
“The path is too hard to retain an imprint.”
“We may find others farther on,” said Nick. “It’s a hundred to one that this was caused by the boot of the missing girl. Notice the stylish length and pointed heel.”
“It seems to be a cinch.”
“She was going this way,” Nick added. “We’ll take the same direction.”
He glanced at his watch while they hurried on. It then was half past four. They were the only two persons out at that early hour, but a myriad of feathered songsters were thrilling the woodland, which the beams of the rising sun now had begun to penetrate.
Fifty yards brought them to the gravel road mentioned, of which both began to make a careful inspection. There were tracks to be seen, those of wagons, carriages, and automobile tires; so many of them, in fact, that nothing definite could be determined from them.
“Nothing denotes that a conveyance of any kind remained here for a time,” Chick observed, after a vain scrutiny. “It ordinarily would have been left on one side of the road.”
“We’ll seek in each direction,” said Nick. “I’ll go this way, you that. If you discover anything reliable, whistle to me.”
“Enough said,” replied Chick, as they parted.
Nick had covered about fifty yards in an easterly direction, vainly inspecting each side of the road, when he suddenly made another discovery.
Somewhat ahead of him, lying near the wheel tracks on one side, was what appeared to be a scrap of cloth.
Nick hastened to pick it up.
It was about two square inches of dainty lace, evidently torn from—a navy-blue veil.
Nick turned back instantly and whistled to Chick, who hastened to rejoin him.
“What is it?” he inquired, when Nick displayed his find.
“The bride wore a navy-blue veil,” said he significantly.
“Oh, by Jove, that does settle it.”
“It certainly does, Chick, and it’s a pleasure to serve such a girl,” Nick said, with some enthusiasm.
“You mean——”
“Why, it’s as plain as the hole in a doughnut. She was taken away in a carriage or a motor car. She sat on one end of the seat, and she had discovered the knavery of which she was the victim.”
“Why are you so sure of it?”
“Simply, Chick, because this bit of lace shows that it was deliberately torn from one corner of the veil. It is torn in two directions.”
“I see.”
“Plainly, then, the girl herself tore it off,” Nick continued. “No one else would have done it. Nor would she, Chick, unless she had discovered her perilous situation.”
“Surely not,” Chick now declared. “I see the point.”
“She contrived to tear it off without being detected, however, and then dropped it in the road.”
“To show to searchers in which direction she was being carried.”
“Exactly.”
“By Jove, you are right,” Chick cried approvingly. “It is, indeed, a pleasure to serve such a girl.”
“This is not all,” Nick added. “Take it from me, Chick, we shall find another scrap of veil before going vary far. Since she was thoughtful enough to drop one scrap, and able to accomplish it without being detected, she would not stop with that. We shall, unless I am much mistaken, find others along the road.”
“The trail of the blue veil,” cried Chick. “That would show us the way. Let’s hurry on.”
Nick Carter needed no urging, and his prediction soon was verified.
They had walked only a hundred yards, when they discovered a second piece torn from the veil.
An eighth of a mile brought another; and, after the same distance, a fourth.
“She was in a motor car,” Nick then said decidedly.
“Why do you think so?”
“Because of the distance between these bits of evidence. If in a slow-moving vehicle, a hack, or carriage, she could have torn off a fragment more frequently, and stealthily dropped it.”
“You are right again,” Chick nodded. “She certainly would have done so, moreover.”
“We’ll follow as far as the trail leads, Chick, at all events.”
“I’m with you.”
“It’s not worth while to turn back for our machine,” Nick added. “We can phone for it from some point, if we find it necessary.”
“Sure.”
“I still believe, however, that Margate is located within ten or a dozen miles, possibly half that distance. Time is too valuable for us to turn back.”
“I agree with you.”
“We already have covered more than a mile.”
Walking on more rapidly, continuing to find at intervals a scrap torn from the veil, the two detectives had covered nearly four miles at six o’clock, and then they came to a point where the road forked in two directions.
“By Jove, here’s a problem,” said Chick, pausing. “Which fork shall we take? Neither road shows which our quarry took.”
“I’ll take one, you the other,” said Nick, after a moment. “We’ll follow them until one of us finds another scrap of the veil. That will guide us. Signal me with your revolver when you find a clew. I’ll do the same.”
“But suppose I find no more?” questioned Chick.
“We’ll continue the pursuit separately,” Nick replied. “We shall know that one of us is on the right road. Follow where it leads, then, and be governed by circumstances.”
“Enough said,” Chick readily assented. “That’s the best course, I guess.”
“Got any choice?”
“Of roads?”
“Yes.”
“Not a bit, Nick. You say.”
“Take the right, then. I’ll follow the left.”
“Shake. So long, Nick.”
“Good luck, Chick.”
They shook hands heartily and separated, striding rapidly away over each of the woodland roads, neither so much as dreaming how soon fate would again bring them together.