CHAPTER IV.
WHAT DAYLIGHT REVEALED.
Nick Carter found Mr. Rudolph Strickland and his niece awaiting him, but Arthur Gordon had not yet arrived.
“I have talked with him by telephone, Mr. Carter, and he now is on his way here,” said Wilhelmina, after their greeting.
“There is nothing he can do to aid us,” Nick replied. “We shall set at work at once, and you must remain here with Mr. Strickland. Find out, Patsy, whether the photographer on the floor above has arrived. He promised to come down early this morning.”
Patsy hastened from the parlor in which they had been received, while Nick and Chick at once proceeded to the rear rooms.
“We’ll begin with the bathroom,” said Nick, leading the way. “Daylight may reveal more than I was able to discover last night. Ah, by Jove, I thought so.”
He had entered the bathroom and raised the lower section of the small, ground-glass window. A glance at the stone sill outside, which he then began to inspect with a powerful lens, evoked his last more forcible remark.
“It’s what I do not find,” Nick replied. “Notice the lack of dust on the upper surface of this stone. All that remains of the thin layer which ordinarily would be there is a small quantity next to each casing. The lens shows, too, that it has been rubbed in each direction, as if with a piece of cloth, or a garment.”
“Plainly enough,” Chick agreed. “It would be indiscernible, nevertheless, except in a bright light.”
“That was the difficulty last evening. We had not light enough.”
“You now suspect——”
“More than suspect,” Nick interrupted. “I now am convinced that one of the crooks, at least, entered through this window.”
“But how could he have reached it? There certainly was no ladder used, or the janitor must have heard him. Nor is there any other window from which the rascal could have reached this one.”
“If not from below, Chick, he must have come from above.”
“From the photographer’s room?”
“Or from the roof.”
“Either would be possible,” Chick allowed. “But we discovered no evidence of it. Besides, Strickland stated that the bathroom door was locked, and Gordon found it so when they entered.”
“That would have been no barrier to a crook clever enough to pull off a job of this kind. He would have pushed out the key and—stop a bit! We may find evidence of it.”
Turning back, Nick removed the key from the bathroom door to examine it with his lens. He quickly found what he was seeking.
“Here we have it,” he added. “The end projecting beyond the tongue has been gripped with a pair of nippers. Notice the marks they left on it. The rascal unlocked the door by turning the key with the nippers, relocking it by the same means before he left the flat.”
“You think he went out through this window.”
“I do. The chances are ten to one, if he had left by way of the front door, that Madame Denise would have seen him.”
“He is some athlete, by Jove, if he climbed a rope to the roof, or even to the photographer’s window,” Chick declared.
“He had confederates who aided him,” Nick replied. “He could not have got away with such a quantity of plunder without assistance.”
“Surely not.”
“Let’s have a look at the bedroom window.”
Nick led the way into the room where, still using his lens, he began a thorough inspection of the window lock, the sashes and panes, and finally the interior sill and the outside stonework.
All that he found of any significance were a few tiny particles on the sill, hardly discernible without a lens, but which, when viewed through it, appeared to be short, yellow bristles, or hairs.
Quick to detect their true character and significance, however, Nick said, quite abruptly:
“I am right, by Jove, in that a rope was used. Here are particles of hemp on the sill. A rope, or a hemp cord of smaller size, was drawn in through this window.”
“But why did the rascal use this window, Nick, after entering through that in the bathroom?” Chick questioned.
Nick leaned out and gazed upward.
“I have it,” he replied. “A rope evidently was used for removing the plunder through this window, which is much larger than that in the bathroom. It was not lowered to the rear area, however, for there is no exit to the street. Nor was it drawn up to the quarters of Gilbert, the photographer, or we would have found evidence of it last night. It must have been drawn up to the roof, therefore, and then transferred by some means to another building, or——”
“What’s up?” Chick cried, interrupting.
Nick had drawn back into the room with an abruptness that startled his assistant, even more than the altered expression on his strong, clean-cut face.
“I think, Chick, we’ve been fooled.”
“Fooled? What the deuce do you mean?”
“I mean——”
Nick did not remain to say what he meant. Instead, with a sharper light leaping up in his eyes, he strode hurriedly to the front parlor, in which Mr. Strickland and Wilhelmina then were seated.
“You told me last evening, Mr. Strickland, that Gerald Vaughn and his sister are old friends of yours. How long have you known them?” he asked, pausing in the middle of the room.
“Why, only since they have lived next door, Mr. Carter,” was the reply, with a look of surprise.
“How long is that?”
“About four months, as near as I can remember.”
“They do not own the corner house, then?”
“Oh, no. It is owned by Colonel Morgan Barker, who has been living abroad with his wife and two daughters for nearly a year. Their children are studying music in Berlin. The Vaughns met them, and, as they were about to visit New York for a few months, they arranged with Colonel Barker to occupy his furnished house during their stay here.”
“Who is Colonel Barker’s agent in New York?”
“Mr. John Archer, I believe, who has an office in Broadway. Mr. Vaughn brought a letter to him from Colonel Barker, directing him to let him occupy the house, and——”
“And turn, unless I am much mistaken, as crafty a trick as one often hears of,” Nick interrupted, with more austerity than he ordinarily displayed. “Come with me, Chick, and—ah, here is Patsy. What do you say? Has the photographer arrived?”
“Mr. Gilbert has just gone up, chief,” said Patsy, who had entered while Nick was speaking.
“Come, then, both of you,” said Nick, without further explanations.
He hurried from the room, followed by both Chick and Patsy, and led the way to the top floor. The photographer had just unlocked the door of his studio.
“Good morning, Gilbert,” Nick greeted him familiarly. “I want to visit your roof once more.”
“Certainly, Nick, as many times as you wish. Go ahead. You know the way.”
Nick already was on his way to the rear room, where he quickly mounted the ladder and opened the scuttle leading to the roof. One after another the three detectives climbed out.
It presented in the bright morning sunlight a much different appearance from that of the night before. There was much less danger of a slip and a fall to the pavements far below. Nick at once approached the rear edge of it, at a point directly over the window of the bedroom in the Strickland flat. Some of the gravel near the edge had been brushed away. Crouching to gaze over, Nick made a discovery that immediately confirmed his increasing suspicions.
In the upper surface of the timber forming the edge of the roof were four holes, somewhat less than a foot apart, and which evidently had been recently made with four large screws.
“Here we have it,” Nick cried, when Chick and Patsy approached. “There has been a rigging of some kind screwed to this timber.”
“Gee! that’s as plain as twice two, chief,” said Patsy.
“Notice that it is directly in line with the chimney, which is less than eight feet from the edge of the roof. If I am not mistaken—no, I am right,” Nick broke off; then added confidently, rising to inspect the chimney. “Here are splinters of wood on some of the bricks, also particles evidently rubbed from a rope. Here in the gravel beyond the chimney, too, are indications that the end of a piece of joist rested.”
“You think, then——”
“The evidence speaks for itself,” Nick interposed. “A long piece of joist made fast to the chimney was run out over an ordinary sawhorse, I judge, which was fastened to a strip of board securely strewed to the edge of the roof. A rope from the outer end of the joist, or a rigging of some kind, enabled one of the crooks to descend to the windows of the Strickland flat.”
“But it would have hung opposite the bedroom window,” said Chick, gazing down.
“He could easily have swung himself to the bathroom window.”
“Gee! it would have been some stunt, chief, in the wind and darkness,” said Patsy.
“We are up against rascals capable of more desperate deeds than that,” Nick declared. “I think we now can learn where they came from and what more they did. Come with me.”
Quickly crossing the roof, Nick approached the edge overlooking the roof of the corner residence. The latter was only five feet below, with no space between them, and he immediately dropped over the edge, followed by Chick and Patsy.
Nearly in the middle of the roof was a square skylight, to which all three hastened, and through which Nick peered intently. He could see only part of the upper hall some eight feet below and the closed doors of two adjoining rooms.
“By Jove, we are on the right track,” Chick remarked. “This skylight has been recently opened.”
He pointed to some blurred finger marks in the dust on the panes and sashes, and Nick drew a knife from his pocket with which to force open the slightly sloping window.
“I’m so sure I am right that we will not stand on ceremony,” he said, a bit grimly. “The birds have flown. The house probably is deserted. The plunder we are seeking has been carried away under our very noses.”
“You don’t mean in that undertaker’s wagon, chief?” cried Patsy.
“That’s precisely what I mean.”
“Gee whiz! The death of the housekeeper then——”
“There has been no death,” Nick interrupted, all the while at work trying to pry open the skylight. “The whole business is a craftily planned job, from the time Gerald Vaughn, so called, met Colonel Barker in Berlin, if he really did meet him there, and learned that this house was to be vacant for several months. We’ll soon find out whether I am right and—ah, now it gives. Lend a hand, Chick, and we can raise it.”
Nick had contrived to partly remove the hook that secured the skylight, and it then proved easy to raise the latter.
“Close it after us, Patsy, and return by the way we came,” Nick directed. “Say nothing about what we have found and are doing. Go down to the front door of this house and wait for me to admit you.”
“I’m wise, chief,” said Patsy. “I’ll nail any one who attempts to leave.”
“There is no one in the house,” Nick repeated. “I’m sure of that. Come with me, Chick.”
He turned with the last and dropped down to the upper hall, Chick quickly following him.
“We’ll cover the ground as we go,” he added. “These rooms, Chick, to begin with.”
They found in the first one they entered the evidence confirming Nick’s deductions and suspicions—a piece of joist about ten feet long, a sawhorse fixed on a baseboard, that had been secured to the upper edge of the roof, a coil of rope, a block and tackle, a broad wicker basket nearly three feet long, to each end handle of which was tied a long hemp cord.
“Great guns, this does settle it!” Chick exclaimed. “What kind of a rigging is it? What use had they for this huge basket?”
A brief inspection of the several articles enabled Nick to hit upon the truth.
“It’s perfectly plain, Chick,” he replied. “That basket was hung from the end of the joist and lowered to Strickland’s bedroom window. That was done after one of the crooks had descended and entered through the bathroom. He probably was the only one in Strickland’s flat. Notice the long cord on each end of the basket.”
“What do you make of them?”
“One was used to draw the suspended basket to a window of this house, the other to draw it back again to that in Strickland’s bedroom. The crook in that apartment loaded the basket with portions of the plunder, as speedily as he could transfer it to the bedroom, and his confederate then drew it to a window of this house and unloaded it. There is no telling how many times that was repeated. Another confederate was probably at work on the roof, from which he could easily have guided the basket and in other ways assisted the thief in the flat below. That’s how it was done, Chick, as sure as fate.”
“By Jove, I believe you are right.”
“This rigging tells the story.”
“But why the alleged death of the housekeeper, the casket, the flowers, the——”
“It may be explained with a breath,” Nick interrupted. “Vaughn evidently is an exceedingly clever crook, also the two women who have been living here with him. They became friendly with Strickland only to learn his habits and the feasibility of this job. It was planned for last evening, and the rascals would have found a way to lure him from the flat, even if his niece and Arthur Gordon had not saved them the trouble.”
“No doubt,” Chick quickly allowed.
“They foresaw that they could not remove the plunder in any ordinary way, so they devised this method to bring it to this house.” Nick continued. “They knew, too, that the crime would soon be discovered; so soon, in fact, that it would be hazardous to attempt getting away with their booty from this house on the same night.”
“So they faked the death of the housekeeper, in order to avert suspicion and a consequent search of the house,” Chick remarked. “Is that your view of it?”
“Exactly,” Nick nodded. “They reasoned rightly that crooks would not be suspected of operating from a house in which a death had occurred and the corpse still was lying. The wreath on the door, the casket in the parlor, the boxes presumably containing flowers—these have completely fooled us, Chick, partly because of Strickland’s statement that the Vaughns were friends of his. I supposed, of course, that they were old residents here. If he had told me what he stated this morning, I would at once have suspected something wrong.”
“Certainly,” said Chick. “I see the point.”
“But the casket and boxes contained, instead of a corpse and supposed floral tokens, the very plunder we were seeking,” Nick added, with ominous grimness. “The rascals got away with it this morning and under our very eyes. The whole business was more cunning and crafty than we often run up against.”
“There is no denying that Nick, for fair.”
“Let’s look farther. We’ll see what more we can find. It will be little enough, I imagine. The rascals have cleaned out their own belongings, no doubt, and have no intention of returning. They realized that a daylight investigation would surely expose their game.”
Nick’s prediction proved to be correct. Several of the bedrooms on the floor below were in shocking disorder. Beds had been left unmade. Wardrobe closets were empty. Bureau drawers contained nothing but the dust and rubbish left by the miscreants. There appeared to be not the slightest clew to their true identity.
Nick glanced sharply through the several rooms, then hastened down to the ground floor. There the dining room and kitchen were in corresponding disorder. Soiled dishes and the remnants of breakfast stood on the table.
“We’ll have a look in the library,” said Nick, leading the way. “There is Patsy at the front door. You had better admit him.”
Chick hastened to do so.
Nick entered the library.
A sheet of paper was propped up conspicuously against a book on the table. It contained several pen-written lines.
Nick took up the sheet and read them:
“MY DEAR CARTER: You solve the problem tardily. You arrive a little too late. There will be nothing for you in attempting to run down the writer. He is in a class of his own—and much your superior. Take a tip from me, therefore, and drop this matter. Don’t dig deeper into it, or you’ll surely tread on a rattlesnake. A word to the wise should be sufficient, or this warning from
GERALD VAUGHN.”
Nick Carter’s face underwent a quick change. He had made a discovery which Gerald Vaughn had not for a moment anticipated. He recognized the writing, or felt reasonably sure that he did.
It was identical with the fine, clean-cut hand exhibited by Detective Conroy that morning—the writing of Mortimer Deland.