CHAPTER IV.
THE NEEDLES AGAIN.
The man who came into the room, bowing low and smiling with the suave courtesy of the Oriental, was more than six feet in height, but not stout. He looked as if he might have a great deal of strength in his wiry frame, and his high forehead, which showed extensively under the narrow-brimmed felt hat he wore far back on his head, was that of an intellectual man. The color of his skin suggested that he might be a Japanese. This was confirmed by his wiry black hair.
He appeared to have very sharp black eyes, but Nick Carter could not see them very well, because they were behind large, thick glasses, with heavy, tortoise-shell frames.
“I must ask your pardon for intruding, Mr. Carter,” began Professor Tolo. “But Mr. Anderton was a warm friend of mine, and I have just heard that he is seriously ill.”
“He is dead,” returned Nick simply.
Professor Tolo threw up both hands with a gesture of horror and sorrow. As he did so, Nick Carter noted the powerful sinews of his arms, which could be seen up his sleeves, moving like snakes under the yellow skin.
“Dead?” repeated Tolo. “Why, this is dreadful! How was it? Did you hear? Wasn’t it very sudden?”
“Very,” returned Nick. “It was an affection of the heart.”
“Heart failure! Well, I always thought my poor friend has something of the appearance of one who might be carried off in that way. Can I see him?”
“I am afraid not, professor. The coroner has his remains in charge. When did you see Mr. Anderton last?”
“About a week ago. We met at the home of a friend of both of us. I had never been in this house. You know, he only lately returned from China. He had gathered up there a mass of valuable information for this government, I understand.”
“I don’t know anything about that,” said Nick shortly.
“I have heard so. In fact, Mr. Anderton made no secret of it. He even told me where he kept the data he had gathered, and offered to let me look it over. Part of my reason for being in this neighborhood now was to see Mr. Anderton and ask him to show me those records.”
“It is eleven o’clock at night,” the detective reminded him. “Isn’t it rather late to come on such a mission?”
“It was the habit of Mr. Anderton to work at night, and I have often met him away from home at a later hour than this. Students pay little attention to the time of day or night when they are interested in any subject they may be discussing. Did Mr. Anderton leave those papers where they could be seen, I wonder. They deal only with scientific subjects, of course.”
“Did I not understand you to say that they were intended for the government?” asked Nick. “It would hardly be proper for anybody else to see them, I should say.”
“They were to be sent to the Smithsonian Institute, I believe. But I was told by Mr. Anderton himself that there was nothing secret about them. He intended the facts he had gathered to be given to the world at large. My understanding was that they were to be published simultaneously with their being sent to Washington.”
“You’re a liar,” muttered Chick, under his breath. “And you know it.”
Chick had been gazing steadily at the tall professor without being observed, and the result of his inspection was that he did not like the look of the stranger. It occurred to Chick, too, that Professor Tolo was too sure of Nick Carter’s name after hearing it for the first time that night.
“I could not interfere with any of Mr. Anderton’s papers, professor,” said Nick. “I am sorry that you have been disappointed. I should think the best way for you to see these records you want would be to communicate with Washington.”
The professor bowed and shrugged his shoulders, while a smile spread over the yellow face beneath the large spectacles.
“Probably you are right, Mr. Carter. I thank you for the suggestion. Any suggestion from so able a detective as everybody knows you to be cannot but be valuable. I am right, am I not, in supposing that you are the Mr. Nicholas Carter whom all the world knows? Your home is in Madison Avenue, is it not?”
“Yes. That is where I live, and my name is Nicholas.”
Nick Carter said this in the cold tone in which he had conducted most of his part of the conversation. It was easy to be seen that he was not favorably impressed with the rather too smug Professor Tolo.
They were interrupted by a knock at the door. It was Ruggins, who announced that a man, who seemed much excited—a young man—wanted to see Mr. Carter on an important matter.
“Which Mr. Carter?” demanded Nick.
“Both, ’e said. ’E asked if you were both ’ere, and when I told him yes, ’e said that was what he wanted. So I came up and left ’im in the ’all till I could find out whether you would see ’im.”
“It might be Patsy,” whispered Chick to his chief.
The same idea had occurred to Nick Carter, and he hurried out of the room, followed by Chick and Ruggins, who closed the door behind him.
Instantly the Japanese professor became active. He carefully laid a heavy chair on its side against the door. Then he ran across the room, to where a tall bookcase stood against the wall in a corner, opposite the windows.
Professor Tolo had a remarkable knowledge of its arrangements. Throwing open one of the large glass doors of the case, he hastily removed four or five heavy books and placed them on a chair by the side of it. Then he fumbled inside, feeling the back wall.
“Curses!” he growled. “Where is that button? The chart I have gives it just about here. Let me see.”
He thrust his hand into the long black coat he wore, and felt in a pocket, from which he drew forth a peculiar-looking little volume, whose covers were made of some sort of shiny green substance, and which was held together by a metal clasp.
“If they will only stay away long enough,” he muttered, while the perspiration came out on his forehead in large drops. “The jade book will tell me. But I’ve got to have time to look it up.”
He stepped back from the bookcase, so that he could see better by the electric light just behind him, and opened the metal clasp of the green-covered book with a click.
He was still turning the leaves—which seemed to be of parchment—when he heard footsteps outside the door.
“Too late this time,” he mumbled. “But I’ll get it yet. That infernal Nick Carter! Who would have thought he would mix himself up in this? And his man, too! I’ll have a reckoning with both of them in due time. They’ll find out that the crossed needles can reach anybody!”
Hurriedly he thrust the jade book, as he called it, back into his pocket, and opening one of the big volumes he had taken from the bookcase, seemed to be deeply absorbed in reading. In fact, he was so taken up with it that he did not heed a racket at the door, when somebody outside pushed it against the overturned chair.
It was not until Nick Carter had forced his way in, and Chick was picking up the chair, that he turned, with a far-away expression, and smiled.
“Ah, Mr. Carter! Back again? I took the liberty of looking at this book when I found myself alone. It is by my dear friend Anderton, written several years ago. I have heard of it, but never happened to get hold of it before. Do you know the work? It is called ‘The Orient and Orientalism.’ A splendid treatment of a great subject. Masterly, in fact. I have often thought——”
“Why did you barricade the door?” demanded Nick, his eyes blazing. “I don’t understand this, Professor Tolo.”
There was no chance to ignore the anger in the detective’s tones, and the professor came to himself with a jerk. He shut the book and put it on its shelf, while he looked from Nick Carter to Chick, and back again, in a most edifying bewilderment.
“I don’t understand,” he faltered.
“You placed a chair against that door, didn’t you?” insisted the detective.
“Did I?” asked the professor vacantly. “I—I don’t know. I was thinking about something else. Why, I—— Oh, yes, so I did. I remember. As I passed a chair, I accidentally knocked it over. I intended to pick it up, of course. But I saw the title of this volume in the bookcase——”
“Away across the room?” growled Chick.
The professor disregarded the query, and continued: “When I saw that this book was here, I forgot everything else. All I saw was this work, that I have longed for years, to hold in my hand, and I forgot all about the chair. How I wish my dear Anderton were alive! He would lend it to me, I know. As it is, I must try and get a copy somewhere else.”
“It would be advisable, I think,” said the detective, as he picked up the other volumes and replaced them in the bookcase. “Is there anything more I can do for you, professor? You will pardon me if I say that I am very busy, and that it is getting late.”
“My dear Mr. Carter, I am sorry I have disturbed you. I apologize most sincerely. Good night!”
He walked to the door, opened it, turned to bow and smile, and went down the stairs.
Nick Carter waited till he heard the front door close after the professor, and turned to Chick. But it was unnecessary for him to say anything. Chick nodded comprehendingly, and leaped down the stairs three or four at a time. Then he dashed along the hall and out to the street.
“I’ll go, too,” muttered Nick, as he also ran down the stairs and to the outer air.
He had only just got off the stone steps and turned to the darkness on the left, when he heard a muffled cry from somebody, followed by a scraping on the sidewalk and the sound of something falling heavily.
“Chick!” he called.
There was no answer, and Nick Carter felt a strange premonition of evil. He ran down the avenue for perhaps a hundred feet. Then, as he stumbled over something soft that was lying across the sidewalk, he knew that his premonition was not without foundation.
Chick was stretched out, unconscious. The detective turned the light of his pocket flash upon him and gave vent to a shout of horror.
Sticking in the sleeve of his insensible assistant were two long needles, crossed!
“Great heavens!” cried Nick. “Is it possible they’ve got Chick? Is no one safe from these fiends?”