NICK CARTER SMELLS A RAT.
It was early on the following morning when Nick Carter was awakened by Patsy Garvan coming into his bedroom to inquire if his chief could get up.
“What time is it?” asked Nick.
“Well, it is only six o’clock,” answered Patsy. “And you didn’t go to bed till two. I don’t like to bother you.”
“That’s nothing. Go on,” broke in the detective impatiently. “What’s in the wind?”
“Captain Douglas, of the San Juan police,” said Patsy shortly.
“Wants to see me?”
“Says so.”
“Where is he?”
“In the lobby, downstairs. Chick is with him.”
“What does he want to see me about?”
“I don’t know. I’ll find out, if you like.”
“Do. Hustle down, and come right back. I’ll get dressed.”
Nick Carter could make his toilet about as quickly as anybody. But, by the time he had been under the shower and rubbed himself off, and got into his clothes, a good twenty minutes had elapsed.
“Wonder why Patsy did not come back. I’ll have to go down and see what Douglas wants.”
Nick Carter had not much hope that it was a matter which would concern him, for he had worked so hard on the case of the jewels without success, that he did not believe anybody else could help him.
“I didn’t ask where Paul Clayton was,” he said to himself, as he went down the stairs. “Perhaps he is with Chick and Patsy. I suppose he is.”
This supposition turned out to be correct. As the detective stepped away from the stairs—there was no elevator at the Hotel Ionic—he saw Clayton listening interestedly to a narration by Captain Douglas.
The chief of police turned as soon as he perceived Nick. Obviously, he had been merely filling in his time by talking to Clayton until the detective should come down.
Captain Douglas, head of the police force of San Juan, was a tall, lean man, with a keen face—lighted up by a pair of steel-blue eyes—and a short manner.
He had the reputation of being a splendid policeman, and it was not often that he would confess himself at a loss on any case.
Just now, however, his haggard, worried face fairly shrieked of disappointment. Nick Carter, accustomed to reading stories in the human countenance, saw that something had gone wrong, and that Douglas was metaphorically up a tree.
The captain shook hands with Nick Carter. Then he suggested that they step over to a quiet corner of the lobby, where there were several chairs.
“What’s up, captain?” asked Nick.
Douglas hesitated and passed a nervous hand across his chin.
“I suppose I may trust to your keeping it quiet?”
“Of course.”
“I know that,” returned the captain feverishly. “But this is such an extraordinary affair, and it concerns so many big men that I don’t like to speak of it even to myself.”
“Gee! Why don’t he cough it up?” grumbled Patsy, in a low tone.
Chick twitched his sleeve.
“Keep quiet, Patsy!”
“Go ahead, captain!” requested Nick.
“Well, the acting governor has suddenly bolted on the steamer Spangled Star, which left port last night——”
“What of that?” asked Nick. “Nothing remarkable, is it?”
“Well, yes; it is very remarkable when one considers all the circumstances.”
“What are the circumstances?”
“He went from the palace to the wharf in his automobile, with his private secretary, Henry Morlein.”
“Yes?”
“Mr. Portersham went on board the ship by himself, and was shown to the stateroom that Morlein had engaged for him by telephone. He got there at the last moment, and as soon as he was aboard, the gangplank was taken in, and off went the ship.”
“I see. Well?”
“His automobile was on the wharf, with the regular chauffeur, José, at the wheel. José did not turn around to see whether the secretary was in the back seat until fifteen or twenty minutes after the steamer had gone. Then he thought he was being kept there longer than seemed necessary, and he turned his head, to ask Morlein for orders.”
“Go on,” urged Nick. “What is the point of all this?”
“The point is,” replied Captain Douglas impressively, “that Henry Morlein was lying in the back seat of the car, senseless from chloroform, and everything in his pockets, including several hundred dollars belonging to the government, had been taken. He had been robbed of every valuable thing that had been about him.”
“Chloroformed?”
“Yes. That’s what the doctor says it was.”
“Who is supposed to have done it?”
“Men about the wharf say there was no one near the automobile except Mr. Portersham. He was seen talking to Morlein before he went to the steamer, and José remembers hearing Mr. Portersham tell Morlein not to get out of the car, but to go right back.”
“José is sure of that, eh?”
“Quite.”
“What kind of a man is this José?”
“He’s a reliable fellow. Everybody speaks well of him. He is a Cuban by birth. If he makes a statement, it is safe to accept it, as a rule.”
“Where has Mr. Portersham gone?”
“The steamer is bound for New York. So he must be going there. Briggs, a butler at the palace, says he heard Mr. Portersham tell Morlein that he had been called to Washington.”
“By telegraph?”
“No. Senator Micah Garnford called on him a little while before he sailed, telling him that he was required in Washington at once, on some government business.”
“Senator Garnford?” exclaimed Nick. “Why, he is in Washington.”
“No. He is in San Juan. Briggs saw him, he says.”
“Briggs? I shall have to see Briggs and ask him a few things,” said Nick thoughtfully. “I’m sure the senator could not be here now.”
“Briggs is sure he took in Senator Garnford’s card, and that he went into Mr. Portersham’s room for a talk. Afterward the senator left the palace by a back doorway.”
“Did any one see him go?”
“I believe not. But that is what Mr. Portersham said to Briggs.”
Like a flash it came to Nick Carter that all this mystery might be mixed up with John Garrison Rayne.
The fact that somebody supposed to be the acting governor had left so abruptly on the steamer, as well as the injury to and robbery of Henry Morlein, smelled so strongly of the Apache’s methods that Nick could not think of anything else.
“I should like to go to the palace, captain,” he said. “Is your car outside?”
“Yes. I was hoping you would come.”
“I’ll take my two assistants with me. You have no objection?”
“Of course not, Mr. Carter. They’ll be useful, I dare say.”
“I hope so,” put in Patsy. “How about Mr. Clayton?”
“I should like to go,” announced Paul Clayton. “I have nothing to do here.”
“All right,” agreed Captain Douglas. “There’s room for all of us in the car. Tumble in!”
Douglas took the wheel himself, and in a very short time the car stopped at the main entrance of the palace.
“Do you think there is anything in this that may help us to get that jewelry?” whispered Paul Clayton anxiously, in Nick Carter’s ear.
“It wouldn’t surprise me,” was the guarded reply. “I seem to see Rayne’s hand in this affair, somehow.”