It was destined to be rudely awakened.
One morning, twenty-four years after the kidnaping of Hilton Field, Nick Carter was sitting in his office examining some important papers when one of his assistants placed a telegram before him.
Opening it, Nick read this message:
“Come at once to Mr. Hilton Field’s house on Riverside Drive. A murder. (Signed),
“FREDERIC BARNES.”
Nick thrust the message into his pocket.
“Humph!” he muttered. “And Edmund Greer was released from Sing Sing only a month ago!”
Hurrying from his office, Nick boarded a Subway train and, leaving it at the station nearest his destination, jumped into a cab.
According to the dispatch a murder had been committed.
As the cab bowled along Nick wondered who it was who had been suddenly deprived of life.
Perhaps it was Mr. Field himself.
His nearest neighbor was all of five hundred feet distant, and the house was one to tempt the cupidity of the professional burglar.
In due season the cab pulled up before Mr. Field’s house and the detective sprang out.
To the driver he said:
“Just stay here until I send you word. I may want you.”
The detective went up the steps and rang the bell.
He was kept waiting only the fraction of a minute.
“Is Mr. Barnes here?” he inquired of the servant who opened the door.
“Yes, sir. Are you the man he is expecting?”
“I am.”
“Then you are to walk into the parlor. Mr. Barnes is waiting for you there.”
Nick stepped into the room mentioned.
As he did so a man came forward from the rear of the room, saying gravely:
“I am more glad to see you than I can express. A fearful murder has been committed here.”
“Who is the victim?”
“Mr. Field.”
“I had suspected as much. When did it happen?”
“Some time during the night.”
“How did you learn of it?”
“One of the servants came over to my house and gave the alarm.”
“You came over here at once?”
“I did.”
“What did the servant who told you of it have to say?”
“At the time he simply told me that Mr. Field had been murdered. It was not until after I had arrived at the house that I learned any of the particulars.”
“What were they?”
“I will tell you if such is your wish, but as the case promises to be filled with mystery, perhaps it would be better to gain your first impression of it direct from the servant.”
“Well suggested. Where is the body?”
Mr. Barnes was silent.
He acted like a man who is uncertain what answer to make to best aid the course of justice.
The detective did not wait long for an answer, but went on:
“In what room was the deed committed?”
“In his own room.”
“Where is that?”
“On the next floor.”
“The murder is supposed to have taken place during the night?”
“It is known that such was the case.”
“Did anybody see it done?”
“No, although it is known when it was done.”
“Let us go to his room.”
“Very well.”
“As you are familiar with the house, suppose you lead the way.”
With an assenting nod Mr. Barnes did so.
He led the way upstairs and to a room in the front of the house.
As he crossed the threshold of this room he said:
“This room was used by him as a sort of library. His sleeping room is just back of this.”
The detective gave one keen glance around him and then said:
“The murder was not committed in this room?”
“It was not.”
“Then lead the way into the sleeping room.”
Mr. Barnes did so in silence.
Again the detective looked around him.
In this room were numerous evidences of a struggle.
With his gaze fastened on the bed, which was empty, the detective said:
“I do not see anything of the body.”
Waiting for an answer, but not getting any, he went on:
“Has the body been removed to another room?”
“It has not.”
“Then where is it?”
“I don’t know.”
In a surprised tone the detective echoed:
“Don’t know?”
“No.”
“How is that?”
“When I got here I could find nothing of any body.”
“Then it is not certain that he was murdered?”
“Yes, it is.”
“How do you make it out?”
“He was seen after he had been murdered.”
“Ha! By whom?”
“One of the servants.”
“And then, subsequent to that time, the body disappeared.”
“That is the case.”
“There is nothing back of this? Is the servant trustworthy?”
“Perfectly so, I believe. I am sure that Mr. Field had the most unbounded confidence in the man.”
“I must see this man presently. What opinion have you arrived at in regard to the matter?”
“I have none. I cannot see daylight at all. The case puzzles me beyond anything ever presented to my mind before.”
“Do you think that robbery had anything to do with it?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because so far as I can determine nothing has been taken. Nor do the servants find anything missing.”
Nick began pacing the floor.
Little as he had learned of the case, it had already developed some strange things.
Crimes usually run in channels somewhat similar, but here had one been committed that was entirely outside of anything embraced in his own experience or heard of in that of a brother professional. At least this was promised, which fact was rather calculated than otherwise to give the case a deep interest for him.
That a crime had been committed there was no question, for on every side could be found evidences of a struggle. But had that crime been of the grave one of murder? Without the presence of a dead body this was impossible to say.
Finally Nick shook his head and growled something under his breath.
To one who knew him well this would have implied that he was not at all pleased with the train of his thoughts.
At last he said:
“Let me see this man.”
The servant alluded to was called.
He was a man past middle life, with an honest, open face and iron gray hair.
Looking at this man, Nick was impressed in his favor. Yet he questioned him as sharply as though he was suspected of being the murderer.
He said, sharply:
“Well, what do you know about this murder?”
“Very little.”
“So? You are inclined to be brief.”
“I am naturally so.”
“What is your name?”
“Joe Timon.”
“In what capacity did you serve Mr. Field?”
“I was almost anything, from valet to private secretary.”
“Ah! Then in all probability you were the last person who saw Mr. Field alive?”
“I may have been, though I am not certain about it. Ordinarily I would have been of a certainty.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I usually was the last one to enter his room at night. But last evening I had a headache and went to my own room earlier than usual.”
“What was the hour?”
“A few minutes past ten.”
“You usually went to bed later, then?”
“I did.”
“At what hour?”
“Between eleven and twelve generally.”
“Well, you went to bed at ten last night. Now, then, how did you learn that a murder had been committed?”
“It came about in this way. About two o’clock I was awakened by hearing the steps of a man in the hall outside of my room. As was natural, I lay as still as possible and listened, trying to catch what was said.”
“Did you hear anything?”
“Yes.”
“What was it?”
“I could not hear every word that was said, but what I did hear was to the effect that it was unfortunate that they had not been able to get out undetected.”
“Which you understood as meaning—what?”
“That some of the servants had seen them.”
“Was this view verified by what followed?”
“I think so.”
“Well, you heard words spoken to the effect stated. What followed that?”
“The men paused at my door to listen. They were, I thought, trying to determine if the room was occupied, so I held my breath as long as I could and then breathed as quietly as possible. Yet they heard me and entered my room. Then they proceeded to tie me.”
“You pretended to wake up?”
“Yes.”
“What was said to you?”
“I was ordered to make no noise on penalty of losing my life.”
“What kind of looking men were they?”
“I could not see.”
“How was that? Didn’t they have a light?”
“Yes, but they were masked.”
“Well, what followed of which you have any knowledge?”
“I lay still for some time after they had left my room, and then I began trying to force myself loose from my bonds.”
“You succeeded at last?”
“I did. It took me all of a couple of hours to get my hands free, and as they had tied me to the bed and I had nothing in the shape of a knife at hand, I was then compelled to undo those other knots, which took me the best part of another hour. When I was free at last I went down to the floor below and entered the master’s room.”
“And saw what?”
“Mr. Field lying on the floor.”
“Dead?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How can you be sure of that?”
“Because I went to his side, and kneeling down put my hand over his heart.”
“You could not feel any pulsation?”
“I could not.”
“What then?”
“I thought of going to Mr. Barnes here, who was one of Mr. Field’s warmest friends.”
“What o’clock was it at this time?”
“About five, just before daylight.”
“Mr. Barnes is your next neighbor?”
“He is.”
“How does it come, then, that he did not see you until after seven?”
“The reason of that was, that in my haste I was careless, and in going down the stairs I tripped and fell, as a result of which I landed at the foot in a senseless condition.”
“What stairs were these?”
“Those at the front of the house.”
“There is a stair at the rear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How did it happen that you did not first untie your fellow servants?”
“I cannot explain that, sir, even to myself. I merely knew that my master was murdered, and was anxious to get his friend here as soon as possible.”
“How long did you lie at the foot of the stairs in that insensible condition?”
“Until about five minutes before I rang the bell of Mr. Barnes’ house.”
“After recovering consciousness did you go upstairs again before going to Mr. Barnes?”
“I did not.”
“Mr. Barnes came over with you at once?”
“No, sir. Having been told by him that he would soon be over I returned.”
“What did you do first?”
“Unbound the servants.”
“You didn’t go first into Mr. Field’s room?”
“No, sir.”
“I should have thought you would.”
“I did not wish to again see that horrid sight alone. I am not a coward by any means, but it is not pleasant to go in and look at a man now dead who has been to you a warm friend in the past.”
“But, having released the other servants, you made up a party and entered Mr. Field’s room?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Who first discovered that the body was missing?”
“I did. Having seen it where it was lying, I naturally looked in the right direction at once, and when I found it was not there I could hardly believe my senses. At first I thought that he had not, after all, been killed, but had recovered his consciousness and had crawled to his bed, but on looking toward it I saw it was empty.”
“What next?”
“Why, we had not recovered from our astonishment when Mr. Barnes came in.”
“What was done after the arrival of this gentleman?”
“He wanted to know if robbery had been the motive of the deed, and so a search was made.”
“With what result?”
“We did not find anything missing.”
“Can you be sure that nothing is gone?”
“I would not be willing to swear to it, although I am morally convinced that not a thing has been taken.”
“That will do. You can go now, but do not say a word to the other servants of the line of questions put to you.”
“I will not, sir.”
Joe Timon having departed, Mr. Barnes inquired:
“What do you make of it?”
“As yet—nothing.”
“His story does not give you any clew?”
“Decidedly not. It only serves to make the case more mysterious. You are certain that this man had the full confidence of Mr. Field?”
“I am. I have often heard him speak of the faithfulness of this man in particular.”
Nick did not at all like the appearance of things.
The story that Joe Timon had to tell had an air of truthfulness, and yet it was far from satisfactory to the detective. There were not a few points about it that appeared to him as unnatural.
In the first place it was rather peculiar that the assassins should have taken the trouble to go around and bind the servants if their purpose here was only to take the life of Mr. Field, something which could be accomplished in the fraction of a minute.
Their binding of the servants would, on the face of it, argue that they had need of time, as would be the case only if they were intending to take the time to systematically select the plunder they wanted.
Secondly, while the story of falling downstairs and rendering himself insensible might be true, still it had about it a something that to the detective was “fishy.”
Thirdly, it did not seem to him as being natural that Timon could forget that his fellow servants were bound and in need of assistance. In his opinion the natural course under the circumstances would have been for Timon to have unbound them before seeking Mr. Barnes.
A fact in connection with Timon’s failure to do this stood out before the detective’s mental vision very prominently—and this fact was that, in his interim when, according to his story, he was unconscious, the body of Mr. Field disappeared.
And he asked himself this question:
“If it was necessary to offset some testimony that could be advanced by the other servants, would not some such story as this be concocted to cover the time necessary for the taking away of the body?”
And he quickly gave himself the answer:
“The story is admirably suited to just such a series of circumstances, and if the stories told by the others show a necessity for this tale, I shall at once set Joe Timon down as an accessory, no matter how great the trust Mr. Field may have had in him.”
He now had in his possession practically all that could be told of the main features of the case, and he wanted now to use his eyes a little more before questioning the other servants.
Speaking to Barnes, he said:
“It must have been here that the body lay.”
“It was. That is the spot that Timon pointed out to me.”
From here there was a depression of the nap of the carpet, in two long, straight lines, toward the door.
They were such marks as would be left by the heels of a person being dragged along by the shoulders.
The detective now stepped toward the door to which these marks led, Barnes following him closely and saying:
“I was wondering if you were going to take notice of those marks and follow them.”
Nick Carter dryly said:
“I saw them some time ago, in fact the very instant I stepped into this room. I did not care at the moment to trace them, as I had something else in my mind.”
“I suppose that in your business, as in most others, each man has his own way of working.”
“Certainly.”
The door was by this time reached. It was closed. The detective opened it and saw that the marks were continued across the sill and upon the carpet of the hall.
The hall being dark, he said to Barnes:
“Will you be kind enough to open that window at the end?”
“Assuredly.”
Barnes proceeded to open it, letting in a flood of light.
It was now very bright in the hall, and everything was shown up as clearly as daylight could do it.
One thing was revealed that was very unpleasant to the eyes of Mr. Barnes.
This was a pool of blood.
Shuddering, he said to the detective:
“That is a terrible sight. This pool is larger than that in his own room. They must have stopped here a minute or so when they were dragging him out.”
As Nick made no rejoinder to this, Barnes said:
“Don’t you think that is the case?”
Remarkably brief was the reply:
“No!”
“What do you think, then?”
“I am not prepared to state that, but—I have made a discovery!”