Following a Chance Clew; Or, Nick Carter's Lucky Find

Title: Following a Chance Clew; Or, Nick Carter's Lucky Find

Author: Nicholas Carter

Release date: November 11, 2021 [eBook #66708] Most recently updated: October 18, 2024

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/66708

Credits: David Edwards, Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net

NICK CARTER STORIES New Magnet Library Not a Dull Book in This List ALL BY NICHOLAS CARTER

Nick Carter stands for an interesting detective story. The fact that the books in this line are so uniformly good is entirely due to the work of a specialist. The man who wrote these stories produced no other type of fiction. His mind was concentrated upon the creation of new plots and situations in which his hero emerged triumphantly from all sorts of troubles and landed the criminal just where he should be—behind the bars.

The author of these stories knew more about writing detective stories than any other single person.

Following is a list of the best Nick Carter stories. They have been selected with extreme care, and we unhesitatingly recommend each of them as being fully as interesting as any detective story between cloth covers which sells at ten times the price.

If you do not know Nick Carter, buy a copy of any of the New Magnet Library books, and get acquainted. He will surprise and delight you.

In order that there may be no confusion, we desire to say that the books listed below will be issued during the respective months in New York City and vicinity. They may not reach the readers at a distance promptly, on account of delays in transportation.

{3}

Following a Chance Clew

OR, NICK CARTER’S LUCKY FIND BY NICHOLAS CARTER Author of the celebrated stories of Nick Carter’s adventures, which are published exclusively in the New Magnet Library, conceded to be among the best detective tales ever written. STREET & SMITH CORPORATION PUBLISHERS 79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York {4}

(Printed in the United States of America) All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages, including the Scandinavian. {5}

CHAPTER I. ON A SEPTEMBER NIGHT.

“Nathan Lusker.”

Nick Carter read the sign over the jeweler’s store on Eighth Avenue and stopped to glance critically at the place.

He noticed that the “regulator” indicated midnight.

His thoughts flew back to another midnight earlier in the week, when Lusker’s store had been cleaned out by burglars.

The robbery had been charged to a mysterious crook known as Doc Helstone, who was supposed to be the leader of a clever gang of lawbreakers.

Nick had been asked to break up this gang, which had baffled some of the best men of Inspector McLaughlin’s staff. A proposition had been made to him that day, and he had promised an answer on the morrow.

Probably he would have decided to refuse the job, for he had a lot of work on hand; but, as he strolled up the avenue on that September night, an adventure was waiting for him which was to alter his purpose, and set him upon the track of a remarkable scoundrel.{6}

Lusker’s place was nearly in the middle of a block. As Nick turned his eyes away from the window, he noticed, on the street corner beyond, a group of about a dozen men and women.

There was nothing unusual about them except that they were all looking one way. Their attention had evidently been strongly attracted by something which was taking place on the side street, to the westward.

Suddenly they all hurried in that direction. Other persons, attracted by this movement, joined in it.

All whom Nick could see were hastening toward this center of interest—all, except one man, who was walking the other way.

This man came out of the street wherein the crowd was gathering, and turned up the avenue. Nick saw him for only a moment, and at a considerable distance, but he remembered him.

When Nick came to the street corner, he saw, about forty yards from the avenue, a considerable crowd, upon the downtown side. He quickly made his way to the midst of it.

There he saw a young man kneeling on the sidewalk, and supporting upon his arm the head of a woman.

The man seemed considerably agitated. The woman’s face, indistinct in the dim light, was white and rigid.

“Do you know this woman?” asked Nick, quickly, of the young man, after he had cast a single glance upon the unconscious figure.

“No; I never saw her before.{7}”

“Do you know a tall man with a light brown beard parted in the middle, a dark suit of——”

“Why, that’s the man who has gone to ring for an ambulance,” was the reply. “This lady was with him when she was taken sick.”

Nick did not wait to hear any more. He slipped through the crowd like an eel, and darted away.

He was on the track of the man whom he had seen walking away from the spot to which everybody else was hurrying.

The avenue was brightly lighted, but the man was not in sight. By rapid, clever work, Nick traced him to Forty-first Street, where he had entered a carriage.

A hackman, who had seen this, did not remember ever to have seen the carriage or the driver or the passenger before.

“Was the man looking about for a carriage when you first saw him?” asked Nick.

“No; he knew where to find one,” was the reply.

“Did he give any directions to the driver?”

“He held up his hand in a queer sort of way, and the driver nodded. Nothing was said.”

Evidently the carriage had been waiting, and the coachman and the passenger knew each other well. They would be harder to trace on that account.

For the moment Nick gave up the chase. He returned to the crowd around the unconscious woman.

She still lay where Nick had last seen her. A policeman had come, and had rung for an ambulance.

The young man who had been supporting the woma{8}n’s head had relinquished his burden, and just as Nick came up he was edging away through the crowd. He seemed to desire to escape further observation.

Nick touched him on the arm, and the young man faced about.

“Don’t try to get away,” said the detective. “You won’t help matters by that.”

“Why shouldn’t I go away?”

“Because,” said Nick, calmly, “you will direct suspicion toward yourself.”

“Suspicion! Suspicion of what?”

“Murder!” replied the detective, in a low, steady voice.

This sinister word produced a tremendous effect upon the young man. But he came out of it in a way which showed he had plenty of nerve.

Nick had drawn him into a doorway, and the two were almost unobserved.

“Look here,” said the young man, “I’m no fool, and I begin to see that something is wrong here. But when it comes to murder, I don’t believe you’re right. That lady isn’t very sick.”

“She isn’t sick at all,” said Nick; “she’s wounded.”

“Wounded!”

“Yes. I saw at a glance that she was suffering from a blow with a sharp-pointed instrument. She has been stabbed, probably, with a stiletto.”

“Then it was that man——”

“Either that man or yourself,” said Nick, interrupting.

“But I swear by all that I hold sacred that I never{9} set eyes on the woman before this evening. I was passing along the street when I saw her ahead of me.

“The man whom I described to you had just overtaken her, and they were talking. At that moment a drunken man pushed violently against me. I looked around. He lurched away.

“Then I turned toward Eighth Avenue again, and at that moment I saw the woman fall into the man’s arms, with a low cry. I didn’t see him stab her, and I didn’t see any weapon. I ran up to offer assistance, and he said: ‘This lady is ill. Take her for a moment while I summon assistance. I will ring for an ambulance. It will be the quickest way to get a doctor.’

“I took the woman out of his arms because I couldn’t let her fall on the sidewalk. He hurried away. You know the rest.

“Now, then, I maintain that you have no right to detain me. I’m going home.”

“Do you suppose that you could do so, even if I consented? I tell you that a detective has his eye on you at this moment, though you do not see him. Do you think that policeman would have been stupid enough to let you get away if he hadn’t known that somebody was on hand to look out for you?”

“And who are you?”

“I’m a man who may believe in your innocence and help you to prove it, if your conduct justifies it.”

The young man looked at Nick as if he meditated making a break for liberty, but something in the detective’s glance restrained him. The stronger mind prevailed.{10}

“What would you advise me to do?” he asked.

“Go back and stand near the policeman,” said Nick. “Be on hand when the ambulance surgeon makes his examination.

“You will be taken to the police station. When you get there tell your story as you’ve told it to me. If there’s anything else, save it till you see me again. What is your name?”

“Austin L. Reeves. I live at ninety-two West Thirty-ninth Street.”

“Very well. Here comes the ambulance.”

Though fully twenty minutes had elapsed since the woman had received the injury, her condition had not changed in the least. Nick had felt certain that the night was so warm that no harm would result from her remaining outdoors. Otherwise he would have taken her to a drug store or into one of the houses.

The others, expecting the ambulance every minute, and failing to perceive the real nature of the woman’s trouble, had not thought of doing anything.

When the ambulance surgeon bent over her, he saw at once that she was suffering from a serious stab wound.

Not a drop of blood was visible, which showed that the weapon used must have been as fine as a needle.

The surgeon whispered a word in the ear of the policeman, who instantly whistled for assistance. Then, by Nick’s order, he placed young Reeves under arrest, and took him to the station house.

The other officer who had responded to the whistle, tried to secure witnesses. He could find nobody.{11}

Nick, a thousand times more skillful, had been engaged in that search for some minutes, but when the ambulance rolled away with the wounded woman in it, he had not succeeded in finding a single person who could throw any light upon the matter.

Apparently nobody but Reeves had seen the woman pass along the street, or had noticed the man who overtook her.

To be sure, there was the drunken man, of whom Reeves had spoken, but, accepting Reeves’ story as true, the supposed drunkard was doubtless a pal of the murderer, and was there to distract the attention of any person who might be likely to interfere.

The blinder the case the more anxious Nick was to follow it up. He saw in it one of the most fascinating murder mysteries which he had ever encountered.

It was probable that at the hospital something would be learned which would be of value, but Nick could not wait for it. There is nothing like following a trail when it is warm, and so Nick stuck to the ground.

After about an hour’s hard work, his efforts were rewarded. By this time the rumor that the case was a murder had begun to spread in the precinct.

The local detectives were out on it, and they dropped a word here and there which was taken up and borne along.

In the course of Nick’s search he worked along the cross-town street toward Ninth Avenue, finding out what every person knew.

At last, just in the doorway of one of the large apart{12}ment houses he found a man and woman talking about the case. Both of them were known to the police.

The man was a hardened young rascal, not long out of the penitentiary. The woman was known as “Crazy Mag,” though she was not really insane.

She was somewhat intoxicated, and was talking loudly. Nick entered the hall and pretended to be looking for a name on the bell rack.

“Shut up, Mag,” he heard the young tough whisper. “You’ll get yourself into trouble.”

“What’s the matter with you?” she exclaimed, roughly. “I saw the woman come out of No. 349. Why shouldn’t I say so?”

“I’ll tell you why,” said her companion. “Because that woman was put out of the way by Doc Helstone’s gang, and if you talk too much you’ll follow her.”

“I shouldn’t be surprised if you were right,” said Nick to himself. “At any rate, this clew settles one thing—I take the contract to trap Doc Helstone’s gang.”

CHAPTER II. A NOVEL TIMEKEEPER.

It was about four o’clock in the morning when Nick and the New York chief of police sat down together in the latter’s house to discuss the events of the night. What had happened in the meantime the reader will hear in Nick’s own words.{13}

He had rapidly described the events with which the reader is familiar and had come to the scene in the hall.

“I went directly to No. 349,” Nick proceeded, “and there I found evidence which convinced me that Helstone’s gang had made the house its headquarters.

“I got no information from the people in the house. They only knew that a ‘club’ of some kind had hired one of the upper apartments.

“Of course it was empty. The gang had taken the alarm. But I saw the work of Helstone’s carpenter.

“You remember that when the central office men arrived just too late at Helstone’s place on East Tenth Street, they found the rooms full of concealed panels and secret cupboards—the cleverest things of the kind that had ever been seen in New York.

“Well, there was the same work over here, but the rooms were entirely deserted. The gang had got away. The last man hadn’t been gone an hour.”

“Can that be proved?”

“I could swear to it,” said Nick, smiling. “There is running water in one of the rooms. Under the faucet was a pewter drinking cup.

“The faucet leaked. The cup was very nearly full.

“The dropping water filled this little bottle in one minute and ten seconds. The bottle holds the hundredth part of a pint. The cup holds half a pint. Therefore, the leaking water would fill it in fifty-eight seconds. So somebody set that cup under the faucet less than an hour before I arrived.{14}”

“Upon my word, Nick,” said the chief, “you can make a clock out of anything.”

“Dropping water is a first-rate timepiece,” Nick replied. “That’s why I had this bottle made.”

“Except the joiner work, was there anything in the rooms to show that Helstone had occupied them?”

“No, but it’s pretty well known in the district now. That’s the peculiar thing about Helstone. He always knows just when to flit.

“Before he goes, nobody knows anything about him. Ten minutes later, everybody knows.”

“But nobody has ever seen Helstone himself.”

“No; the inspector has got descriptions of some of his men, but there is no description of Helstone. He’s really only a rumor, a mysterious influence guiding the movements of those ruffians.”

“Well,” said the chief, after a pause, “what did you do next?”

“I went to the hospital.”

“Is the woman dead?”

“She lies unconscious, but will probably recover. Her clothing bears no marks by which she can be identified. She may prove to be a mystery.”

“How was she dressed?”

“A rather ordinary gray dress, with a simple hat to match. Her underclothing was unusually fine.”

“In the nature of a disguise,” said the superintendent. “A rich woman who wished to seem poor.”

“Perhaps; but here’s the great point which makes the{15} case extraordinary and seems to connect the woman with Helstone.

“In a pocket of her dress were five loose diamonds. Four of them were ordinary stones worth about four hundred dollars apiece.

“The fifth was a splendid gem of the first water. It is worth over five thousand dollars.”

“Looks as if she was a member of the gang, and was trying to get away with some of the plunder.”

“It certainly has that appearance.”

“What did you do with the jewels?” asked the chief, after a pause.

“I sent them to headquarters, and furnished a description of them to the papers. Probably the last editions of some of them will have the description.”

The chief nodded.

“Yes,” he said, “we want the stones identified as soon as possible.”

“And also the woman,” Nick added.

“What is her description?”

“Age thirty, medium height, weighs about one hundred and thirty pounds, hazel eyes, very abundant hair, of a peculiar bronze hue; regular features, and, in general, unusual personal beauty. There are no distinguishing marks.”

“Looks like a refined woman?”

“Decidedly.”

“Where is the wound?”

“In the back. The dagger did not touch the heart,{16} but it grazed the spine, and there are signs that paralysis will follow, ending, of course, in death.”

“You’ve decided to take charge of the case, Nick?”

“I have.”

“Good. You have informed Inspector McLaughlin?”

“Certainly.”

“There’s nothing that I can do.”

“I think not, thank you.”

“Then I’ll get back to bed. Good luck to you, Nick. Helstone is game worthy of your skill, but you’ll bag him.”

At nine o’clock on that morning Nick was in Inspector McLaughlin’s office.

He held in his hand the five diamonds which had been taken from the wounded woman’s pocket.

“These four stones,” said the inspector, “will be hard to identify. The big one should find its rightful owner easily.”

He had no sooner spoken the words than Nathan Lusker was announced. He came to see whether the diamonds were a part of his stolen stock.

Lusker failed to identify them. His description did not fit the large jewel at all. This stone was cut in a peculiar manner, so that its owner should be able to describe it in a way to settle all doubt.

When Lusker had departed, an East Side jeweler called. He had no better fortune. The stones were evidently not his.

Then a card was brought in by an officer.{17}

“Morton H. Parks,” the inspector read. “He’s not a jeweler. Bring him in.”

Mr. Parks entered immediately. He was a fine-looking man of middle age, with the face of a scholar.

He wore neither beard nor mustache.

“I called to examine some jewels,” he said. “They were, I understand, found last night in the possession of an unfortunate woman—a thief—who was stabbed by some of her accomplices.”

“Well, as to that I wouldn’t speak positively,” said the inspector, “but we have five diamonds here, and I don’t doubt that they were stolen.”

“I have reason to think,” replied Mr. Parks, “that the larger of them was stolen from my residence.”

He proceeded at once to describe the stone, and he had not spoken a dozen words before the inspector was convinced that the owner of the diamonds had appeared.

One of the smaller stones he also described very closely, and he expressed the opinion that all of them were his.

“They were stolen on the night of August 3d,” said he. “A burglar took the entire contents of my wife’s jewel casket.”

“What else did he take?” asked Nick.

Mr. Parks seemed to be much embarrassed.

“Nothing else,” he replied, at last, “except some money which was in my pocketbook.”

“What was your total loss?”

“In excess of thirty thousand dollars.”

“Why did you not report your loss to the police?{18}”

The visitor tried to speak, but his voice stuck in his throat. He seemed to be suffering great mental distress.

“Was it because you suspected some member of your family?”

Mr. Parks bowed his head in assent. Then, with an effort, he recovered his self-command.

“I am ashamed to confess,” he said, “that I did at first suspect my nephew, who lived with us. It is dreadful to think of it, but circumstances pointed to him. I am rejoiced to find that I was wholly wrong, and that the robbery was done by an organized gang of burglars.”

“Your identification of the large diamond,” said the inspector, “satisfies me that you are the owner. Yet, on account of its value in money, and its value to us as a clew, I wish to be doubly certain. Is there any way you can strengthen the identification?”