CHAPTER I. THROUGH LOCKED DOORS.

“The thing seems impossible!”

“Yet it’s true.”

“You mean to tell me that——”

“I mean to tell you that Mrs. de Puyster van Dietrich, who retired to her room in this hotel last night at eleven o’clock, was not there this morning when her maid went to call her, and that her doors were all bolted and locked, with the keys inside.”

“What about the windows?”

“Mrs. van Dietrich’s rooms are on the fourth floor.”

“Well?”

“She did not jump out, Mallory, if that’s what you mean. They overlook the sea, and there are jagged rocks immediately beneath her windows. She would surely have been killed if she had gone that way. Anyhow, she is a well-balanced woman, who enjoys life, and a multimillionaire. Why should she commit suicide?”

“I don’t know why she should, Savage. That’s nothing. Seventy-five out of a hundred suicides seem to have no good reason behind them—until investigation is made afterward.”

“She did not jump out of the window, I tell you.”

“Perhaps she fell out,” suggested Mallory, sticking to his guns.

“She neither jumped nor fell out,” snapped the other. “The rocks would tell the story if she had.”

James Mallory and Paul Savage, proprietors of the new summer hotel, the Amsterdam—situated on a picturesque promontory on the Delaware coast, with the broad Atlantic stretching away from its very foundation walls—faced each other blankly in their private office.

It was well on in the morning, and two weeks after the opening of the hotel, and judicious advertising had resulted in the house being comfortably full already. The[Pg 3] rooms—some single, but mostly en suite—had been engaged largely in advance, and the guests were practically all of the well-to-do class, with a fair sprinkling of very wealthy.

Mrs. de Puyster van Dietrich was not the only multimillionaire, for there were several others.

Mallory was a stout, imposing-looking man, always immaculately attired, and with a suave manner that had perhaps led in the first place to his becoming a “promoter.” Assuredly it had helped him when fairly launched in that interesting occupation. His very appearance was a guarantee that the company he represented was sound and certain to pay healthy dividends to the stockholders.

Paul Savage, his partner, was a cadaverous individual, with many lines about his lank jaw and the hunted look in his deep-set eyes which one often sees in the hard-working business man, whose talent is mainly for detail.

The two men had been associated in various schemes for years. Some of them had turned out well, while others had not. Now they had plunged on this hotel scheme, got a company behind them, and were hoping that, when the time came for them to “unload,” they would find themselves with enough money to rest on their oars while selecting some new enterprise, which would promise even better than this.

On this morning, Mallory had been sitting behind his desk, swelling with satisfaction as he figured on the profits that would result from the guests who already were in the house, if they stayed a week or two longer, without counting others that might come.

He had just been reading a letter he had received a week ago from a certain Baroness Latour, who had engaged a suite of rooms, insisting that they must look out over the sea. The price was not so much an object, as her having pleasant rooms, with a clear ocean view.

“Well,” Mallory had muttered, “the baroness has rooms right over the cliff. That ought to suit her. I hope she[Pg 4] slept well last night. There is a clear drop from her window of forty-five feet to the water, at least. The waves wash against the wall of the house on that side.”

He had got to this stage of his musings when Paul Savage burst in with the news that Mrs. van Dietrich had disappeared in so inexplicable a way from her apartments.

How a rather large lady, of dignified aspect and deliberate movement, could have been spirited from her bed and carried out of the house, without anybody being aware of it, was something that neither of the partners could comprehend.

“If her doors had been unfastened,” grunted Savage, “there might have been some explanation. But all of them are locked and bolted within.”

“She’d gone to bed, you say?”

“So her maid says. But she had dressed herself before she went away.”

“That shows she wasn’t kidnaped,” remarked Mallory.

“It doesn’t show anything,” rejoined Savage. “How do you account for the doors being fastened inside, with the keys left in the locks in the rooms? You don’t suppose a lady leaving her rooms would have somebody inside to bolt and lock the doors and then get out of the window in a flying machine, do you?”

“Where is the maid?” asked Mallory.

“In hysterics in the housekeeper’s room,” was the disgusted reply. “She and the housekeeper got in with the housekeeper’s master key, and after one look at Mrs. van Dietrich’s bed, the girl darted at her employer’s trunks, of which she had the keys, and searched through them. All the jewelry was gone.”

“H’m! Perhaps the maid——”

“She had never left her own room from the time she went there, after putting her mistress to bed, until she went to call Mrs. van Dietrich this morning. We have the testimony of the maid who shares the room with her for that. This maid was awake with the toothache, practically all night, and she knows the other one never left the room.”

“Have you done anything about it?” asked Mallory.

“Yes,” was the reply. “I heard about this thing two hours ago.”

“You did? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What would have been the use? I thought I might find out, by quiet investigation, before I came to you. Only the housekeeper and the maid, Mary Cook, know Mrs. van Dietrich is gone. After ten minutes’ inquiry and examination, I decided it was too much for us alone, and I wired to New York for Nicholas Carter.”

“The big detective, eh? That was a good move, Paul. I only hope he’ll come. What did you say in the message?”

“Told him an important case was here for him, and that we would pay any fee. He could name his own figure. But it was urgent, and would he come at once?”

“Two hours since you sent that to him in New York?”

“A little more than two hours. But I’ve had no answer. If he’d start at once, he could be here by evening.”

“Perhaps he isn’t at home.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. He’s the only man I can think of who would be likely to make anything of this. It’s too much for the average policeman. Indeed——”

A rap at the door of the office made Paul Savage step to[Pg 5] the door with an irritable wrinkling upon his lean face of a score of lines which had not been there before, while James Mallory growled from behind his desk.

“Oh, Colonel Pearson?” ejaculated Savage, with forced toleration, as he found himself face to face with one of the house’s guests. “Is there anything——”

Colonel Pearson was a cleanly built, soldierly looking man, with broad shoulders and a remarkably keen face. The dark eyes had a way of looking through anybody on whom they rested. At least, that was the conclusion to which Paul Savage had come. He was in summer attire, and had the calm insouciance of the wealthy man of leisure.

“I have received a telegram,” remarked the colonel, holding up a crumpled yellow paper. “It has only just got to me. I came at once to see what it was all about.”

“Telegram? I have only sent one since I have been here, and that was to a person in New York.”

The colonel smiled.

“Exactly. You sent it to a person who was supposed to be in New York. But it happens that he was much nearer.”

“I don’t understand,” faltered Savage.

“I don’t, either,” added Mallory, who had been sitting behind his desk, listening in bewilderment. “Do you know anything about that person, Colonel Pearson?”

“If you will permit me to close the door,” was the response, “I will tell you.”

He shut the door and slipped the bolt into place. Then, as he approached the desk to which Paul Savage had retreated, as if seeking the moral support of his partner, he said quietly:

“You telegraphed Nicholas Carter, at his home in Madison Avenue, New York, to come here quickly, on an important case. That is how this telegram reads,” he adds, as he smoothed out the yellow paper and looked at it. “I have only to say that, though I chose to be known here as Colonel Pearson, since I came to enjoy a short vacation, my real name is Nicholas Carter, and I live in Madison Avenue, New York.”

“You Nicholas Carter?” gasped Savage. “Why, I thought Carter was an altogether different sort of man.”

“I understand,” laughed Nick. “You did not bargain for my being here, in light clothes and white canvas shoes, with a golf club in my hand. It did not occur to you that I might be an everyday man. You thought that, as a detective, I should wear a lowering look and salute you with a mysterious ‘Hist!’ when you opened the door just now.”

“Not exactly, but——”

“Yet a detective must be allowed his play time, like any other man,” continued Nick. “I have just been playing golf with the Baroness Latour. She is an early riser, as I am, and when I chanced to meet her on the links, we agreed to play together, instead of singly. So we have done nine holes. It was a drawn game. Here is your telegram. It was redirected to me, in my assumed name of Colonel Pearson, to this hotel, as you see, by my assistant.”

Paul Savage continued to look steadily at the calm face of the detective, as if not quite satisfied. But Mallory broke in, with an impatient grunt:

“Of course, you have no idea what induced us to send for you, Mr. Carter?[Pg 6]”

“It has to do with the disappearance of Mrs. de Puyster van Dietrich, has it not?”

“Why, how did you know?” demanded Savage. “Not a word has been said about it outside of this office and the housekeeper’s room. We have been very careful to keep any inkling of the affair from our guests.”

The detective glanced at him quickly, and there was a narrowing of the dark eyes which told of swift thinking.

“Indeed? Are you sure nothing has got out about it?” he asked.

“Quite. There are four persons who know about Mrs. van Dietrich’s disappearance: My partner, Mr. Mallory, the housekeeper, and Mrs. van Dietrich’s maid. That is all. Well, there is one more—yourself, of course. We did not know that you had found it out. We don’t understand how you did it, either.”

“Well, I prefer not to tell you that just now,” answered Nick Carter. “That is, if you desire me to take this case.”

“We most certainly do,” declared Paul Savage earnestly.

CHAPTER II. BITS OF EVIDENCE.

“Sit down, won’t you, Mr. Carter?”

James Mallory, who had been so interested in gazing at the great detective as to forget the ordinary amenities, offered this invitation. Getting up from his own chair behind the flat-topped desk, he placed one for the visitor, with a propitiatory smile.

“Now, what is the first move, Mr. Carter?” asked Paul Savage, as they settled down.

“Let me go over the particulars, as they have come to me,” replied Nick. “We will see if they agree with the information you have.”

“Good idea!” commended Mallory.

“To begin with, Mrs. van Dietrich was put to bed by her maid, Mary Cook, about eleven o’clock last night. The maid sleeps on the sixth floor, at the top of the house. Mrs. van Dietrich’s three rooms and bath are on the fourth.”

“That’s correct,” nodded Savage.

“At eight o’clock this morning, Mary Cook went to awaken her employer, according to her custom. She could not make the lady hear, and she got scared. So she went to the housekeeper, Mrs. Joyce, and told her she was afraid Mrs. van Dietrich was sick. Mrs. Joyce went with her, and, with her master key, unlocked the door, and, also, with another key, shot back the bolt.”

“That’s the way I got it,” breathed Paul Savage. “Though how you managed to get it so exact——”

“When the two women went into the room, they found the bed had been slept in, and Mrs. van Dietrich’s nightgown had been thrown carelessly across it. The windows were closed, except for a few inches at the top, for ventilation. This was the case in all three rooms, and the ventilator in the bathroom was open, as usual.”

“There were no signs of a struggle,” remarked Savage.

“So I understand,” assented Nick. “Another thing is that the clothes which Mrs. van Dietrich wore the day before went with her. She must have dressed herself—or been dressed by somebody else—before going away.”

“That is all true, as I got it,” observed Paul Savage. “But there is another point, which you have not mentioned.[Pg 7]”

“And that is——”

“All the jewelry in her trunks was taken out, although the trunks were locked when the maid examined them this morning. The girl had the keys.”

“Oh, she had?”

The intonation with which the detective made this remark caused Savage to shake his head decidedly.

“I understand,” went on Nick. “You mean there is no suspicion attaching to the maid? Well, I am of the same opinion. You have not been able to find the slightest clew, have you?”

“None.”

“Have any of the guests left the hotel this morning? I mean, left altogether?”

“No. All of them will stay with us for several days, at least, so I expect. They are here to enjoy the quietude and beauty of the place. They are not transients, such as you find in city hotels.”

“None of them have given notice to leave, have they?” continued Nick, disregarding the encomium on the hotel and its surroundings.

“I don’t think so. Are there any, Mallory?” asked Savage, turning to his partner.

“I haven’t heard of any. I’ll ask the clerk, if you like. The phone is right here,” replied Mallory, laying a hand upon his desk telephone.

“That is not necessary,” declared the detective. “I have already asked him. I came through the office to this room, and I picked up what information I could on the way.”

“You’re a pretty good picker, too, I should say,” remarked Mallory, with a grin. “You seem to know about all we have found out.”

“If any of the guests say they are going to leave, I wish you’d let me know at once,” requested Nick, as he got up from his chair. “I’ll go and send a telegram to New York. Then I should like to look at Mrs. van Dietrich’s rooms. They haven’t been disturbed, I hope.”

“No. I gave orders that no one should go into them after the maid had looked at the trunks. Mrs. Joyce has her own keys, and she has fastened all the doors as they were before, except that she had to knock out one of the keys that had been left in the bedroom door, so that she could put in her own.”

“That’s good. I’ll send a message by telephone to the telegraph office at Dorset, from one of the booths in the lobby. I’ll be right back.”

The detective telephoned the message, as he had said, directed to his assistant Chick, in Madison Avenue, New York. He told Chick to come down to the Hotel Amsterdam at once, and to bring the bloodhound, Captain—which had done so much effective police work for them at various times—with him.

Nick Carter knew perfectly well that Mallory, or Savage, had taken the receiver off the hook in their office, and were listening to him over the wire.

That did not disturb him. He had rather expected it, and his object in telegraphing from the booth, instead of from their office, as he might have done, was to satisfy himself that they would descend to the meanness of “listening in” to a private message.

He strolled back to their office when he had dispatched his telegram, and when the door was opened, stood on the threshold with a smile as he told them he was ready to go to the room of the vanished Mrs. van Dietrich.[Pg 8]

“One moment,” he added, as they were about to come forth. “I should like to say something to you with the door closed.”

He stepped into the office, closing the door behind him, and said, in an earnest whisper:

“Let me impress one thing upon you, gentlemen. I understand that you are anxious to keep any knowledge of this strange disappearance from your patrons, and also that you would not like it in the newspapers?”

“The newspapers?” fairly shrieked James Mallory. “That would settle us. I believe if I saw a reporter around this hotel, I would fling him out of the window into the sea. And, of course, we must not let our guests know. It would give the hotel a fearful black eye—although it is no fault of ours.”

“Very well,” observed Nick. “Then be careful that no one suspects my identity. I am Colonel Pearson, remember. If any one outside of yourselves were to know who I am, there would be no use my going on with the case.”

“You can depend on us keeping it a secret,” asserted Savage promptly. “We are too anxious for you to solve the mystery to throw any obstacles in your way.”

“That’s what!” added Mallory. “What do you think of it all?”

“We have seen the effect,” returned Nick, “and we know that it must have a cause.”

“That’s all right. But what is the cause?” growled Savage.

“The cause is never less than the effect,” continued the detective. “Therefore, arguing by the importance of the effect, we must look for a fairly powerful cause. Now, let’s go up to the fourth floor.”

The elevator man evidently had not heard of anything unusual in the hotel, for he merely glanced at the two partners and the gentleman he had come to know as Colonel Pearson, and when he was told to let them off at the fourth floor, he did so without emotion.

“That’s good,” remarked Nick, as they walked along the thickly carpeted corridor. “I can see that the incident concerning Mrs. van D. has not become common property. Is this the door?”

Savage nodded and opened a door with his master key, ushered them into a sitting room, and closed the door behind them.

Nick Carter walked on to the bedroom, and after a cursory glance at the bed, went to the window.

Drawing from his pocket a powerful magnifying glass, he proceeded to examine every inch of the window sill, working in a series of imaginary squares.

The two partners watched him curiously, but he took no notice of them. When he had finished his minute inspection of the sill and frame, he threw up the window and leaned out.

“You have made careful examination of the rocks under this window, I presume?” he asked.

“Yes. We have gone over them thoroughly,” replied Savage. “There is nothing there.”

“Ah! Whose rooms are those that overlook the water on this same floor? I see there is no shore or rocks at all there. The house seems to have been built straight out of the sea.”

James Mallory walked to the window and looked out. He shook his head.[Pg 9]

“Come over here, Savage,” he said. “I don’t know what rooms they are. You know, don’t you?”

“Yes,” answered his partner, putting out his head and looking along the rows of windows. “That window, where the curtain is blowing out, and the next one, are number forty-eight. A lady occupies the suite. Let me see! Oh, yes! the Baroness Latour.”

“Indeed?” remarked Nick Carter carelessly. “She’s a very charming young lady. We were playing golf together this morning, as I told you. Now, let me have a look at this room door.”

Turning the key, he swung the door open a few inches.

“You’d better stand outside, Mr. Mallory,” he suggested. “If anybody comes along and seems curious, you can say that I am repairing the lock. Tell them that Colonel Pearson makes a hobby of this sort of thing. I’ll keep out of sight as much as possible, however.”