CHAPTER I. AN OLD OFFENDER.

“Oh, no, I have not forgotten you. I never forget the face of a crook.”

The speaker was Nick Carter. His voice, though somewhat under ordinary pitch, had a subtle and ominous ring. There was a threatening glint in the eyes he had fixed upon the face of the man he addressed.

It was a striking and impressive face, nearly as strong and impressive as that of the famous detective—but for directly opposite reasons.

Nick Carter’s face was frank, manly, and wholesome.

That at which he was gazing was pallid, sinister, and severe. Its clean-cut features were as hard as flint. The thin-lipped mouth denoted cruelty and vicious determination. The square jaw and aggressive chin evinced firmness and bulldog tenacity. The cold gray eyes had a shifty gleam and glitter seen only in the eyes of what the detective had called this man—a crook.

He took up the epithet bitterly, saying, with a sneer:

“Crook, eh! You cannot prove it.”

“I may sooner or later.”

“You have tried—and failed.”

“Failure never deters me from trying again. You know the old adage.”

“You succeeded only in smirching my name, in giving me a bad reputation. It caused my friends to desert and avoid me. It excluded me from the clubs, the reputable hotels, from every desirable place that I had been accustomed to frequent. It has changed my life and turned it as arid as the heart of a desert. I have you to thank for all this—you, Carter!”

“You are mistaken,” Nick replied. “You have only yourself to thank for it.”

{3}

“We view it differently.”

“Where have you been for the past two years?”

“Not where you tried to put me.”

“In Sing Sing.”

“Yes.”

“Nor have you been in New York, or I should have known it.”

“You would have known it, too, if I had been arrested.”

“Most likely—if arrested under your own name.”

“You remember that, then, also.”

“Both the face and name of a crook, Stuart Floyd, I always remember,” said Nick. “I make it a point never to forget them.”

Floyd’s thin lips curled again with intense scorn and bitterness.

“That epithet again,” said he between his teeth. “I have you to thank for it—and repay.”

“Ah! I see now why you stopped me,” said Nick. “You wanted to threaten me.”

They had met in Madison Avenue; in fact, the detective having left his residence only a few moments before. It was about ten o’clock in the morning.

“Threaten you!” exclaimed Floyd, with ominous quietude. “There has been no day or night for two years that I have not threatened you.”

“Indeed!”

“Have you supposed that I forgot, that my memory is less retentive than yours, that I have less cause than you to remember? Have you thought for a moment that I forget and forgive?”

“It matters very little to me, Floyd, whether you do or not,” Nick calmly informed him, entirely unaffected by the subdued yet vicious intensity with which the other was speaking.

“Later, Carter, you will pipe a different tune,” Floyd went on, with eyes vengefully gleaming. “I will not sleep until the debt is paid. I am going to put something over on you, Carter, that will more than balance our{4} account. Smile scornfully, if you will, but wait until I plunge you into the melting pot. It will come—take my word for that. It’s you for the melting pot. You for the melting pot!”

Nick Carter did not ask him what he meant—did not seriously care. Nor did he attempt to detain him, though he glanced after him a bit sharply.

Stuart Floyd had stepped to one side, then walked briskly away without a backward glance, and he was quickly lost to view in the throng of pedestrians then in the avenue.

Nick Carter walked on as if nothing had occurred. The threat did not alarm him. He gave it hardly a second thought.

It was two years since he had seen Stuart Floyd, since he arrested him for complicity in the looting of the Imperial Loan Company by Morris Garland and Moses Hart, its two treacherous managers, the case involving the felonious pawning of Lady Waldmere’s valuable jewels, held by them for collateral.

The prosecution, however, had not ended quite as Nick had expected. Both Garland and Hart were convicted and sent to the State’s prison, where they still were confined.

The two women involved in the abduction of Lady Waldmere, Vera Vantoon and her sister, Leah, were given a year for that part of the crime. It could not be proved, however, that either was involved in the looting of the loan company. They since had served their time and been liberated.

Though Nick Carter was convinced of his guilt, moreover, Stuart Floyd had, with the help of an able criminal lawyer, contrived to slip through the fingers of justice. Both Garland and Hart had sworn that Floyd knew nothing about the looting, that he had acted only as their agent in the handling of the jewels, and that he was entirely ignorant of the abduction of Lady Waldmere.

Nick felt morally sure, however, that Stuart Floyd was back of the whole business, despite the fact that it could not be proved to the satisfaction of the jury that had acquitted him.

Nick was not surprised at Floyd’s subsequent disappearance, for he had posed as a person of character and a popular man about town. The suspicion was one that would not down, however, and the stigma apparently had resulted in his disappearance, though none could say where he had gone. It was with some surprise, therefore, that the detective encountered him that morning.

Nick had not lost sight of Lord Waldmere and his wife in the meantime, and he was an occasional caller at the handsome residence bought in Riverside Drive by the Englishman, who had been cast out and disinherited because of his marriage with Mary Royal, at that time a beautiful American chorus girl.

Lord Waldmere’s investments in Colorado mines had proved very profitable, however, and he fast was becoming further estranged from his native land and more and more infatuated with American life and customs, in part due to the wishes of his charming wife. He had dropped his English title, becoming simply Mr. Archie Waldmere, though his prestige had won him a legion of friends and admission into the first circles of society.

Nick Carter was informed on all of these points, and of all of the friends of the Waldmeres, none was more friendly and gratefully regarded than the famous detective.{5}

It was with some little surprise, nevertheless, three days following his meeting with Stuart Floyd, that Nick received an urgent telephone summons to the Waldmere residence with his chief assistants, Chick Carter and Patsy Garvan.

The communication came from Mr. Waldmere himself, convincing Nick that something very serious had occurred. Without waiting to inquire into the details, however, he at once complied, in company with Chick and Patsy.

CHAPTER II. THE STOLEN PLATE.

It was eleven o’clock when Nick Carter arrived with Chick and Patsy at the Waldmere residence that morning. The butler admitted them, while Lord Waldmere and his wife came hurrying through the broad, handsomely furnished hall to meet them.

“Come into the library,” said Lord Waldmere, after their greeting. “By Jove, I’m deucedly glad you could come so quickly. I’m in a terrible state. I’m the victim of a beastly job, as you American detectives call them. ’Pon my word, Carter, I don’t know whether I’m afoot or horseback. I’m infernally upset, don’t you know——”

“Won’t it be well, then, Waldmere, to let your wife tell me what has occurred?” Nick suggested, interrupting. “I infer that it is something of a criminal nature, or you would not require my services.”

“That hits the bally nail on the nob,” groaned the Englishman. “I have been jolly well robbed, Mr. Carter, jolly well robbed and——”

“Sit down, Archie, dear, and let me state the case,” Mrs. Waldmere interrupted, after all had entered the finely furnished library. “I can inform Mr. Carter much more briefly than you, and he evidently feels that time may be valuable.”

Lord Waldmere always yielded to his wife, at which none wondered, for her beauty and charm were quite irresistible.

“Archie has, as you already know, decided to remain permanently in America, or at least until a reconciliation has been effected with his family, of which there appears to be no prospect as long as his father, the Earl of Eggleston, lives.”

“Yes, I know about that,” Nick bowed.

“Archie not only has been successful in his mining ventures,” Mrs. Waldmere continued, “but he also inherited from his mother, who was the earl’s second wife, nearly all of her extensive estate.

“It comprised the London residence of her father, also the old manor house and estate in Dorsetshire, with all that they contained. This included a fine library, numerous costly paintings, portraits, and other furnishings, and also a large quantity of valuable silver and gold plate, which has been a heritage of the Waldmeres for two centuries. It is of the massive and beautifully engraved kind that we do not see in these days, and it is valued at something like a hundred thousand dollars.”

“That’s the blooming truth, Mr. Carter,” nodded Waldmere. “I would jolly well rather have given a leg, old top, than have lost it.”

“Lost it!” echoed Nick. “Do you mean that you have been robbed of the plate?{6}”

“Yes, bah Jove, that’s just what I mean. The bally stuff, you see, was——”

“One moment, Archie,” Mrs. Waldmere interposed. “Let’s state the facts briefly.”

“Yes, do so,” put in Nick attentively.

“After having bought this beautiful residence, which still is only partly furnished,” she continued; “Archie decided to ship over here most of his English furnishings, including the library, the paintings and portraits, a quantity of costly rugs, tapestries, and draperies, and also all of the gold and silver plate.”

“Ah, I see!” Nick nodded. “The plate has been stolen during transportation.”

“Exactly.”

“Tell me what you know about it.”

“That can be briefly told. Archie wrote to his London agent, Mr. Cherry, a thoroughly reliable man, giving him all of the necessary directions. Mr. Cherry had the goods packed for shipment. They filled twenty large cases. These were marked and numbered to correspond with an inventory mailed to Archie, stating what each case contained.”

“The inventory was duly received?” Nick questioned.

“Yes, it came nearly two weeks ago.”

“Continue.”

“The goods were shipped on the liner Flodora, which should have arrived in New York five days ago. As you may have read in the newspapers, however, she had a break in some part of her engine and was compelled to put into Boston, where her cargo was discharged and shipped to New York by rail. We were notified by New York agents on the day of her arrival, informing us how our shipment would be forwarded.”

“I follow you,” said Nick.

“To guard against any mishap, Mr. Carter, we then sent our chauffeur to Boston to engage a special car for our goods and to see that all of the twenty cases were put into it.”

“What is his name?”

“Frank Gilbert. I have known him for years. He is strictly honest and capable. He remained in Boston and saw the twenty cases put into the freight car. He also saw that it was properly closed and sealed. The car was sent on an hour later, for the train was being made up at the time, and it arrived here and was sidetracked in the railway yard early this morning. We were notified by telephone and told that we could take away the goods.”

“What more, Mrs. Waldmere?” Nick inquired.

“Following our instructions, Gilbert already had made arrangements with Macklin & Dale, the express company, to bring the cases to this house,” she continued. “We telephoned to them at once, and were told that they would have a van at the car at ten o’clock. We sent Gilbert there at half past nine with the bill of lading, which the freight agent requires from strangers before he will deliver the goods. Gilbert arrived at the car at precisely ten o’clock. No dray was there.”

“The truckman was late?”

“Something more than that. He was sent, as agreed, but was stopped on his way by a policeman, who claimed to identify him as a crook wanted by the authorities, and who detained him half an hour to question him.”

“H’m, I see,” Nick nodded. “Something more, indeed, Mrs. Waldmere.{7}”

“In the meantime, Mr. Carter, another wagon, bearing the firm name of the express company, went to the railway yard. Two men were in charge of it. They presented a forged bill of lading, stating that they had been sent to take away three of the cases, the numbers of which were specified, as soon as possible. One of the yard hands was sent to the car with them, and the cases were delivered to them about twenty minutes before Gilbert arrived. They were the three cases, Mr. Carter, that contained the valuable Waldmere plate.”

“Yes, by Jove, and the bally rascals got away with them,” cried Waldmere, in tones of bitter dismay. “I’ve been jolly well robbed, Mr. Carter, jolly well robbed of——”

“One moment, Waldmere,” said Nick, checking him with a gesture. “Your wife has made this crime perfectly clear to me. Just how it was accomplished is not quite as plain. We must look into it. I infer, Mrs. Waldmere, there is nothing more of importance that you can add.”

“No, nothing, Mr. Carter,” she replied. “That’s the whole story.”

“That, on the contrary, is only the beginning of the story,” corrected Nick. “Much must be done and with some risk, I anticipate, before the whole story is told. What, besides sending for me, have you done about the robbery?”

“Nothing,” said Mrs. Waldmere. “Gilbert informed us of it by telephone. We directed him to have the car reclosed and locked pending an investigation, and I then advised Archie to telephone to you and place the case in your hands. He did so immediately.”

Nick looked at his watch. It was nearly twelve o’clock. Two hours had passed since the crime was committed. It was obvious to him, of course, that the crooks had made a big haul and got safely away with their plunder.

Nick glanced expressively at Patsy Garvan after a moment, and the latter rightly read the look in his chief’s eyes. He arose almost immediately and sauntered into the adjoining hall, closing the library door when he passed out of the room. He knew that Nick wanted to be sure that the following conversation was not heard by any of the servants.

“Before beginning an investigation, Mr. Waldmere, I wish to caution you and your wife to say nothing about any views I may express, neither to your friends nor in the hearing of your servants,” said Nick, addressing both quite impressively. “Though you did not observe, I directed one of my assistants to close the door and wait for me in the hall. That will insure us against an eavesdropper.”

“But, hang it, my dear Carter, I’m deucedly well sure that all of my servants are trustworthy,” Waldmere quickly asserted. “’Pon my word, sir——”

“The word of one of them, or possibly more, may not be near as good as you think,” Nick interrupted. “Permit me to be the judge, please, and do what I have directed.”

“Certainly, Mr. Carter,” put in Mrs. Waldmere. “You may depend upon it.”

“It must be obvious to you, of course, that this theft was very carefully planned and quickly committed, with definite information of your designs and what was to be stolen. Otherwise, it could not possibly have been accomplished in the way it was done.{8}”

“Surely not, Nick,” Chick nodded. “That’s dead open and shut.”

“To whom have you confided your intentions, Waldmere, outside of this house?” Nick inquired.

“Only to my London agent and the expressman I employed. But the latter cannot have known what the three cases contained.”

“You have confided in none of your friends, or acquaintances?”

“No, not one.”

“But you have discussed the matter here at times with your wife?”

“Yes, certainly.”

“Your London agent is reliable, you say?”

“Absolutely,” Waldmere declared. “There is no question about it.”

“Obviously, then, the information obtained by the crooks must have been imparted by some one who overheard you discussing your designs, and who has been constantly informed of your intentions and what was being done. Naturally, of course, suspicion points to one of your servants.”

“But——”

“Don’t let’s argue the point,” Nick again interrupted. “Let me have my way, Waldmere, that we may get after the crooks as quickly as possible.”

“Very well. It’s up to you.”

“Now, to proceed, how many servants do you employ?”

“Six,” said Mrs. Waldmere. “Picard, our French chef. A woman in the kitchen, named Maggie Coyle.”

“Young, or well along in years?”

“About fifty.”

“Not likely, then, to be in such a job,” said Nick. “Besides, her position in the house, as well as that of the chef, would have made it difficult for them to have learned all of the necessary details. They are out of it.”

“We employ a butler, John Patterson,” continued Mrs. Waldmere. “Also my maid, Della Martin, and a maid for general work, named Minerva Grand. All came well recommended. I have known our chauffeur, Frank Gilbert, for years, as I have said.”

“They comprise your list of servants?”

“Yes.”

“Has Gilbert returned from the railway yard?”

“He has and is waiting in the basement. He met the truckman sent by Macklin & Dale, and we directed him to bring him here, also, thinking you might wish to question both.”

“I will do so,” said Nick. “Have the truckman sent up here. I want both of you to wait in another room while I am talking with him, also with Gilbert, whom I will send for a little later. Do not ask my reasons, but kindly comply.”

Waldmere looked a bit surprised, but he made no objection. He arose at once and left the room with his wife.

“Well, what do you make of it?” Chick inquired, while they waited for the truckman. “It looks to me like a bit of remarkably clever work.”

Nick nodded and added:

“With inside help.”

“You feel sure of that?”

“Reasonably sure,” said Nick. “The circumstances point to absolutely definite information on the part of the{9} crooks, much more so than if there had been only three cases shipped and all three stolen.”

“That’s true,” Chick allowed.

“They must have known the numbers of the three cases containing the gold plate. They must have known that the location of those three particular cases in the freight car was such that they could quickly remove them, or they could not have figured so fine as to time. They got away with them, mind you, only twenty minutes before Gilbert arrived in the yard.”

“That’s right, too, by Jove.”

“Furthermore—but here comes our man,” Nick broke off abruptly. “We will size it up later.”

The truckman had entered while the detective was speaking.

CHAPTER III. NICK CARTER’S CRAFT.

Nick Carter needed only to glance at the face of the man who had entered to feel assured of his honesty. He was a rugged, red-cheeked Scotchman of nearly fifty years, clad in a checked blouse and overalls and carrying in one of his begrimed and calloused hands a faded woolen cap.

“Come nearer, my man,” said Nick pleasantly. “What is your name?”

“Tom McLauren, sir,” he replied, complying.

“How long have you been in the employ of Macklin & Dale?”

“Ten years, sir.”

“I have been told on what job you were sent out this morning, also that you were detained by a policeman who——”

“That’s wrong, sir,” McLauren said quickly. “I may have said a policeman, sir, not thinking, but he was a plain-clothes man who stopped me.”

“One you knew by sight?”

“No, sir. But he showed me his detective badge and——”

“I understand,” Nick interrupted. “Where did he stop you?”