CHAPTER I. AN OPEN QUESTION.

The solitary ray of light that found its way into the dismal room seemed to shrink from entering.

Silence reigned supreme within.

Outside, even the stillness of the night was hardly broken.

It was a ray of moonlight, as feeble through the misty air as “the glowworm’s ineffectual fire.”

It found its way in, nevertheless, under one broken slat of a closed blind, and then it seemed to hesitate, losing life and shrinking from going farther.

Was there a lost life within?

The ray of light came farther and fell upon only one object in the room. All else was gloom and silence.

It stood near the partly open window and the closed blinds. It was as motionless as a block of stone, as white as a figure of marble, as cold as a form of clay.

Its covering of white hid it entirely from view, had there been eyes to see. It hung in flimsy folds on either side of the narrow, unpillowed bed. Now and then a breath of the night air stirred it, but only as if in mockery, and an observer would have shrunk and shuddered—lest its motion had been imparted by what it covered.

It was the only sign of life amid the gloom and silence.

Suddenly the stillness was broken, but only faintly. It was as if a bell tolled too soon the funeral knell. In some quarter remote from the dismal room, a clock struck the hour—three slow, mellow strokes of the bell.

Three o’clock in the morning.

Five hours afterward, when the November sun had risen into the heavens and dispelled the night mists that had hung over the slow-winding Potomac and the nation’s Capitol, a telephone communication sped from {3}the office of the Washington chief of police to a suite in the Willard, in which three persons then were completing their toilets for breakfast.

One was the celebrated New York detective, Nick Carter, and his two companions were his two chief assistants, Chickering Carter and Patsy Garvan.

“I’ll answer it, chief,” said Patsy, who happened to be the nearest to the room telephone.

“Go ahead,” Nick nodded. “Who can want me at this hour? Harold Garland, perhaps, or Senator Barclay, though I can’t imagine for what.”

“It’s Captain Hadley, the chief of police,” said Patsy. “He wants to talk with you.”

Nick took the receiver and called:

“Hello! What’s wanted, Hadley?”

“That you, Nick?”

“Yes.”

“How soon can you leave to meet me?”

“Immediately, Hadley, if necessary.”

“Do so, then. Meet me as soon as possible, at Herman Fink’s undertaking rooms. You know the place. It’s where that crook, Andy Margate, who committed suicide when you cornered him last night, was laid out to remain until this morning.”

“I know, Hadley, of course,” Nick replied. “But what about him?”

“His body is missing.”

“Missing!” Nick echoed, amazed.

“Yes. It was stolen in the night. Fink just telephoned me that he cannot find——”

“Enough said, Hadley,” Nick interrupted. “We’ll see what we can find. I will join you there as soon as possible. I will leave at once.”

“Great guns!” Chick exclaimed, after Nick had told him what had occurred. “Margate’s body stolen! What’s the meaning of that? Are we up against another job in which that miscreant figures?”

“Gee! he’ll not cut much of a figure in any kind of a{4} job,” said Patsy. “He was dead as a doornail when he was lugged into Fink’s back room. I can swear to that, chief, for I saw him stripped, and saw Doctor Nolan view the body. He’s the district coroner and ought to know his business. Say, chief, you don’t think that that rat has put anything over on us, do you?”

The last came from Patsy when he noticed the serious expression that had settled on Nick’s face.

“I hardly think so, though the bare possibility of it occurred to me,” Nick replied, hastening to finish his toilet.

“Holy smoke! it don’t seem possible.”

“Margate was a crafty dog,” Nick added. “He knew more than a wooden Indian. No, I don’t think, of course, that he can have fooled us.”

“Gee! that would be the last straw. I can’t believe it.”

“The theft of his body, nevertheless, unless it can be traced and proved to have been disposed of in some way is a serious matter.”

“Why so, Nick?”

“Because Margate was a dangerous crook. The disappearance of his remains is a thousand times more serious, in view of all of the possibilities involved, than would be that of an ordinary person. If Margate is still alive, incredible though it seems, he again becomes a dangerous menace to society.”

“Very true,” Chick admitted. “But, great guns, it seems utterly incredible. The undertaker, or surely the physician, would have detected it. Besides, we saw him keel over, toes up, when he swallowed poison, and——”

“Stop a moment,” Nick interrupted. “We don’t positively know that it was poison. I’m not dead sure of it, now, in view of what has occurred.”

“You suspect that it was only a drug?”

“That is possible.”

“Something that instantly caused a condition resembling death, but from which he revived later?”

“Such tricks have been turned.”

“But——”

“There is nothing in speculation,” Nick again interposed. “We’ll defer breakfast until we have looked into the matter. There may be evidence that will definitely settle it.”

“Let’s hope so.”

“You had better both go with me,” Nick added. “If the body has, indeed, been stolen, we must find a way to trace it and make absolutely sure that there was no monkey business in the death of Andy Margate. I shall not rest easy while any doubts exist concerning the fate of that designing rascal.”

It then was eight o’clock, precisely ten hours since Nick Carter and his assistants had rounded up Margate and his three confederates for the murder of Father Cleary, a Roman Catholic priest, and the abduction of Lottie Trent, the girl employed in the war department who had confided to the priest the details of a plot to blackmail Harold Garland, an engineer in the same department, as well as the father of his fiancée, Senator Barclay, both of whom had previously been seriously involved in the theft of secret fortification plans by Margate and a gang of foreign spies, all of whom had been run down by the three detectives.

Cornered by Nick and his assistants the previous night, one of the crooks had been fatally wounded, two of them arrested, and their ringleader, Margate, had committed{5} suicide by swallowing poison from a vial seized from his pocket.

There had appeared to be no reasonable doubt of it. The district medical examiner who viewed the body pronounced the man dead, and ordered the removal of the corpse to the rooms of an undertaker until morning, it then being too late to have it placed in the city morgue, pending the necessary legal steps in such cases.

Thus it occurred that the corpse of Andy Margate, or the supposed corpse, if Nick Carter’s present misgivings were warranted, rested that night in the back room of Herman Fink’s undertaking establishment, to which Nick and his assistants repaired as quickly as possible after the astounding telephone communication from Captain Hadley that morning.

The chief had just arrived when Nick entered with Chick and Patsy. They found him in the front office, talking with Herman Fink and Doctor Nolan, the coroner who had viewed the body the previous night, and who was solely responsible for the temporary disposal of it in charge of the undertaker.

The ruddy face of Herman Fink, who was a short, corpulent little German, evinced not only his consternation over what had occurred, but also the fact that he was utterly incapable of having connived in any way at the theft of the notorious crook’s remains.

“Ah, here is Carter, now,” Captain Hadley exclaimed, when the three detectives entered. “Here’s a fine mess, Nick, for fair. I have known live crooks to slip through the fingers of the police, but never a dead one. This is the first case on record.”

“We have no precedent, then, to serve us as a guide,” Nick replied, smiling a bit grimly. “Is there any question, then, as to the theft of the body?”

Herman Fink threw up his pudgy hands and exclaimed, before Chief Hadley could reply:

“Mein Gott! Vot a question? Not der slightest, Mr. Carter, not der slightest. How can there be any question, Der pody is gone, stolen from my pack room, lugged out through der vindow. Come in and see for yourself. Der plinds——”

“One moment,” Nick interposed, detaining him. “I will presently make an investigation. I understand, Doctor Nolan, that you were present when Margate’s body was brought here last night.”

The physician bowed, looking inexpressibly annoyed over what had occurred and evidently feeling that he was in a measure responsible for it.

“I was here, Mr. Carter,” he replied. “I remained until after Fink and his assistant had stripped the body and laid it out. It was nearly one o’clock, mind you, which was the only reason why I deferred sending it to the morgue until this morning. A thought of its being stolen did not enter my mind. I would not have believed it possible.”

“In view of what has occurred, can you believe it possible that the man was not dead?” Nick asked, a bit dryly.

“Not dead!” Doctor Nolan echoed, with a look of derision. “No, no, certainly not. That is absurd, Mr. Carter. I know that he was dead.”

“You feel absolutely sure of it, eh?”

“I certainly do, sir.”

“Did you make any tests to verify your opinion?”

“I did not,” Doctor Nolan declared, a bit brusquely.{6} “No test was necessary. I can tell when a man is dead, Mr. Carter, without resorting to tests.”

“Mein gracious!” Fink exclaimed, starting with a sort of ludicrous commiseration at the detective. “Vat an idea! Not tead—vy, vy, Mr. Carter, dot is der vorst I ever heard. I know der man vas tead.”

Nick did not resent these positive assertions of both the physician and the undertaker. He knew much better than they, however, to what consummate trickery knaves of Margate’s caliber sometimes resort, and he was better informed than either of the ways and means that make it possible.

“I infer, Mr. Fink, that the body was not embalmed, or you would have said so,” Nick replied.

“No, sir, it was not,” Fink allowed.

“At what time did you leave it laid out in your back room?”

“It vas half past von when I vent up to ped.”

“Do you reside over your business establishment?”

“I do, Mr. Carter, mit my family and my assistant, Hans Grost. He came down at half past seven this morning and found der pody vas stolen. He——”

“Who now has the vial, Chief Hadley, from which Margate took the supposed poison?” Nick cut in, turning to the police chief.

“Doctor Nolan has it, I believe.”

“I have,” bowed the physician. “It is in a safe in my office.”

“Does it still contain any of the liquid?”

“A very little, Mr. Carter.”

“Do you know of what it consists? Have you examined it?”

“Not yet. I anticipated no such occasion as this.”

“Hang on to it, doctor,” Nick directed. “A careful chemical analysis may become necessary. Now, Mr. Fink, lead the way to your back room. I’ll see what I make of this extraordinary robbery.”

CHAPTER II. A CURIOUS CLEW.

Nick Carter lost no time in seeking evidence that would prove conclusively that Margate’s body had really been stolen. He followed Fink through an interior room in which numerous coffins and caskets were displayed in casements of the walls, and adjoining which was the back room in which the body had lain.

It was about twelve feet square. Two windows overlooked a small back yard, from which a narrow alley led out to a side street. The yard was some six feet lower than the avenue on which the building fronted, and below the back room was a basement used for a workroom and storage purposes. A door led from the basement into the yard.

The bare bier stood nearly in the middle of the room.

The blinds of one of the windows was open, the others closed.

A sheet with which the body had been covered was missing.

The garments removed from the corpse the previous night hung on hooks in one of the walls.

Nick quickly took in these features of the scene, and he speedily learned from Fink that both blinds had been closed the night before, that one window was open a few inches, that a door leading to the basement stairs{7} was both locked and bolted, as was true of the lower one leading into the yard. Neither of them appeared to have been opened by the crooks.

“Are these all of the garments removed from the body?” Nick inquired, glancing at them.

“Yes, sir, every piece,” Fink declared.

“The remains were covered, you say?”

“Yes, sir; with a sheet, but that is gone,” said the undertaker.

“It certainly looks like a genuine case of body snatching,” Chick remarked. “Assuming that your misgivings are warranted, Nick, and that Margate tricked us with a drug and afterward revived, he surely would have put on his clothing before departing. He would not have left here unclad, or wrapped only in the missing sheet.”

“Drug be hanged!” Doctor Nolan said derisively. “That’s nonsense. That theory hasn’t feet to stand on.”

“It does seem highly improbable,” added Chief Hadley, gravely shaking his head. “I see no reasonable grounds for such a suspicion. It appears dead open and shut that the corpse was stolen.”

“We must, then, find positive evidence of it,” Nick replied. “The crooks must have left their tracks. It won’t do to remain in any uncertainty concerning the death of Margate. This matter must be positively settled.”

“Settled!” Doctor Nolan scornfully blurted. “It already is settled. There’s no question about it.”

Nick Carter did not reply. He saw nothing to be gained by an argument in support of his seemingly absurd suspicions.

Taking a powerful lens from his pocket, Nick fell to inspecting the floor, the sill of the open window, and the outside of the faded green blinds.

On the floor near the bier were particles of dry dirt, as if tracked in on soiled shoes. The dust on the stone outside of the window had recently been disturbed, while that on the slats of the blinds plainly showed the marks of fingers, evidently thrust between them in order to pull open the blinds.

Glancing down into the unpaved yard, Nick then discovered two quite deep holes in the damp ground, some three feet from the wall and directly opposite the window. He called Chick’s attention to them, remarking quietly:

“There was a short ladder set up against this window.”

“I see. Surely.”

“The indications are, indeed, that Margate was really dead and that his body was stolen. Either that, Chick, or he had confederates who removed and afterward revived him.”

“But how could they have learned that he was brought here?” Chick questioned doubtfully. “It was nearly midnight when we rounded him up, and he was brought directly here from the building in which we cornered him. Who could have learned about it, and how, between half past one and daylight, to say nothing of having framed up and pulled off such a job?”

“That remains to be learned,” Nick replied. “Nor will that alone be sufficient. His body must be traced and found. Go down with me to the yard. We’ll have a look in the alley.”

Fink led the way and unlocked the doors.

“All of you except Chick remain in the basement,” Nick directed, when the others followed him down the stairs. “If there are any footprints to be found outside,{8} or evidence of any kind, I don’t want them obliterated. They may prove to be of value.”

“Ah!” Doctor Nolan exclaimed. “I take it, Mr. Carter, that you are coming to my way of thinking.”

“There is evidence in support of your belief,” Nick frankly admitted, disregarding the tinge of sarcasm with which the physician had spoken.

“I thought you would find it.”

“I may find something more, perhaps, before I end my work in this case.”

Nick’s voice took on a more subtle ring when he replied, stepping out into the yard with his chief assistant.

There in the damp earth they found numerous hardly discernible footprints, most of them near the two holes Nick had observed from the window, or leading toward a gate opening into the alley. All of them were so intermingled and partly effaced, however, that they were of little value. After carefully inspecting them, nevertheless, Nick said quietly:

“Three men have been here. I think that was the number, judging from these faint imprints. One of them held a short ladder while the others entered that window. They brought out the body, whether dead or alive, and got away with it.”

“You still suspect trickery on Margate’s part?” questioned Chick.

“I do,” said Nick. “I believe there is something more than a coincidence in the theft of this man’s body so soon after his supposed suicide. We must go deeper, however, before I can form a more definite opinion. Let’s have a look in the alley.”

Nick found the gate unbolted and called Chick’s attention to it.

“They did not delay to fasten it,” he remarked. “Ah, here is something of more significance! The body was taken away in a box.”

“By Jove, that’s as true as death and taxes,” Chick agreed, after following Nick through the gate. “It also indicates, at least, that the persons who stole the body supposed Margate to be dead.”

“It does appear so.”

The earth in the alley was more damp than in the yard, and was of a grayish clay that readily retained an imprint.

That which at once had caught Nick’s eye was that of a long box, such as caskets are inclosed in for burial. It had been placed on the ground, into which it had sunk just enough to leave a perfectly definite impression of its outlines, presumably when a heavy body was placed in it.

Through the alley leading to the side street, moreover, were numerous footprints; but these were so intermingled and partly obliterated, like those in the yard, as to be of no great value.

Crouching upon the ground, however, Nick made a discovery that would have escaped the observation of most men. It was hardly perceptible, but the keen eyes of the famous detective seldom missed anything out of the ordinary.

“By Jove, here’s a remarkable clew,” said he, suddenly looking up. “I remember none like it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look closer.”

Nick pointed to the rectangular surface contained within the plainly discernible outlines of the box.{9}

“By gracious! there are some more faint marks on the damp clay,” said Chick, bending nearer.

“Exactly,” Nick nodded.

“What do you make of them?”

“That side of the box that came next to the ground was marked with the ordinary ink and brush such as shippers use. There probably was an address marked on the box.”

“And transferred to the clay?”

“Precisely. The damp clay moistened the ink and has retained parts of some of the more heavily marked letters, chiefly the capital letters.”

“I see.”

“They are faint and much blurred, however, as well as reversed in position; but—yes, I am right. Here are two at the end of an address marked on the box.”

“They look like two small letters, a ‘g’ and an ‘e,’” said Chick, twisting so as to view them better.

“That’s correct,” said Nick, using his lens. “They are the final letters of the word college. Here is the loop of one ‘l’, also the larger curve of the capital ‘C.’”

“By Jove, that’s very significant,” said Chick. “This may have been the crime of medical students who wanted a body for dissection.”

“I begin to think so.”

“Can you determine any of the other letters?”

“Only three capitals,” said Nick, still scrutinizing the blurred marks with his lens. “There appears to be two quite long words preceding the word ‘college’.”

“That immediately preceding it begins with ‘M.’ It may be medical.” Chick quickly suggested.

“I am quite sure of that.”