Snarled Identities; Or, A Desperate Tangle

Title: Snarled Identities; Or, A Desperate Tangle

Author: Nicholas Carter

Release date: December 6, 2020 [eBook #63977] Most recently updated: October 18, 2024

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/63977

Credits: David Edwards, Nahum Maso i Carcases, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.ne

Transcriber’s Notes:

The original spelling, hyphenation, and punctuation have been retained, with the exception of apparent typographical errors which have been corrected.

For convenience, a table of contents, which is not present in the original, has been included.

CONTENTS

[i]

NICK CARTER STORIES

New Magnet Library

PRICE, FIFTEEN CENTS

Not a Dull Book in This List

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 trouble, 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.

[1]

SNARLED IDENTITIES

OR,

A DESPERATE TANGLE

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

[3]

Copyright, 1916 By STREET & SMITH

Snarled Identities

(Printed in the United States of America)

All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages, including the Scandinavian.

[5]

SNARLED IDENTITIES.

CHAPTER I. STARTLING NEWS.

Nicholas Carter, and his first assistant, Chickering Carter, had risen early that morning, but not for the usual reason. It was a very unusual occasion in the great detective’s household, for he and Chick were actually going away for two weeks’ vacation in the Adirondacks.

The train that was to carry the two to the Great North Woods was scheduled to leave shortly after eight o’clock, and many preparations had been deferred until that morning. Now, however, everything was practically ready, their trunk was packed, locked, and strapped, their suit cases were nearly filled, and they had time for a bite of breakfast and a glance at the morning papers, which had thus far been neglected.

Nick seemed to be the only one who was interested in the news. In fact, his assistant made a wry face when he saw his chief reaching for one of the papers.

“Can’t you forget that sort of thing?” he asked, in an injured tone. “I was hoping you would until we got well started, at least.”

[6]

“What’s the trouble?” Nick asked, in a bewildered tone. “Oh, I see what you are driving at! You are afraid I’ll see something interesting in the line of crimes and mysteries, and decide at the last minute to stay at home? Is that the idea?”

His assistant nodded gloomily. “Correct,” he answered. “I never know which way you are going to jump, or at what moment. When I’m trying to get you off for a holiday, especially, I feel the greatest responsibility. You have such a way of changing your mind, and, if you don’t, somebody usually bobs up with a case that you find irresistible. You’ve been working your head off for months, and you are run down; you know you are.” Chick grinned. “You are not exactly at the breaking point yet,” he went on, “but you are just a little stale, and that won’t do, you know. Any day something may break that will require your keenest brain work, and your last ounce of strength and agility. Of course, things will turn up; of course, you’ll have all sorts of calls every day, and if you allow yourself to read the papers, you’ll run across plenty of things that will prove fascinating to you. Can’t you cut yourself loose, though—absolutely?”

“I’ve done harder things than that, grandmother,” Nick answered, “but I really don’t see the necessity for that sort of total abstinence. If you think I’m going to cut out all newspapers for two weeks, you’re very much mistaken. I’ve promised to go, though, and I’m going—unless, of course, something turns up that is altogether too big to neglect.”

[7]

He opened the paper, whereupon Chick gave an exaggerated sigh of resignation.

“What is to be is to be, I suppose,” the younger detective murmured; “or, in more up-to-date form, she goes as she lays.”

It may be inferred, therefore, that he was far from surprised, when his chief gave a startled exclamation a few moments later.

“Well,” Chick asked pessimistically, “what have you struck now? We are not going away, I suppose?”

“Of course we are, you idiot!” Nick answered excitedly. “You’ll agree with me, though, I’m sure, that it would have been a calamity if we had missed this. It looks as if we had had our last tussle with ‘Green-eye’ Gordon.”

Chick’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?” he asked. “Has Gordon died in prison?”

Nick nodded soberly. “He was burned to death last night in a fire that destroyed one wing of Clinton Prison,” he replied, his eye hastily running over the rest of the article.

Presently the paper was passed to Chick. This, in part, was what the latter read.

[8]

CHAPTER II. “GREEN-EYE” GORDON.

“Shortly after ten o’clock last night fire was discovered in the laundry at Clinton Prison. The blaze spread with surprising rapidity, and as the laundry was in the basement of one of the main wings of three tiers of cells above it, the lives of many of the convicts were soon seen to be in danger.

“Under the circumstances, it is surprising that more lives were not lost, but the best information obtainable at the present time is that three of the inmates were fatally burned—including the clever and infamous Green-eye Gordon—that many were injured or temporarily overcome, and that one took advantage of the excitement to escape.

“As soon as it was seen that the fire was beyond control, so far as the prison’s fire-fighting facilities were concerned, and that there was danger of asphyxiation from the dense smoke, the cells of each tier in the threatened wing were unlocked simultaneously, and there was a general exodus of frightened prisoners. The scene defies description, for the delay in opening the cells had given the trapped men an opportunity to work themselves up into a frenzy, and, as a result, the guards were powerless to handle them.

“A general jail delivery might have followed if the convicts had realized their power, but fear had driven[9] everything else out of their minds for the time being, and in consequence, only one man, Convict No. 9,371, made his escape. He is known to the world beyond the gray walls as “Shang” Libby, a yegg, who had made his headquarters at Buffalo. Libby must have followed one of the guards when the latter left the inclosure for help, and having waited until the door of freedom had been opened, he quietly struck the guard down and passed through. He was one of those who had hastily dressed himself in the prison uniform and unless he can manage to get other clothing there is no doubt that he will soon be rounded up.”

Then followed a long account of the fire, and references to those who had been killed or seriously injured. The article ended with the following:

“The death of Ernest Gordon, widely known as Green-eye Gordon, was the most ignominious one, and hardly in keeping with this notorious criminal’s career. There was nothing spectacular about it. Gordon might have been expected to play a conspicuous part at such a time—to rally the prisoners for a concerted attempt at escape, for instance—but he does not seem to have distinguished himself in any such way. Indeed, it would appear that his daring and initiative left him at the last, for there seems no very good reason for his death, when most of his fellow prisoners escaped.

“Of course, some accident must have happened to him, for he was found trodden to death by the others in their bestial rush. His face disfigured beyond recognition.

[10]

“Gordon hailed from New York, and those who know have long classed him as one of the cleverest and most dangerous criminals this country has ever produced. He came of a good family, and was well educated, but early showed a tendency to criminal pursuits. Apparently he reformed, however, and for several years was employed by one of the great detective agencies.

“In this capacity he showed himself to be very able and daring, so much so that he advanced rapidly, and long enjoyed the utmost confidence of his employers. In the end, however, it was learned that he had been using his position for his own ends, and had really never given up his career of crime. He must have known that a storm was brewing, for, as usual, he managed to get away a few jumps ahead.

“After that, thanks to the invaluable experience he had gained as a detective, he turned his attention to much more ambitious and lucrative pursuits, soon becoming one of the most troublesome thorns in the side of the police of this city and elsewhere. Gordon always was versatile, and handled many kinds of crime with remarkable success. Toward the last, however, he developed something approaching a specialty in the shape of blackmail on a large scale. He seemed to have an uncanny facility for learning the secrets of the wealthy and prominent, and using them for purposes of blackmail.

“Crimes of this sort are not easy to establish in a legal way, or to punish, for the victims seldom raise an outcry. Nevertheless, that lifelong foe of[11] crime and criminals, Nicholas Carter, took up the trail, and finally brought Gordon to bay. The capture and trial of two years ago are doubtless fresh in the minds of many newspaper readers.

“Gordon acquired his nickname of Green Eye from the fact that he had a pair of peculiar, rather nondescript gray eyes, which were said to emit a green light when the man was angry or excited. In addition, his eyes showed an inclination to cross at such times, although perfectly normal at all others. In fact, it is claimed that these distinguishing characteristics more than once served to identify the clever rogue, whose remarkable histrionic ability and skill at make-up would otherwise have enabled him to defy detection.”

Of course, neither of the detectives read all of this. They did not need to, for they knew a great deal more about Ernest Gordon than any one else could have told them.

Chick followed his chief’s example in glancing through the article and getting the main points that were new to him. Then he looked up with an odd expression.

“Well, it certainly sounds final enough,” he remarked. “I find it hard to believe, though, that Green Eye is dead, and that he died in such a way.”

“It is somewhat difficult to credit it,” Nick agreed. “That’s the way things frequently happen, though. Fate isn’t always dramatic in its methods according to our theatrical standards. No, it seems safe enough to believe that Ernest Gordon won’t give us any more[12] trouble, and I find a certain amount of relief in the thought. I’m willing to confess now that there were times when I doubted my ability to bring him to account. In other words, I felt myself nearer defeat at his hands than I had ever done in any other case.”

The detective pulled out his watch, glanced at it, and threw his napkin aside. “We must hustle if we are going to catch that train,” he announced.

Five minutes later he and Chick were whirled away to the station. Their well-earned vacation had begun, but they were far from carefree.

The thought of Ernest Gordon persisted in haunting their minds, and somehow it seemed to dull the edge of their anticipations.

[13]

CHAPTER III. NOT SO DEAD, AFTER ALL.

Two days later a striking-looking, conspicuously well-groomed man presented himself at Nick Carter’s door.

He did not give his name, which is not to be wondered at under the circumstances, for the caller was Green-eye Gordon—not his ghost, but the man himself, substantial flesh and blood, escaped convict, and first-class criminal.

For once Chick’s intuitions had been keener than his chief’s. The younger detective had been inclined to question the validity of Gordon’s death in the absence of any more conclusive testimony than that given in the first accounts of the fire. Nick, however, had been in a mood to discourage such skepticism—perhaps because of that relief to which he had confessed.

The fact was that it was Green Eye who had escaped, and not the yegg from Buffalo. Gordon had stumbled over the latter’s body during that mad rush for safety. The yegg was by no means dead at the time, but had been overcome by the smoke, and, without a moment’s hesitation, Gordon had determined to profit by the encounter.

He had no definite plan, but it was characteristic of him that whereas the others were interested only in[14] escaping the flames, he was looking for the opportunity to escape from the prison itself, and was prepared to profit by every promising circumstance.

It occurred to him at once that an exchange of coats would be to his advantage, and he proceeded at once to make the exchange, stripping off the unconscious man’s coat, and putting his own halfway on in place of it.

The reason for this may be easily guessed. The gray coats—for stripes are no longer in vogue in New York State—bore each man’s prison number, and, therefore, by such a simple exchange, identities could be shifted temporarily.

Gordon’s number was 39,470, and, of course, it was known to all the keepers and prisoners as standing for the identity of the formidable Green Eye. The other man’s number, on the other hand, had no particular significance, for the yegg was an ordinary criminal, of comparatively little intelligence, who had not made himself conspicuous in any way, either in or out of the prison.

Consequently, if there should prove to be later on any reason to believe that Libby was missing, his absence would not be likely to cause any great commotion, for it would be taken for granted that his capture was only a question of time.

Gordon had reasoned shrewdly, as usual, and had thus, by his own promptness and resourcefulness, put himself in the way of the luck that subsequently favored him.

He had feigned an injury, and had thrown himself[15] down in the prison courtyard, after taking care to stagger close to the main gates, and a shadow of the projecting section of the wall. There he was ignored, for the flames in the burning wing were mounting higher and higher, and all the men were not yet out of it.

It was some minutes before Green Eye’s chance had come, but it did come, as he had felt sure it would. One of the guards rushed past him and approached a small door at one side of the big, double gates. Evidently the man had been sent on some important errand, which would take him outside the prison walls.

The keeper looked behind him with a wary eye to make sure that he was not followed. He had fears of a general break for liberty, but apparently no one was paying any attention to him.

Therefore he excitedly inserted a key in the lock, and, after some fumbling, opened the door. It was then that Gordon had pounced upon him.

One blow had been enough. It caught the unfortunate guard behind the ear and sent him hurtling through the opening. In a moment the convict had followed.

Gordon dashed across the road before the vanguard of the crowd from the town had reached the spot, and, dodging through the extensive lumber yard, made his way to the outskirts of Dannemora, his goal being a certain tumble-down, abandoned house.

There he found what he sought—a moisture-proof box of considerable size, containing a complete outfit[16] of clothing, an automatic of the latest model, and no less than five hundred dollars in gold.

We have hinted that Ernest Gordon was no ordinary criminal, and the truth of that has doubtless begun to shine through this narrative. Here, at any rate, is striking evidence of it.

Green Eye had always preferred to work alone, as many of the most successful criminals have done. He had friends, however, and one of these had carried out his directions. The gates of Clinton Prison had not even closed behind Gordon, when the latter had begun to plan for a possible escape, and the planting of this box played an important part in the arrangement.

During his many months in the prison, Green Eye had not succeeded in liberating himself, but now that the fire had enabled him to escape, the box was waiting for him, thanks to his unusual foresight.

Thus it was that he had completely eluded pursuit. The authorities were looking for a commonplace, unimaginative yegg, who went by the name of Shang Libby, and who might be expected to retain some, at least, of his prison garments. It is little wonder, therefore, that they failed to capture the polished and superdaring Gordon, who lost no time in starting for New York City in a sleeping car.

The fugitive’s first thought when he reached the metropolis was one of revenge. He had no idea of killing Nick Carter for the part the latter had played in his downfall, for murder had never been in his line. There are many other kinds of revenge, however,[17] and Gordon was determined to avail himself of one or more of them.

He wished to humiliate Nick to the utmost, if possible, and, incidentally, to do so in such a way that his success would line his pockets with gold.

He had a plan, when he presented himself at Nick’s door, but it was lacking in many details, for these he had decided to leave to the inspiration of the moment. In any case, however, he meant to palm himself off as a would-be client, and, having thus gained the detective’s confidence, to proceed with the rest of the scheme, or some modification of it.

“Is Mr. Carter in?” he asked anxiously, when the butler opened the door.

“No, sir,” the servant replied, noting with approval the visitor’s apparent prosperity and air of importance. “Mr. Carter is out of town at present.”

“Is it possible? For how long?”

“He went away day before yesterday, and expected to be absent for two weeks.”

“How unfortunate! I have a case of the utmost importance—the sort of thing no one else can handle,” the caller said, with the semblance of profound disappointment. “One of his assistants might help me to some extent, however, or bring the matter to Mr. Carter’s attention by telegraph.”

Again the butler shook his head regretfully. He was being very indiscreet, but he did not suspect it for a moment, owing to the impression the stranger made upon him.

“I’m afraid that’s out of the question, too, sir,”[18] he answered. “There is no one at home who could attend to you. It’s the first time it has happened in years.”

The stranger seemed greatly distressed.