Nat Ridley's Mexican Trail

By Nat Ridley, Jr.

Author of "Guilty or Not Guilty," "A Daring Abduction," "A Scream in the Dark," etc.

GARDEN CITY NEW YORK GARDEN CITY PUBLISHING CO., INC.

1926

NAT RIDLEY RAPID FIRE DETECTIVE STORIES

BY NAT RIDLEY, JR.,

Copyright, 1926, by GARDEN CITY PUBLISHING CO., INC.

The Double Dagger

MADE IN U. S. A.

CHAPTER I

A CALL FOR HELP

With a vicious bang, which indicated that his thoughts were not on what he was doing, Nat Ridley hung the receiver on the telephone hook. He swung around in his swivel chair and looked out of the window of his Times Square office at the hurrying throngs converging at Broadway and Seventh Avenue.

"That's a new one, all right!" exclaimed the famous detective, more to himself than to anyone else, though Berry Todd, his capable assistant, was at a desk near by. "It sure is a new one! And to think that some of those human ants down there may have had a hand in it!"

He leaned forward the better to see out of the window.

"What's that?" asked Berry, who was shuffling over some papers. "Whose aunt are you talking about?"

"Nobody's aunt!" was Nat's reply. "I might just as well have said flies or bugs—that's what they look like!" He waved his hand to the hurrying throng—men and women mixed with automobiles.

"Oh—that bunch!" chuckled Berry. "Yes, there sure is a crowd. But is anything wrong?" he went on, for he realized that the mere sight of the crowd, almost always in evidence at this busy section of New York, was no new one for his chief. "Anything wrong?" asked Berry again, though in a lower voice, for he noted that the celebrated sleuth, whose exploits were the talk of two continents, was gazing abstractedly at the telephone.

"Yes, there is," snapped out Nat Ridley, though the crisp tone did not indicate impatience with his helper's insistence. "I can't quite make out why he should 'phone me."

"Who?" asked Berry, who was a privileged character.

"Carl Lemberg."

"That German sleuth?" cried Berry.

"He isn't as German as his name sounds," was Nat's reply. "Though of course he has many of the earmarks. But why he should want me to come in on one of his cases——"

"You don't mean to say he admits he's stuck, do you?" and Berry laughed. "That's pretty good! Lemberg up a blind alley—at the end of his trail—that's pretty good!"

The joke, if such it was, was all the more appreciated by Berry Todd, for of all the private detectives in New York, Nat Ridley's chief rival was this Carl Lemberg.

Yet Nat did not actually admit that Lemberg was a rival. It was only other detectives, some in the Ridley offices, who were thus bold about admitting the fact and, sometimes, complaining about it. For though the chief said nothing, more than once he had heard of some rather underhand practices on the part of Lemberg or the latter's helpers, practices that took from Nat Ridley cases that netted large sums of money.

But Nat Ridley was not one to complain, or even acknowledge that he had a rival. He took the cases that came to him, and not always for money, either. More than once he had worked day and night, and even endangered his life, solving a mystery for the very love of getting to the bottom of a tangle or for the sake of some friend.

Yet it could not be wholly ignored that Carl Lemberg was, in every sense of the word, a business rival of Nat Ridley's.

"So he's squealing, is he?" asked Berry. "What's the game? What sort of case has Lemberg that he can't solve, Chief?"

"He isn't exactly squealing, Berry," said Nat slowly, as he rose from his chair, pushed it back, and began nervously to pace the small private office. "He is in need of help."

"Then it's on a case, isn't it?" persisted Berry. "I'll bet a new straw hat, and the season's just opening, too," he added, "that he fell down on that Markwith jewelry robbery. They passed us up on that, Chief, and went to Lemberg. Now he's stuck! Serves him darn good and right!"

"No, it isn't the Markwith case, Berry," said Nat.

"What then?"

"It's a sort of family affair."

"Oh, a scandal? Well, we don't go in for that sort of thing, do we?"

"You haven't quite got me, Berry," and Nat smiled. "It isn't that kind of a case. Though it is a family matter for Lemberg. He's in need of help and he turns to me. Urgent need he said just now, over the telephone."

"Then it must be a big case!" declared Berry. "So much the better for us. I'd rather he'd be stuck on a big case and have to turn it over to us, than to have it a little jigger not worth bothering with. Want me to do anything, Chief?"

Nat Ridley slowly indicated a negative by a shake of his head.

"It hasn't gotten to that stage yet," he said. "In fact, I don't know what it is myself. I told him to come here and see me. Such matters aren't for the telephone."

"Then you're going to help him?"

This time Nat nodded in the affirmative.

"Whew!" whistled Berry Todd.

And there was reason for his surprise, for in addition to the rivalry existing between the two offices, there was a distinct feeling on Nat Ridley's part against Lemberg. The noted sleuth did not speak of this, but his friends and his office force knew of it.

Lemberg was too tricky, and Nat was out of sympathy with the manner in which the German, as he was often called, got some of his cases. And when Berry thought of that and heard his chief say he had agreed to listen to what Lemberg had to say, it is no wonder Berry whistled.

"Will he be here soon?" asked Berry, as he began to gather up the papers he was looking over. "If he will, I'd better light out. I was getting up the report for you on that kidnapping case, but——"

"Let it go, Berry," was the order. "Lemberg will be here in about five minutes, and he wants to see me alone. I'll let you and Baldy know what I decide to do."

"Lemberg will be here in five minutes?" exclaimed Berry as he put the papers in a portfolio and started for the door leading out of Nat's private room. "How's he coming—by air-ship?" The office of the other sleuth was down near Wall Street, several miles from Times Square.

"He is in our neighborhood," Nat went on. "He was so anxious to see me that he rode up here, and is down in the Grand Central Terminal now. He's coming up from there in a taxi."

"Well, I'll make myself scarce. But—you won't mind a word from an old friend as well as from one of your workers, Chief?" Berry seemed very anxious.

"Of course I won't!" declared Nat. "What is it?"

"Think twice before you have anything to do with Lemberg," was the low reply. "He's no better than a snake in the grass in my opinion."

"An opinion I quite agree with at times, Berry," was the rejoinder. "But I don't want to say I won't help him until I hear what he has to say. Judging from his voice, he was in quite a stew."

"Serves him right!" muttered Berry as he went out.

In a few minutes, during which Nat continued to pace the office, an electric buzzer near his desk signaled in a certain way.

"There he is!" murmured Nat, and, stepping to a button near the signal, he pressed it, indicating to Toodles, the office boy in the front office, that the chief would receive a visitor.

A moment later Carl Lemberg was ushered into Nat Ridley's private room.

In spite of the fact that he had lived all his life in the United States, there was a typical German appearance about this detective. He was massive in bulk and manner, and his voice, ordinarily, was loud and booming. It was this voice, more times than one, fairly hurled at a suspect, that had caused many to quail and confess.

Yet now Carl Lemberg was but a shadow of what he had been on occasions. Instead of entering the office with a firm and confident tread, he fairly slunk in, and he glanced from side to side, and once back of him, in a manner denoting that he feared he might have been followed.

His usually ruddy face was pale and his large hands trembled as he took a big linen handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his face.

"It is good of you to let me come, Ridley," began the visitor, with no trace of accent, though he spoke German fluently and with a purity seldom attained by those not born in Germany.

"I could do nothing less after what you said," rejoined the other. "What is the matter?"

"Much!" was the reply, and again came that nervous look about and behind. "Are we alone here?" he whispered.

"As much so as anyone is ever alone," was the reply, with a smile. "The walls are sound proof—as yours are."

"Oh, yes—mine—of course! And yet they haven't seemed to keep my secrets."

"What do you mean?" asked Nat.

"I—I wish I knew!" was the faltering reply. "I wish I knew!"

"Look here, Lemberg," exclaimed Nat with a brusk show of friendliness he did not altogether feel, "you're all in! You're showing fear! It may not be real, but——"

"I am afraid, Ridley! I am afraid!" was the quick reply. "I hardly dare admit to myself how frightened I am. That is why I have come to you."

"You? Afraid?" chuckled Nat, half scoffing. "I can't believe it."

"It's true, I tell you!" fairly snarled the other. "I am in deadly fear!"

"What of, in the name of all the police of New York?"

"I don't even know that. But it's terrible!"

There was no mistaking the man's terror. It showed in his voice, in his eyes, in his actions. Nat Ridley was astonished. To himself he murmured:

"The intrepid Carl Lemberg afraid? Am I dreaming?"

Aloud he said:

"You must have a reason for this fear. I suppose you came to tell me—to get my help. And, if so——"

"Yes! Yes!" broke in the other detective. "You are ready to laugh at me, I know. I feel it! I would not be surprised. Yet, you would be afraid also if——"

He paused, startled by some noise unperceived by Nat.

"Well, what?" suggested the other. "I would be afraid if what?"

"If your brother had been murdered, and then your uncle and then your chief assistant. I ask you, Nat Ridley, if you would not, also, have fear under those circumstances? Would you——?"

At that instant the telephone on the desk jingled out an imperative summons, and, coming, as it did, at such a dramatic moment, even Nat Ridley was startled.

CHAPTER II

THE DOUBLE DAGGER

For a moment or two the telephone bell continued to sound its summons, and both men stared at it. The German detective made a motion as though to answer, and then, recollecting that he was not in his own office, he stepped back with a mutter of impatience.

"Excuse me," murmured Nat as he picked up the instrument.

"Certainly."

To Nat's ears came the voice of Berry Todd in the latter's office near the entrance to the sleuth's suite.

"All right, Chief?" asked Berry in guarded tones.

"All right about what?" Nat countered, for he did not get the drift of the other's question.

Berry went on with:

"Excuse me, Chief, but I happened to notice that bird sliding into your office, and I didn't like his looks. No names, you understand, but I thought he looked desperate, and he might have suddenly gone batty, you know, and might try to slip you a bomb, or something like that. How about it? Need any help? Are you all right?"

"All right," Nat answered, hardly able to keep from chuckling at the odd thought Berry had given voice to. The sleuth, who was very fond of his chief in more than a business way, had noted, with more than a little apprehension, the entrance of Lemberg.

Indeed Lemberg was acting very queerly, but Nat Ridley was not afraid for himself, though he appreciated Berry's precaution.

"Quite all right," said Nat again, as he put the receiver on the hook. "Sorry to have had to interrupt you," he went on to his visitor. "But, being in the same line of business——"

"Oh, of course—yes. Perhaps I shouldn't have come in. But I could not stand it any longer. Though if you have an urgent case——"

"There wouldn't seem to be any more urgent than your own," said Nat. "This was only one of my men reporting. I am quite ready to hear you further. Did I understand you to say that your brother and uncle had been murdered?"

"That's it—foully murdered, Ridley! And now Dan Steele——"

"What?" cried Nat, startled out of his usual calmness. "You don't mean to tell me Steele has been killed? How? When? Where? Why, Dan used to work for me at one time."

"I know he did. A fine chap he is—was, I mean. When I got word that the devils had put the sign on him I decided it was too much for me to handle. And, knowing you had once hired Steele, I decided to come to you."

"You had better sit down and tell me about it," suggested Nat, for, up to this time, Lemberg had been pacing the office.

"It is a long story, but I will make it as short as possible," he said, as he slumped, rather than sat, in a chair. Again he mopped his pale and perspiring face. "You may not know it," went on Lemberg, "but I am in the oil-well business."

"I had not heard it," stated Nat. "The venture must have been recently made."

"It was. I would not have gone into it had not these murders forced it upon me. For years, as you know, I have conducted a private detective agency, just as you have."

Nat did not quite like the simile, for he would not admit that he conducted the same sort of business as had Carl Lemberg. But Nat let that pass, and the other went on:

"My brother, Henry, and my uncle, August, some years ago bought the rights to several valuable oil properties in the neighborhood of Rolamotaza, in Mexico. The wells turned out better than was expected, and my uncle and brother decided to increase their holdings.

"Near their property were some wells belonging to a number of Mexicans, who formed a sort of corporation for marketing the product they pumped out of the earth. As is natural, where natural products are so close together, there were frequent quarrels over mineral rights, and matters got to such a point that my uncle and brother decided they would either have to buy out their rivals or sell to them.

"Finally it settled to a matter of the former, and a deal was made by which the Mexican firm transferred their rights, titles and interests to my two relatives. The Mexicans were paid a large sum, all they had demanded, as a matter of fact, and, getting the money, they disappeared."

Lemberg paused again to mop his face.

"Nothing very remarkable in all this, so far," said Nat, who had been jotting down some pencil characters on a paper. This had been observed by his visitor who sharply asked:

"What are you doing?"

"Taking shorthand notes."

"Have you no stenographer?" the German inquired.

"Yes," and Nat smiled. "But there are some things I do not trust even to my own stenographer. Proceed, if you please. You have yet to come to the murders."

"I will come to them—never fear!" declared the other earnestly. "As I said, the Mexicans, after their wells were bought, disappeared, but some time later they came back."

"Why?"

"Because the properties they sold to my brother and uncle turned out to be much more valuable than had been thought. In other words, much oil began to spout in wells it was thought were running dry, and, as a result, my uncle and brother began to grow very wealthy."

"And the Mexicans came back, I suppose," said Nat, "to get a share of it?"

"Exactly. But as my relatives had paid all that was asked, and as they had no knowledge that the wells would turn out better than was supposed, they did not see why they should pay over any of their profits."

"No, as a business proposition, they couldn't be expected to," Nat agreed.

"And then came the murders!" exclaimed Lemberg suddenly.

"How?" cried Nat.

"One night, after several veiled threats had been made against my two relatives, my brother Henry was found dead—there was a dagger in his heart!"

"The Latin races run to knives," murmured Nat.

"A few days after that," went on Lemberg, "and following the receipt by my uncle of an anonymous threat that if he did not share some of his oil wealth with the former owners of the wells he would be killed, he, too, was found dead."

"Murdered?"

"Murdered!"

"With a dagger?"

"With a dagger, just as my brother had been, and with the same sign."

"What do you mean—with the same sign?"

"This!" and the German sleuth took a little package from his coat pocket. He opened it and spread the contents on Nat's desk. There were two dirty cards, on one of which were tell-tale red stains, and each card bore on one side the drawing, crudely done, of a double dagger.

The weapon seemed to consist of a middle handle, made of some sort of twisted horn, or perhaps hard wood. One of the blades of the double dagger was longer than the other, and both points were shown very keen in the picture.

"Rather an odd weapon," commented Nat, taking up one of the cards by the edges so as to leave no finger prints on those presumably already there. "I think I have seen it before. Just a moment."

He turned to a large book case and opened the glass door.

"What are you going to do?" asked Lemberg.

"Look up this symbol—for a symbol I think it is."

"You are right," said the other. "As I said, it is a sign. But here is one of the daggers," and from another pocket Lemberg took a small box which he turned upside down on Nat's desk.

There was a metallic sound, and there tinkled out on the shining oak a small dagger, exactly like the pictured one on the card, but so small as to be useless as a weapon.

"It looks like a pin," commented Nat Ridley.

"It was used as a pin," the German said. "With these pins these cards were fastened to the clothing of my brother and my uncle."

"I see," murmured Nat. He reached forward to pick up the murderous little implement, but Lemberg caught his hand.

"The points may be poisoned," was the caution.

"They may be," admitted Nat. "I was going to exercise due caution, Lemberg," he added, with a grim laugh. "But did your uncle and brother die from the scratch of a poisoned weapon?"

"They may have, for all I know to the contrary, though from the report of the police in Rolamotaza the cuts in their hearts brought death. If there was poison used, it was to make assurance doubly sure. But it is best to be cautious."

"You are right. So the cards, bearing the picture of this dagger, were fastened on the dead men's clothing with pins made in the same shape. Were the heart stabs made by the same sort of daggers, only larger?"

"That is the supposition. But I can save you time, Ridley. You were going to look up this symbol?"

"Yes," admitted Nat. "I have some books on foreign secret societies. I think I recognize this symbol. It is, I am sure——"

"The Tola," interrupted Lemberg. "I looked it up. Yes, it is an old Mexican society, but it was supposed to have died out years ago."

"Then it has revived," stated Nat.

"Or else it never died. Well, to get on with my story. When I got word of my brother's death, I started the police in Mexico after the murderers. They did what they could—little enough—and while I was waiting their report, my uncle went the same way.

"Then I acted quickly, and sent my best man down to Paloma, Texas, with orders to cross into Mexico and see if he could round up these oil-well killers."

"He went, I suppose?" suggested Nat.

Lemberg bowed gravely.

"But he never came back," he said. "Dan Steele was murdered in Paloma in the same way my brother and uncle had been killed—with a dagger thrust in his heart, and this card pinned on his breast. Do you wonder I am afraid, Ridley?"

"Not after that," was the answer. "But what form does your fear take?"

"A fear for myself. I have reason to believe they will kill me next—those mysterious murderers of the Tola!" and, with a shaking hand, Carl Lemberg again mopped his face.

CHAPTER III

ANOTHER MURDER

Nat Ridley was accustomed to seeing strong men exhibit fear under many circumstances. Sometimes it was a fear over the consequences of the crimes the detective had fastened on them. Again it might be a fear over the outcome of some fight about to take place—a fight with revolvers or daggers. More seldom he had seen clients of his exhibit terror under just such circumstances as now confronted him—fear of vengeance from some cause.