Read Ebook: Homer and Classical Philology by Nietzsche Friedrich Wilhelm Levy Oscar Editor Kennedy J M John McFarland Translator

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Ebook has 118 lines and 12112 words, and 3 pages

"To the letter."

"I will. Have you any to add?"

"No. I shall wait for your next report."

"Very good. You shall receive it as soon as possible," Mack assured him. "I'm game, mind you, for whatever the case requires."

"You are well chosen, then, for this work," Nick replied. "Between us, I think we can turn the trick."

"Me, too! So long."

"Good-by and good luck."

Nick hung up the receiver.

Nick Carter's reply astonished his chief assistant, even, for it was entirely unexpected.

"I'm hit with a new idea," said Nick, swinging round in his swivel chair. "Pull up here. I'll tell you with very few words what I think, Chick, and what you now must do."

Chick drew up his chair and listened.

What Nick Carter told him and required of him will appear in what occurred a little later.

At three o'clock that afternoon, alone, and carefully disguised, Nick Carter arrived in the neighborhood of the Duffy residence, where he began a stealthy search for Patsy Garvan. He failed to find him, of course, and soon he noticed that the house appeared to be deserted. There was no sign of life through any of the windows, and the door of the garage was closed.

"The birds must have flown," Nick reasoned, pausing a short distance from the house. "Patsy must have found them here and they must have made an immediate move of some kind, or he would have telephoned to me again. He is trailing them and found no opportunity to communicate with me. If I am right, by Jove, I may be able to clinch my suspicion concerning the Redlaw letter, if it was written in this house. I'll secure that evidence, at least, if possible."

Nick had sauntered around to the front of the house while thus sizing up the situation. The conclusion at which he had arrived was a perfectly natural one, and he mounted the steps and rang the bell, feeling quite sure that the summons would not be answered, and that he then could admit himself with a skeleton key and secretly search the house.

Somewhat to his surprise, however, the summons was immediately answered. He heard quick footsteps in the hall. The door was opened boldly, as boldly as if no occupant of the house had any occasion for caution, or fear of a visitor, and Kate Crandall herself appeared on the threshold.

The disguised face of the detective evinced no surprise. He accepted the situation as he found it. He bowed politely and said, with inquiring intonation:

"I am looking for Miss Clara Randall, who was recently employed in the banking house of Madden, Mellen & Mack. I was told that she might be found here. Was I rightly informed?"

Kate Crandall bowed and smiled. There was not a sign of distrust in her dark eyes. One would have said that she had not the slightest cause for fear, though Nick knew very well how audacious a bluff she was capable of undertaking. She had removed her street costume and was clad in a gray house gown of clinging woolen material that served to accentuate the graceful lines of her fine figure.

"Yes, sir, you were rightly informed," she replied. "I am Clara Randall."

"My name is Henderson Black," said Nick. "I am fortunate in finding you. Can you spare me a few minutes of your time?"

"For what, Mr. Black?" Kate questioned, eying him a bit more sharply.

"I have a business proposition to make you," Nick suavely explained. "I am in need of an expert stenographer for very important work. Don't say that you will not consider it, please, before having heard my offer. May I come in and explain? I will detain you only a short time."

"My time is not worth very much just now, Mr. Black," Kate said, with a laugh. "I was nearly asleep over a dull novel when you rang. Yes, I will hear what you have to say, though I hardly think I care to take on any very arduous work. Come into the library."

She drew back for him to enter, then conducted him to an attractively-furnished room. An open book was lying on the table. Near by was a large armchair with a fancy silk pillow on the back of it, bearing an indentation where her head had been resting. These seemed to confirm her statements.

An open desk stood near one of the walls. The first article on it to catch the detective's eye was a large pad of plain paper, remarkably like that on which was written the Redlaw letter.

Nick instantly noticed all of these things, however, and his ears were alert to detect a sound from any other part of the house. None could be heard. He apparently had found the woman alone. He remarked casually, nevertheless, while he took a chair near the table:

"Are we likely to be overheard? My business relates to private political matters, Miss Randall, and what I tell you must go no further."

"There is no one to overhear you," said Kate, tossing aside the silk pillow and resuming her seat. "Mrs. Duffy, who lives here, has gone out of town with her son, and her husband never comes home before evening."

"Ah, very good," said Nick.

"As far as I am concerned," Kate added; "I will not repeat anything you confide to me. You may speak freely."

"I intend doing so," Nick replied, with more sinister intonation. "To begin with, however, I wish to know something about yourself."

"About me?"

"Yes, and about the--Needy Nine," Nick pointedly added.

Kate Crandall heard him with hardly a change of countenance. There was no apprehensive start, no unmistakable betrayal of how hard she was hit by his ominous words.

Though he thoroughly despised her, Nick could not but admire the nerve of this woman. He could detect only a quick dilation of her searching black eyes and a sudden deeper paleness in her cheeks. These were the only signs of her secret perturbation, and her voice, when she replied, was as steady as his.

"The Needy Nine?" she said inquiringly.

"Yes, the Needy Nine," Nick repeated.

"I don't know what you mean, Mr. Black."

"You don't?"

"Surely not. You are talking Greek to me," Kate declared. "I never heard of any Needy Nine."

"Nor of a man named Ralph Redlaw?"

"No, never."

"Well, well, I must be mistaken, then."

"You certainly are, sir, if you think I know anything about such persons. I am all in the dark as to your meaning."

"Possibly, Miss Crandall."

"Randall, sir."

"I said Crandall--and that is your name," Nick insisted. "Furthermore, since I am not inclined to mince matters, I will inform you that my name is not Henderson Black. You will readily remember it, I think, if I remove these slight adornments."

Nick deftly removed his disguise with the last and tossed it upon the table.

Kate Crandall shrank slightly, with brows knitting to a quick frown over her darkly glowing eyes. Her pallid face took on a look of scorn, of bitter hatred, but she replied, without stirring from her chair:

"Oh, it is you, Nick Carter, is it?"

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