Nick was quick to notice that the man invariably attributed the discovery to his dog, rather than taking it upon himself, from which there appeared to be only one logical deduction—that Henley had some covert reason for doing so.
“You can do better, Mr. Henley, than take these to the constable,” said Nick, who had merely glanced at the bloodstained articles.
“How’s that?” questioned Henley.
“I am a New York detective, Nick Carter, and I am already investigating the disappearance of the two persons you claim to have seen last evening,” Nick explained agreeably. “The man is Arthur Gordon, the banker, and the girl is his stenographer, Pauline Perrot. She is known to have worn a hat and jacket like these yesterday afternoon. Besides, her initials are on the handkerchief.[Pg 19]”
Henley’s jaw sagged perceptibly when he heard the detective’s name.
“I dunno about that,” he demurred. “D’ye mean you want me to go with you?”
“Certainly,” said Nick, in friendly fashion. “I would not permit Constable Bailey to interfere with my work on the case. I never allow anything of that kind.”
“But he might——”
“Never mind Bailey,” Nick insisted. “I will take charge of these articles, and I may want you to aid me further. So get into the car with us, Henley, and go to the Gordon place. There will be something in it for you, if you help us solve this mystery. There is room for your dog, also. Tumble in with him.”
“I dunno——”