THE END.
Kate Crandall very soon disappeared from her customary haunts—but Nick Carter had not seen the last of her, as you will find by reading the story in the next issue of this weekly, No. 122, out January 9th. The story is entitled “The Suicide; or, Nick Carter and the Lost Hand.”
RUBY LIGHT.
By BURKE JENKINS.
(This interesting story was commenced in No. 120 of Nick Carter Stories. Back numbers can always be obtained from your news dealer or the publishers.)
CHAPTER V.
A JOY RIDE.
I had time enough at Boston the next morning to get a good breakfast before the Portland Express left; and this I partook of in the station dining room. I knew within reasonable bounds when the steamers reached their dock at Portland, and figured that I should have ample time for my plan, which was simplicity itself. I would just be on hand when the boat docked.
And I was. Furthermore, I had stationed myself in a most advantageous position for seeing all who quitted the boat. A pile of boxes, not five feet from the passenger gangway, further favored me by allowing partial concealment of myself. I would simply spot my man when he quitted the vessel; the rest would be regulation shadowing.
A fog had delayed the boat about an hour in entering the harbor, as I learned from a longshoreman; but she finally loomed up directly before us, and the fog entirely cleared as the lines were cast and she was warped to the pier.
Herded into the usual impatient mass, the passengers pressed against the ropes until the final sliding of the gangplank.
Then, at a signal from the officer in charge, they swarmed from her. I didn’t miss a face; and I am pretty good at this work. Besides, I counted on seeing a face that was with me constantly now.