A folded bank note slipped from it and fell to the floor.
“By Jove, chief, that’s a good beginning!” said Chick, laughing.
“I believe your story,” Mallory replied, bending to pick up the bank note. “Hello! Fifty bucks, too, and a brand-new bill. I could stand a gift of this kind every day in the year.”
It was, indeed, a crisp, brand-new bank note for fifty dollars.
Nick Carter eyed the inspector more narrowly when[Pg 6] he opened and read the letter, noting his gradual change of expression.
“By thunder, here’s a curious case!” Mallory exclaimed, looking up. “It cannot be a hoax, not with fifty simoleons backing up the story. Have a look, Nick. Read it aloud.”
Nick took the letter and read it aloud, as directed, a penciled, illiterate scrawl, as follows:
“Mr. Inspector Mallory: There be a ded man up in number aity to P—— Street, Harlem. I want him planted rite, but I ain’t got no time to tend to it. I know you are ded square when it comes to a show-down, so I send you the coin to foot the bills with, and I ax you to tend to him. Git him a good box with black cloth on the outside of it and silver grips. I would ax you to git a silver plait, to, only I can’t tell you his monaker. I thank you beforehand, knowing you will tend to him. Please have a praer sed for him.”
Nick Carter read this rude scrawl indifferently at first, then glanced at it again more carefully.
Mallory, watching him, detected a sharper gleam deep down in his more serious eyes. He straightened up and inquired abruptly: