“Nick Carter suspects you have fooled him.”
“The deuce he does!”
“But he only suspects, mind you,” Tony Selig quickly added. “He isn’t sure of it.”
“How do you know? How did you learn that?”
“After watching the Deland woman’s house until nearly noon, as you directed, and seeing no one show up, I started out here to report. As I was passing the residence of Professor Arden, the chemist, I saw a taxicab waiting in front of it. I suspected right off the reel that a detective on your case might be there. You know for what, Andy, and I was right.”
“How did you make sure of it?”
“I watched until a man came out and hurried away in the taxi,” Selig explained, with a sly grin. “I reckoned from your description that he was Chick Carter. I made sure of it by ringing Arden to his door and asking him if Mr. Carter had been there. He was a fall guy, Andy, all right. He said that Mr. Carter had just left there.”
“Humph!” Margate ejaculated, scowling. “That did settle it. I feared that the Carters were on to the case.”
“But they only suspect,” Tony Selig repeated. “They are sure of nothing, Andy, nor any of the guns, except that the stiff was stolen. There is no clew to the thieves, nor any doubt of its having been a genuine stiff, as you can see from this newspaper story. Have a look. Here’s the latest edition.”
Margate seized the newspaper and eagerly read the story mentioned. It told only of the theft of the supposed corpse from Fink’s back room, of the ignorance of the police and detectives concerning the identity of the perpetrators of the outrage, and of the deep mystery enshrouding the entire gruesome case.