In the first place, he was a distinguished man, a leading light in his profession, and the ruling spirit of a great hospital. Nick was the only witness, and it would be very hard, if not impossible, for the detective, with all his reputation, to convince a jury on the strength of such evidence alone that Doctor Stephen Follansbee would stoop to become the accessory to a murder.
Follansbee would have the advantage of dealing with a demented man, and could insist that everything which seemed suspicious about his actions—the use of the fire escape and all—had been due to that fact. In other words, he might build up a plausible excuse on the theory that he had been humoring Stone in order to study his case, and to see how far the miner’s insanity would carry him.
“It must be the germ of some deadly disease, characteristic of the tropics,” Nick told himself, “and he has left the hypodermic syringe there for Stone to use. That’s as plain as the nose on my face. But without more evidence than I now have, I can’t be sure of securing a conviction. Follansbee is as shrewd as they make them. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised to have him claim that the contents of the syringe were harmless, and that he was merely ‘stringing’ Stone for some medical reason. What he said about Crawford’s death could always be attributed to the same motive, and his reputation is so great that it would probably hypnotize a jury into accepting his word for it. He’s a cunning rascal, and no mistake. How am I going to manage this affair? I’ve got to do something before two-thirty, but what?”
It was seldom that Nick Carter felt at a loss, yet he realized that his position was a peculiarly difficult one. He might have forced his way into James Stone’s room, of course, but he felt that the mine owner would have sufficient cunning to destroy at once the only tangible evidence of guilt as soon as he heard the first alarm. And even if he did foil Stone’s attempt that night, the detective feared that it would only be putting off the evil day. He could have Stone locked up, to be sure, and an inquiry into his sanity begun. He might also be able to secure Follansbee’s arrest.
That would seem to clear the way and remove Crawford’s danger; but the detective saw further than that. He felt certain that Follansbee must have demanded a large fee of Stone, either for treatment or frankly for the services of getting rid of the man’s partner. Furthermore, he was assured that Follansbee had contrived it so that the fee would be paid whatever happened.
In that case the arrest or death would by no means end the matter. Follansbee’s professional standing would undoubtedly result in an arrangement whereby the specialist would go free under heavy bonds pending his trial, and the moment he was at liberty to do so, he would almost certainly begin work on a new attempt to get rid of Winthrop Crawford and to earn his money.
That fact had to be taken into consideration in connection with Follansbee, for the latter would not be treated as an ordinary criminal; therefore, it became increasingly evident that Nick would have to meet cunning with cunning if he hoped to handle the affair successfully.
At last, the hint of a plan came to him. He halted by his window and looked out again. The light was still shining in Stone’s room. “I must go in there without the fellow’s knowledge,” he thought. “A minute, possibly half a minute, would do, with good luck. I wonder how I can manage it, though?”