CHAPTER XXXVII.
GRISWOLD STILL DOUBTFUL.
The detective leaned forward in the taxi, and held Griswold’s eyes commandingly.
“That’s about enough of that, Griswold,” he said, with ominous quiet. “I would advise you to restrain yourself. I’m not accustomed to being approached in this way, and I’ve endured it thus far only because I’ve made allowance for your obvious excitement. I supposed that a man in your position would be sufficiently informed concerning me and my work to have no such illusions, and sufficiently in command of himself to conquer such heated impulse. A moment’s reflection ought to convince you that my presence up the State for the last few days can easily be verified.
“And now, if you’ll come to your senses, I shall be more than eager to hear what you have to say about this extraordinary experience of yours. First, though, tell me how seriously my friend is injured.”
During this speech, and for some moments afterward, the millionaire newspaper man continued to gaze at the detective as if he were trying to pierce his very soul, and when he withdrew his gaze at length, it was only to shift it to Chick.
“You almost persuade me,” he told Nick at last. “Either I’ve been dreaming, though, or I’m dreaming now. This is the most amazing thing that has ever occurred in my experience. I want to believe in you, Carter, I assure you. I have all along, and it was only with the greatest reluctance that I accepted the conclusion which seemed forced upon me by circumstances which I could not question.”
He paused for a moment, and then launched into an account of his reasons for visiting Cray, the latter’s suggestion that they should call upon Nick Carter and seek his aid, the interview in the detective’s study, and so on.
“I can’t see any difference,” he declared. “So far as I can tell, you are the same man I talked with there, and don’t forget that Cray himself was evidently convinced that he was talking with you. Later, you—or the man I took to be you—phoned me and asked further particulars concerning Simpson. I hoped for speedy results, of course, with the case in such hands, but I heard nothing more until the next morning, when I was informed that a man named Jones, who had represented himself as connected with the Chronicle and Observer office, had been seriously injured in New Pelham. The description suggested Cray, and I hastened up into Westchester County. I found that it was Cray, and learned that he had been muttering your name. He had been repeatedly struck on the head with some blunt instrument, and the doctor feared a fracture. He had not really been conscious, though, and hasn’t been yet, to the best of my knowledge.