Consequently, after a little hesitation, Nick ripped the envelope open without the slightest attempt at concealment, and drew the inclosure out. Soon he was very glad that he had done so, for the letter read as follows:
“Dear Old Lunatic: You do not seem to have improved in the matter of memory or level-headedness. You write me from some unpronounceable place in South America—I judge solely from the postmark—and do not tell me where to find you. How the dickens can I join you down there for a month’s shooting, if you do not give me more particulars? I know you too well, you see, to imagine for a moment that you stayed more than a day or two at the place from which you wrote. That was nearly two weeks ago, and by this time you may be thousands of miles away from there.
“Your letter was forwarded to me up here in Maine, and the best thing I can think of doing is to send this to your New York address, in the hope that it will be forwarded to you with as little delay as possible.”
There was a little more of it, but the rest does not matter. It was signed by a well-known young man about town.
So that was it, was it? The only original Chester Gillespie was still down in South America, and only about two weeks before had written to a New York friend, inviting him down for a month’s shooting. That argued that he did not expect to return for many weeks. In some manner, Gordon must have learned that interesting fact, and, seemingly, had disguised himself as Gillespie, with the aid of a photograph or photographs of that young man.
So much for the way the trick had been sprung. For the rest, there was no doubt in Nick’s mind as to Green Eye’s further intention. The criminal had learned of the detective’s return, and had guessed what Nick’s plan of campaign would be.
In other words, he had concluded that Nick had the index of the records in the safe, and could easily find out which ones were missing. Knowing by that means where danger threatened, Nick could set a trap for the blackmailer, with the help of one or more of the latter’s prospective victims.
“He knew just about what to expect,” the detective mused, “and when he found that Gillespie was out of the country, having left only a couple of old people in charge of the house, he hit upon this scheme of circumventing me. If he’s left alone, he’ll find some means of sending Chick off on a wild-goose chase, or otherwise dispose of him, and then he’ll impersonate me once more, and in that disguise he’ll probably advise his victims to pay the sums demanded.
“Oh, it’s a pretty smooth scheme—one of the smoothest anybody ever thought out! I’m afraid, however, that he’s inclined to underrate my intelligence, and to overrate his own ability.”