“Why, how singular,” sarcastically said the chief. “I am amazed; I am sure that he is Weeden.”
“Well, I guess that this is one of the times that you are mistaken. This gentleman is an old friend of mine; he is in the crockery business, and I have seen your man Edwards, here, in his store within the last day or two.”
“Who do you think this man is, Edwards?” asked the inspector.
“I really do not know who he is, I am sure. I never met the man until I went into his store to-night, when you sent me after him; he may be Weeden, or he may be Wright. I only know that when I went into the store after him to-night he seemed to act as if he owned the place, and was at the safe putting away some books. He did not seem anxious to come with me, but his friend over there,” nodding in the direction of the doctor, “told him that the best thing he could do would be to come without any delay, as he would then avoid any notoriety. He finally agreed to come if I would let him empty a bottle of chemicals that he had been experimenting with. He said that it was a patent that he was working on, and that he did not want to let any one find out what it was, as, if they did, it would mean the loss of a great fortune to him. This seemed to be a reasonable request, and so I let him pour the stuff out into a sink that was in the back of the store.”
“That is all that you know about him, is it?”
“Yes, sir.”
The man who was the subject of the discussion broke out into a hearty laugh.
There was a false ring to it, and Nick Carter’s keen ear noted it.
“Then you deny that you are Jack Weeden?” continued the inspector.
“I certainly deny that I am Jack Weeden, or any one else that you may call me, except Mr. Wright. The latter is my name, and I would have you understand that I am not in the habit of masquerading as some one else. I trust that you are through with me, and we shall be allowed to take our departure. This indignity has been great enough without prolonging it.”