Nick put two and two together, and decided that Nate Godard was the man he wanted. To fix the murder upon him, however, was not an easy task.
Keeping his suspicions and movements well concealed, however, Nick went at it by beginning secretly to persecute Godard, worrying him as a cat worries a mouse.
At the end of two weeks he had the gambling-house raided by the police, the furniture seized and removed, and the house closed up.
Five days later he learned that Godard was secretly dealing a faro-game in his own house, to which only a few of his intimate and trusty friends were admitted.
Nick gave the police a tip, and the place was successfully raided the next night, and all the paraphernalia seized and confiscated.
Godard’s feelings over these several episodes, as well as those of his niece, Belle Braddon, appeared in their talk at breakfast the following morning.
“I’m cursed if I can understand it,” snarled Godard, across the table. “Twice in two weeks I have been raided, involving the loss of several hundreds of dollars. Worse even than that, the devil take it, my game has been going behind at an alarming rate. Bad luck of the worst kind appears to have struck me.”
Godard’s face was flushed, grim, and ugly, and his voice by no means clear. That he had been drinking was obvious, as had been more than usually noticeable for nearly a month. He had the look of a man with a mental burden not easily carried, and secret apprehensions not pleasant to endure.
The girl across the table, far more attractive, yet not less evil than he, shrugged her shapely shoulders and indulged in a low ripple of laughter.
“You’re only getting what’s coming to you, Nate,” she glibly replied.