[Pg 1]

Issued Weekly. Entered as Second-class Matter at the New York Post Office, by Street & Smith, 79-89 Seventh Ave., New York.

Copyright, 1915, by Street & Smith. O. G. Smith and G. C. Smith, Proprietors.

Terms to NICK CARTER STORIES Mail Subscribers.

(Postage Free.)

Single Copies or Back Numbers, 5c. Each.

How to Send Money—By post-office or express money order, registered letter, bank check or draft, at our risk. At your own risk if sent by currency, coin, or postage stamps in ordinary letter.

Receipts—Receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper change of number on your label. If not correct you have not been properly credited, and should let us know at once.

No. 149. NEW YORK, July 17, 1915 Price Five Cents.

A NETWORK OF CRIME;
Or, NICK CARTER’S TANGLED SKEIN.

Edited by CHICKERING CARTER.[Pg 2]

CHAPTER I.
A DOUBLE MURDER.

“Hello! hello! This is Frank Mantell talking. I want Mr. Carter—Nick Carter. Is he there?”

Patsy Garvan, the detective’s junior assistant, then alone in the library of Nick’s Madison Avenue residence, was the recipient of the above telephone communication. It came over the wire in tones reflecting the haste and excitement of the speaker.

Patsy remembered him, a son of the senior partner of the firm of Mantell & Goulard, whose big department store in Sixth Avenue had recently been wrecked by a long series of mysterious robberies committed by the junior partner, Gaston Goulard, resulting in a round-up of the criminal and his confederates by Nick and his assistants, all of which had transpired several months before.

“No,” Patsy replied. “Nick Carter is not here. He is out on a case.”

“Is Chick Carter there?” Mantell then hurriedly asked, referring to the detective’s chief assistant.

“He is not, Mr. Mantell. This is Garvan talking.”

“Ah, yes, Patsy—I remember,” was the reply. “When will Nick return?”

“I don’t know. He went with Chick about an hour ago to investigate a big murder case in Manhattanville. He may not return until evening.”

“Dear me, I’m sorry to hear that. I am very anxious to see him.”

“On business?”

“Yes. Very important business. There is half a million dollars involved.”

“Great Scott! Can I be of any help to you?”

“Not unless you can enable me to see Nick himself. Time is very valuable.”

[Pg 3]

“I can do that, perhaps,” said Patsy. “I can learn from police headquarters just where he has gone. You can go there and see him, or—where are you phoning from, Mr. Mantell?”

“From the office of Gray’s wharf, East River. I cannot explain by telephone. If——”

“One moment,” Patsy interrupted. “Have you a taxi?”

“I have my touring car.”

“Good enough! Join me here as quickly as possible. I’ll find out in the meantime where Nick is engaged. We’ll go there and see him.”

“Thanks, Garvan, a thousand times. I’ll be with you in ten minutes.”

It then was about ten o’clock in the morning. One hour earlier, complying with an urgent telephone request from the police headquarters, Nick Carter and Chick arrived in the detective’s touring car at a dwelling in one of the outskirts of Manhattanville, the scene of a shocking crime evidently committed the previous night.

It was an attractive wooden house somewhat back from the street and occupying a corner lot.

It was in a quiet and entirely reputable locality, though somewhat thinly settled, and it was about the last neighborhood in which such a crime would have been expected.

More than a score of people had collected on the opposite side of the street, and were viewing the house with feelings of morbid curiosity. They were prevented from coming nearer, however, or encroaching upon the surrounding grounds, by policemen who had been stationed on both the front and side gates.

A police sergeant who was standing with an elderly man on the front veranda recognized the two detectives when the touring car stopped at the house, and he beckoned for them to enter that way.

“We have been waiting for you, Mr. Carter,” he said respectfully, when Nick came up the gravel walk with Chick. “This is Doctor Boyden, who lives in the third house from here. I sent for him a few minutes ago,[Pg 4] thinking you might want his opinion as to the length of time the two men have been dead, as well as any other information he can give you.”

“There certainly is a deep mystery here, aside from the shocking crime, Mr. Carter, judging from the appearance of things in the house,” said the physician, after shaking hands with both detectives. “It looks like a veritable slaughter pen. There must have been an awful fight here.”

“Come in, Mr. Carter, and see for yourself,” added the sergeant.

“One moment, Kennedy,” said Nick, detaining him. “Who lives in the house? I see that the name plate has been removed from the door.”

“I can answer that question for you better than Sergeant Kennedy, perhaps,” put in Doctor Boyden.

“If you please, then.”

“The house is owned by Mr. George Roland, who occupied it with his wife until about a month ago. She died quite suddenly at that time, and Roland since has been living with a married sister in Harlem.”

“Leaving this house vacant?”

“Yes. He owns it and the furnishings, however, and it has been in the market to rent. I noticed yesterday that the broker’s placard had been removed from the front window, and I inferred that the house had been rented.”

“Are you acquainted with Roland?” Nick inquired.

“Yes, indeed, very well acquainted.”

“Is he a man of good character?”

“Excellent. I consider him incapable of crime.”

“Do you know anything about the new tenants, or whether this furnished house has really been rented?”

“I think it has, sir,” said Sergeant Kennedy. “I used the telephone in the next house, Mr. Carter, and talked with the broker, Mr. Gibson.”

“What did you learn?”

“He stated that he showed the house day before yesterday to a couple who claimed to be Mr. and Mrs. Charles Greenleaf, of Brooklyn. They did not then decide to rent the house, but they called at his office again yesterday afternoon and requested the privilege of taking the key until this morning, stating that they wanted to show the dwelling to a relative who lives with them, and whose business would prevent him from visiting the house except in the evening. Gibson was favorably impressed with the couple. He let the man have the key, with an understanding that it would be returned to-day, and——”

“And the rascals got in their work,” Nick interrupted, with some dryness. “This looks very much as if the furnished house was craftily obtained only in order to pull off a knavish job of some kind.”

“Surely,” said Chick, with a nod. “That’s just about the size of it.”

“The job was pulled off, all right,” replied the sergeant. “Come in, Mr. Carter, and see for yourself.”

“Presently.” Nick still detained him. “I first want to learn what is known about the crime. Who discovered it?”

“A milkman who called at the house in the rear of this one about an hour ago,” said Kennedy. “He saw an old slouch hat in the back yard, near the fence that divides the two lots. He went and picked it up and found fresh spots of blood on it.”

“And then?”

“Looking over the rear fence, he then saw that the[Pg 5] back door of this house was wide open,” Kennedy continued. “He could see no one, however, and knew that the house had not been occupied for a month. He then suspected there was something wrong, and he decided to look into the matter.”

“What did he do?” questioned Nick.

“He vaulted the fence and entered the back door. That is as far as he went. It’s as far as most men would have gone. When he saw the corpse on the kitchen floor—well, he dropped the hat and bolted.”

“Bolted where?”

“Luckily, Mr. Carter, he ran nearly into the arms of Policeman Brady, who is on this beat in the morning,” said Kennedy. “He told him what he had seen, and Brady returned with him to the house. He saw at a glance that a double murder had been committed, and he then notified the precinct station.”

“That was about an hour ago.”

“Yes. I was sent here with other officers, but was told to let things alone until you arrived, as headquarters had requested you to take on the case. That’s all there is to it.”

“You mean, Kennedy, that that’s the beginning of it,” said Nick. “To learn what there really is to it may tax the discernment of the best of us.”

“That’s true, Mr. Carter, after all,” Kennedy readily allowed.

“Have you inquired at the neighboring houses?”

“Yes, sir. Only a woman living opposite can supply any information.”

“What is that?”

“She saw two men and a woman, presumably Gibson and the couple mentioned, entering the house day before yesterday,” Kennedy proceeded to report. “Something like an hour after dark yesterday, or about seven o’clock in the evening, the same woman was seated at her front window waiting for her husband to come home to supper. She saw two men entering this house, and a moment later she saw the reflection of a light in the dining room.”

“In any other rooms?”

“No, sir. Nor could she tell me anything more, for her husband came in just then and she went to supper with him.”

Nick glanced toward the street.

“There is an arc light on the corner,” he observed. “I suppose, since it was evening, that the electric light enabled her to see the two men.”

“Yes, sir. I asked her about that.”

“Did you ask her for a description of them?”

“I did, sir,” Kennedy nodded. “She said that one appeared to be a man of middle age and was very well dressed. She also noticed that he wore a full beard.”

“Possibly a disguise.”

“The other looked a bit rough, she said, and wore a gray slouch hat, the same that the milkman found in the next yard this morning,” said Kennedy. “I sent an officer over to show it to her, and she readily identified it.”

“Anything more?” queried Nick.

“She told me he carried a suit case, also, and she judged that he had come from a distance. She noticed that the suit case appeared to be old and battered and that one of the straps was dangling, corresponding with the general[Pg 6] appearance of the man himself. That was all she could tell me.”

“Was any disturbance heard last evening by people in the neighboring houses?” Nick asked.

“No, sir,” said Kennedy. “I have inquired at every house.”

“Did the woman living opposite see from which direction the two men came?”

“She did. They came around the corner and entered the front door of this house.”

“I see that you have unlocked it,” Nick remarked, observing that the door then was ajar. “Have you identified either of the two victims?”

“No, sir. I have not tried, Mr. Carter, as a matter of fact, knowing that you were on your way here. By their looks——”

“I will size up their looks for myself, Kennedy,” Nick interposed. “Are things about as you found them?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did Brady disturb anything?”

“No, sir. He has been on the force long enough to know where he is at.”

“Very good.” Nick turned and opened the door. “I’ll have a look at the scene. Come with me, Chick.”

Chick Carter accompanied him into the house, followed a moment later by Sergeant Kennedy and the physician.

CHAPTER II.
A PERPLEXING PROBLEM.

Nick Carter had only to enter the hall of the house to see the first signs of the sanguinary conflict of the previous night.

On the wall opposite the dining-room door were spots and streaks of blood, great, irregular streaks and smooches, as if drops and splotches that had spurted upon the wall paper had been rubbed and spread by the garments of persons engaged in a terrific struggle. A rug near by had been kicked into a shapeless heap near the baseboard.

Nick merely glanced at these, then paused at the open door of the dining room, in which the scene was doubly shocking.

The roller shades of both windows had been raised, admitting the morning sunlight.

One lamp of an electric chandelier still was burning. It looked wan and yellow in contrast with the bright light from outside.

“Great guns!” Chick Carter muttered, then at Nick’s elbow. “What a scene of disorder.”

“It’s the limit,” Nick tersely agreed.

“Slaughter pen is right,” added Chick, recalling the remark of the physician.

The scene was, indeed, a shocking one. The table was out of place. Broken glasses from the sideboard strewed the floor. Chairs were overturned and broken. Spots and splashes of blood were everywhere. It stood in a great, partly dry and congealed pool on the floor between the table and the hall door—a pool in which the corpse of a murdered man was lying.

He had fallen upon his back and was lying with face upturned in the sunlight shed through one of the windows. There was a great bruise under one eye and a gash in his cheek.

He had been stabbed twice in the breast, and from the[Pg 7] second wound still protruded the weapon used by his assailant, a knife driven home to the victim’s heart with all the merciless energy of bitter vengefulness, or utter desperation.

He was a man in middle life and of powerful build, a smooth-shaven man of dark complexion, close-cut hair, and a hard, somewhat sinister cast of features.

“Do you know him?” asked Nick, after viewing the scene for several moments.

“No,” said Chick. “Do you?”

Nick stepped into the room and bent above the corpse. With the tip of his finger he lifted the dead man’s upper lip, revealing a quantity of gold bridgework on three of the teeth. He turned the left hand, also, and found that part of the third finger had been amputated.

“I thought I recognized him,” he remarked, rising and glancing again at the battered face. “We have his photograph in our album.”

“Who is he?” Chick questioned.

“Cornelius Taggart,” said Nick. “Better known to the police as Connie Taggart.”

“By Jove, you’re right,” Chick declared, gazing. “I recognize him, now. Connie Taggart, the yegg and cracksman.”

“He’s the man,” Nick nodded. “He has cracked his last crib and paid the price. He has been about as bad an egg, Chick, as one often finds in a basket. Have you examined this body, Doctor Boyden?”

Sergeant Kennedy and the physician had approached as far as the open door.

“Only superficially,” was the physician’s reply.

“How long would you say he has been dead?”

“Fully twelve hours, Mr. Carter; probably longer.”

“The crime must have been committed last evening, then.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“You raised these roller shades, Kennedy, I infer,” said Nick, glancing at the sergeant.

“I did, sir.”

“You found the electric lamp burning, of course.”

“Yes, sir. I thought I had better leave it until you arrived. Aside from the two curtains, Mr. Carter, the room is as Brady found it when he entered.”

“Very good.”

“There is the hat found in the next yard by the milkman,” Kennedy added, pointing.

Nick took it from a chair on which it had been tossed and began to examine it.

It was of gray felt, much worn and defaced with grease and dirt. A twisted cord encircled it, with two small silk tassels, or the frayed remnants of them. There were two round holes through the crown, on opposite sides of it.

Nick noted the size and examined the greasy interior. He found several short black hairs sticking to the sweat leather. The hat bore no trade-mark, however, nor any name or initial pointing to the identity of the owner.

Nevertheless, after a brief inspection, Nick said confidently:

“The owner of this hat is a Mexican. It is like those worn by some of the Mexican troopers. He has done military service, too, as appears in these two holes through the crown. They are bullet holes.”

“Could they have been made last night?” asked Chick.

“No. The edge of the felt around them is much soiled,[Pg 8] which would be comparatively clean if they were so recently made.”

“I see.”

“A bullet passed through the man’s hat in a battle, or some sort of a skirmish,” Nick added. “He is a man of middle size, I judge, with dark complexion and black hair.”

“That answers the description the woman living opposite gave me,” put in Kennedy. “She saw him quite plainly when the two men came around the corner and entered the house.”

“She stated that his companion wore a beard, I think you said.”

“She did, Mr. Carter, and that he was well dressed.”

“It could not have been this man, then, unless he was in disguise,” said Nick, glancing at Taggart’s beardless face. “The disguise should be here, in that case, even though he removed it.”

“I have not seen it,” said Kennedy.

“Nor the suit case brought in by his companion?”

“No, sir. That is not to be found. I have looked through the house.”

“There must have been several men here, Nick, judging from the fight that came off,” Chick remarked.

“Yes, undoubtedly,” Nick agreed. “I am seeking evidence that might explain the fight.”

“It must have occurred quite soon after the two men entered.”

“True.”

“Others must have been here when they came in, then, or——”

“One moment,” Nick interposed. “I’ll see what more I can find.”

He crouched again above Taggart’s body and searched his pockets. Aside from a fully loaded revolver, he found only a few articles of no special significance, nor any letter or writing whatever, that might otherwise have shed a ray of light on the mystery.

Nick then removed the weapon from the wound and examined it. It was a double-edged sheath knife with a blade about six inches long, and with an elkhorn handle. It bore no mark of any kind, though it evidently had seen considerable service.

“This undoubtedly belongs to the Mexican,” said Nick, placing it on the table after inspecting it. “Not one man in ten thousand in these parts carries such a knife. They’re common in Mexico, however, which further confirms my theory as to the man’s nationality.”

“I think you’re right,” said Chick. “It looks very much, too, as if he killed this crook in self-defense.”

“That is my opinion, Chick, at present,” Nick replied, turning toward the hall. “We will look farther.”

“This way to the kitchen,” said Kennedy. “The other body is there. You can go that way, if you prefer.”

The sergeant pointed to a closed door between the dining room and the kitchen, and Nick then turned in that direction.

“Did you find this door closed, Kennedy, or open?” he inquired.

“Closed, sir, just as you see it,” said Kennedy. “But I know it leads into the kitchen.”

“I judged so.”

“The fight evidently continued from here to the kitchen, but it was through the hall, not that way,” Kennedy added, as Nick opened the door.[Pg 9]

The scene in the kitchen was equally tragic, though the room was in less disorder than the other.

A door leading into the rear yard was wide open.

Nearly on the threshold, so near that one foot touched it, though his head was toward the middle of the room, lay another victim of the fray of the previous night.

He then was lying on his back, though the body evidently had been turned over since the fatality, for the pool of blood in which it had lain was at one side.

The body was that of a man in the twenties, a well-built man in a dark plaid suit. A woolen cap had fallen from his head. His right arm was extended, the hand still holding with rigid death grip a loaded revolver.

He had been shot through the heart.

Both detectives immediately recognized this man, and Chick said quickly:

“By Jove, it’s Batty Lang, Nick, the gangster. He finally has got what was coming to him.”

Nick bowed without speaking, with his gaze still fixed intently upon the man on the floor. He was noting his position, the direction in which he had fallen, the weapon in his extended hand, and the outlook through the open back door.

Doctor Boyden broke the brief silence.

“You appear to know this man, also, Mr. Carter,” he said gravely.

“Yes, I know him,” Nick now replied. “His name is Bartholomew Lang. He is an East Side product, and at times has been identified with the notorious Ben Badger gang. He is more commonly called Batty Lang.”

“Good heavens!” Doctor Boyden exclaimed. “It appears, then, that the house was filled with crooks and desperadoes last evening.”

“And all here to nail that Mexican, Mr. Carter, if your theory as to his nationality is correct,” added Kennedy. “He must have put up an awful fight, if he got the best of them single-handed.”

“I thoroughly agree with you, Kennedy—if that is what he did,” Nick said, a bit dryly.

“Well, he evidently stabbed Taggart and shot this fellow, Batty Lang, as you call him,” Kennedy confidently vouchsafed. “He must have got away with the suit case, too, though he lost his hat in his flight. How else can you size it up?”

Nick Carter did not inform him. Instead, without replying, he began a closer inspection of Lang’s body, carefully searching his several pockets, in none of which he found anything that appeared to bear in any way upon what had transpired the previous night, or what had led up to it.

Nick noted the probable direction from which the fatal bullet had been fired, however, and also that every chamber of the revolver in the gangster’s rigid hand still contained a cartridge.

“Wait here, Kennedy, both you and Doctor Boyden,” he said, rising after making these investigations. “I shall return in a few minutes. Come with me, Chick.”

Nick led the way from the back door with the last, Chick following him. He then began an inspection of the ground in the rear yard, tracing numerous footprints to the back fence, over which he vaulted.

There the trail appeared to divide, tracks in the greensward showing that one or more persons had fled to the left and through the grounds of an adjoining estate, while others had gone directly through the yard in the[Pg 10] direction of the side street. The distance between the tracks, which were too faint to be of additional value, showed that all of these persons were running.

“Follow those leading to the side street, Chick, and see what more you can learn,” Nick directed, after calling Chick’s attention to them. “I’ll trace the others and rejoin you out there in a few minutes.”

Nick traced his part of the trail through the adjoining grounds, as far as a gravel walk leading to the street on which the residence fronted. There he lost it, though the fleeing men evidently had hurried to the street, where no further traces of them could be found.

Nick then walked around the corner and rejoined Chick in the side street.

“Nothing doing, Nick, except these tracks of an automobile which evidently stood here for some little time last evening,” said Chick, pointing to the ground near the curbing. “These drippings of oil show that it remained here for some time. It would have been out of view by the woman living opposite the vacant dwelling, and it may be that the Mexican and his companion came here in it.”

“Very possible,” said Nick. “The tire marks indicate that it was a touring car. It’s about ten to one that the gang which fled this way departed in it.”

“You speak as if you thought that there was more than one gang,” said Chick, with a look of surprise.

“That is precisely what I think.”

“For what reason?”

“Several,” said Nick. “Circumstances indicate, to begin with, that the house was obtained from the broker, Gibson, only in order to turn a knavish trick on some one. Naturally, if that is true, we must infer that the Mexican was to be the victim of the job.”

“Surely, since he was brought there and evidently had come from a distance, possibly all the way from Mexico,” said Chick.

“The evidence in the house shows plainly, however, that four or five men were there, possibly more,” Nick continued. “A less number could not have put up such a fight, nor have caused so much destruction, in the brief time in which it must have occurred.”

“I agree with you.”

“It is obvious, too, that the Mexican could not have licked half a dozen men single-handed, surely not such desperate men as Connie Taggart and Batty Lang.”

“Certainly not,” replied Chick decidedly. “They would have downed him right off the reel.”

“He must have had help, then,” Nick reasoned. “That is why I think there were two factions in the fight. I mean, of course, two different gangs.”

“Both out to get the Mexican?” questioned Chick.

“I’m not sure about that, though it now appears so,” Nick replied. “What they were going to gain by getting him is also an open question.”

“Decidedly.”

“Be that as it may, Chick, he evidently stabbed Taggart and undertook to escape in great haste. Otherwise he would not have left his knife in the yegg’s breast.”

“Surely not.”

“The stabbing may have precipitated the fight, or have occurred after the fight began,” Nick proceeded. “There is no way by which that can be immediately determined. It continued through the hall and into the kitchen, where[Pg 11] Batty Lang was shot. Here, now, is an important point. It further indicates that there were two gangs in the house.”

“What point is that?” Chick inquired.

“You saw where Lang was lying, with his feet near the open door and his head toward the middle of the room. He pitched forward on his face when shot, as the blood on the floor plainly shows.”

“True. That was very evident.”

“The bullet entered his breast, and came from the direction of the hall door,” Nick went on. “Obviously, then, he was facing the hall, with his back to the rear door of the house. That position, together with the fact that he had a revolver in his hand, convinces me that he was attempting to prevent others, presumably including the person who shot him, from following others who had fled through the back door, probably including the Mexican.”

“By Jove, that does appear logical,” said Chick. “That may explain how the Mexican got away with his suit case.”

“I think I am right, Chick, despite that the case opens up a wide held for conjectures,” Nick replied. “I did not inform Kennedy and the physician, however, for we may find it of advantage to keep his theory to ourselves.”

“Quite likely,” Chick agreed.

“The matter must be sifted to the bottom.”

“I’m with you.”

“We will return to the house, now, and wait until Gibson arrives,” said Nick. “He can supply us with a clew, perhaps, to the persons who pretended they wanted to rent the house. He can give us a description of them, at least.”

“Most likely,” said Chick, as they moved on. “It may be, Nick, that Taggart and Lang were confederates in a job to get the Mexican, or——”

“I don’t think they were confederates,” Nick interposed.

“Why not?”

“Because I feel sure that Taggart was killed by the Mexican, and his escape and the evidence that Lang was preventing others from pursuing him, indicate that Lang was not a confederate of Taggart, but was opposed to him. No other deduction would be consistent with all of the circumstances.”

“That’s right, too,” Chick quickly nodded. “I see the point.”

“Lang has been identified at times with the Ben Badger gang,” Nick added. “Badger is a tough ticket, also that notorious sister of his, Sadie Badger. They’re the kingpins of about as bad a bunch as can be found in the East Side.”

“Right again, Nick.”

“I never have heard, however, that Connie Taggart was friendly with them. If any of them were with Lang last night, we may be able to find positive evidence of it and to force a squeal from them. Otherwise—hello!”

Nick broke off abruptly when they turned the corner, and Chick also saw the occasion for it.

“Goodness!” he exclaimed. “There is Patsy, and—yes, by Jove, it’s Frank Mantell. What the deuce has sent them here?”

The touring car containing Patsy Garvan and Mantell,[Pg 12] driven by the latter’s chauffeur, had just swerved to the sidewalk near the house in which the two murders had been committed.

CHAPTER III.
THE MAN FROM MEXICO.

Nick Carter hastened to join Patsy and Frank Mantell, pausing at the latter’s touring car to learn the occasion for his visit. He had not long to wait, for Mantell hardly took time to greet him.

“You must throw up this murder case, Nick; you really must, and take on a matter in which I am desperately interested,” he forcibly insisted. “More than half a million dollars are at stake. They’re hopelessly lost, in fact, unless you can trace and recover them. You must drop this case and——”

“Wait!” Nick interposed, after intently regarding him. “Keep your head. Who has lost so much money, and when?”

“It’s not money,” Mantell replied, in hurried undertones. “It’s a collection of old jewels of vast value, which was obtained under most extraordinary circumstances. I cannot inform you in detail out here, Nick, where I might be overheard by others. Come with me to my residence, where——”

“Presently, perhaps,” Nick again interrupted. “Come into this house, instead, where we can occupy one of the chambers. I then will hear what you have to say.”

Mantell did not wait for the invitation to be repeated. He sprang out of the car before it was fairly uttered, then accompanied the detective to the house, followed by Chick and Patsy.

Nick lingered only to inform Sergeant Kennedy that he had other business for a few minutes, directing him to take charge of the house while he was engaged, and he then led his three companions to a front chamber and closed the door.

“Now, Mantell, out with it as briefly as possible,” said he, when they were seated. “What is this matter in which you are so desperately interested?”

He had read in Mantell’s pale face the depths of his anxiety and distress, and knowing him to have a level head and excellent judgment and discretion, he reasoned that it must be a matter of extraordinary importance.

Mantell hastened to obey him.

“It began, Nick, with a letter I received about ten days ago from an old college chum of mine, Calvin Vandyke, a man able in every way to judge of what he wrote me,” he said earnestly. “Unfortunately, however, I haven’t the letter in my pocket. It is in the desk in my library.”

“Well, well, what is it about?” Nick inquired. “Where is Mr. Vandyke?”

“He now is in Mexico City, under so important a contract that he cannot possibly leave the country for several months.”

“Mexico City, eh?”

Nick shot a swift, furtive glance at Chick, so significant that the latter suppressed a look of surprise and remained silent.

“Yes,” Mantell quickly nodded. “The letter he wrote me explained all that, Nick, and why he made me his partner in this matter, giving me an equal interest with him and the third party involved.[Pg 13]”

“Who is the third party?”

“A Mexican named Juan Padillo, recently a soldier in Villa’s forces during the campaign in northern Mexico. He has deserted, and now is in this city. That is to say—if he still is in the land of the living. I’m far from sure of it.”

“Explain,” said Nick. “Why did Juan Padillo become a deserter?”

“Because of a find he made during the sacking of an old monastery in Chihuahua territory, after the subjection of that section in which it is located and the flight of most of the inhabitants. Vandyke has quietly looked up the legal side of the matter, and he finds that the retention of these spoils of war is entirely legitimate. In other words, Juan Padillo has a right to retain his prize and dispose of it to the best advantage.”

“Admitting that, Mantell, what are the other circumstances?” Nick inquired.

“They may be briefly stated. Padillo made this find in a secret vault, which he discovered entirely by chance, under a wine cellar in the monastery. He was the only person in Mexico who knew of his discovery and that he got away with his plunder, with the single exception of Calvin Vandyke, with whom Padillo long has had friendly relations, and to whom he turned for aid and advice.”

“Of what do these spoils of war, as you call them, consist?” Nick questioned.

“I can give you only an idea, Nick, without referring to Vandyke’s letter, which describes the articles in detail and estimates their value,” said Mantell. “They consist of clerical robes and jewels of great antiquity, which, Vandyke has learned, must have been brought from Spain as far back as the sixteenth century, and which probably have since been kept in concealment in the monastery vault.”

“Give me an idea of them.”

“Well, one article is an archbishop’s robe of purple, wrought with a design in diamonds, emeralds, rubies, and pearls. The gems are mounted in gold, covering the entire breast of the robe, with a design consisting of the ancient Spanish coat of arms, the double eagles back to back, with wings raised and beaks open.”

“I recall it,” Nick nodded.

“There are two gold crowns, also, lavishly mounted with diamonds, emeralds, and sapphires, the most of which are of unusual size and corresponding value. In addition to these are other clerical robes of purple and white silk, all worked with gems the worth of which could only be roughly estimated. Vandyke places the value of the entire prize, however, at about six hundred thousand dollars.”

“Gee whiz!” Patsy quietly exclaimed. “That sure was some find.”

“Juan Padillo was much dazzled by it, of course, and scarce knew what to do,” Mantell earnestly continued. “He did not dare to confide in any of his countrymen. He determined to take advantage of the prize, however, and to get out of the country with it.”

“How long ago was that?” Nick inquired.

“Nearly two months. He obtained an old leather suit case, in which he packed the spoils, and with which he succeeded in reaching Mexico City, where he at once sought Vandyke and confided in him, offering to share equally with him in return for his advice and assistance.”

“I see.[Pg 14]”

“Vandyke looked into the matter, keeping Padillo concealed in his residence,” Mantell went on. “He then realized the vast value of the prize, but being utterly unable to leave the country himself, he proposed including me in the matter on an equal footing, telling Padillo that he could come to me and that I would dispose of the gems at their market value. Padillo eagerly accepted the proposal, knowing that he would be shot as a deserter, if caught, and that he must lose no time in getting out of the country.”

“I follow you,” Nick put in.

“Vandyke then smuggled him to Vera Cruz, and finally got him on board a schooner about to leave for New York, paying his passage and giving him careful instructions.”

“Namely?”

“He directed him not to leave the vessel after his arrival here until I called for him, also not to open the suit case until he was safe in my residence, and to pretend all the while that he was a penniless Mexican on his way to join relatives in this city.”

“All were wise precautions,” Nick remarked.

“Vandyke then sent me a letter, stating all of these facts and invited me to coöperate with him,” Mantell continued. “Naturally, with two hundred thousand dollars in view, I was more than glad to comply. I wrote Vandyke to that effect, and since have been constantly on the watch for the arrival of the vessel. She was docked at Gray’s wharf late yesterday afternoon. But I did not learn of it until I read the shipping news this morning. I then rushed down to the wharf with my touring car, only to learn that——”

“That Juan Padillo left the vessel soon after her arrival yesterday and in company with a man who used your name,” said Nick, interrupting.

“Good heavens!” Mantell exclaimed, with a gasp. “How did you know that?”

“Your anxiety, coupled with the fact that Padillo was to remain on the vessel until you called for him, admits of no other deductions,” Nick replied evasively.

“You are right, Carter, perfectly right,” Mantell said, with a groan. “Padillo left the vessel about six o’clock last evening, taking with him the suit case containing his plunder.”

“With a man who used your name?”

“Yes.”

“Who informed you?”

“The captain of the vessel.”

“What more could he tell you?”

“Only that Padillo had, as I then could judge, carefully followed the directions Vandyke had given him. Captain Macy evidently knew nothing about the contents of the suit case, and he said it was the only piece of luggage the Mexican had, and that he had taken it ashore. He could give me only a vague description of the man who called for him, and said that Padillo appeared relieved and eager to accompany him. They left from the head of the wharf in a touring car, and——”

“And that’s all you know about them,” Nick again interrupted.

“I admit that, Carter, and that’s why I want your aid,” Mantell said earnestly. “This man and the suit case must be found. I never can look Vandyke in the face. Think of it! If——”

“That’s what I am doing,” said Nick, smiling a bit oddly. “Now, Mantell, answer my questions. I then may do[Pg 15] something more than think. Whom have you told about this matter?”

“Only three persons,” Mantell quickly asserted. “My wife and my parents, with whom Helen and I have been living since our marriage. You knew, of course, that I was married eight weeks ago to Helen Bailey, the pretty telephone girl whom you served so kindly—and who, I may add, thinks so well of you Carters.”

“Yes, indeed, I know all about that, Mantell, but it’s irrelevant just now,” smiled Nick. “Did you caution your parents, however, to say nothing about the matter?”

“I did so most impressively.”

“Do you think they have obeyed you?”

“Yes, positively.”

“Where did you talk with them about it?”

“At home, Nick, in the library.”

“You must have been overheard.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I know so,” Nick insisted. “Either that, Mantell, or the letter sent you by Vandyke has been read by one of your servants, or by some outsider. In no other way, if your wife and parents have been silent on the subject, could the man who lured Juan Padillo from the vessel and used your name have learned anything about the matter.”

“I confess that I am mystified, Carter, as well as filled with dismay,” Mantell hopelessly admitted. “You are the only one to whom I can turn. What can be done? How can——”

“Stop a moment,” Nick interposed, rising abruptly. “There is nothing in further discussing the case. Return to your car, Mantell, and wait until I rejoin you. Go with him, Patsy.”

“Which may mean that you will——”

“Look into the matter?” Nick cut in again. “Yes, I will do what I can for you. Time is of value, moreover, so don’t delay to thank me. Go at once.”

Patsy led the way, Mantell following, with an expression of great relief on his refined, attractive face.

“Well, by Jove, that sheds limelight on this murder mystery,” said Chick, lingering briefly with Nick in the chamber. “This certainly is a remarkable coincidence.”

“I suspected something of the kind, Chick, when he mentioned the loss of a vast quantity of jewels,” Nick replied. “That was one reason why I consented to hear his story.”