NICK CARTER
STORIES

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.

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NEW YORK, March 13, 1915.
No. 131. Price Five Cents.

CONTENTS

[A Fatal Message; Or, Nick Carter’s Slender Clew.] 1 [I. A Suspicious Wire.] 1 [II. The Intercepted Letter.] 3 [III. Nick Carter’s Plans.] 5 [IV. The Real Substitute.] 7 [V. Night Work.] 9 [VI. How Patsy Made Good.] 11 [VII. Chick Carter’s Cunning.] 13 [VIII. A Change of Base.] 15 [IX. The Result of the Ruse.] 17 [On A Dark Stage.] 19 [XX. The Second Act.] 19 [XXI. Enter the Girl.] 20 [XXII. A New Mystery.] 22 [XXIII. The Ardent Sleuth.] 23 [XXIV. Mr. Amos Jarge.] 23 [The News of All Nations.] 27

A FATAL MESSAGE;
Or, NICK CARTER’S SLENDER CLEW.

Edited by CHICKERING CARTER.

CHAPTER I.
A SUSPICIOUS WIRE.

Nick Carter leaned nearer to the wall and listened to what the two men were discussing.

The wall was that of a booth in the café of the Shelby House. It was a partition of matched sheathing only, through which ordinary conversation in the adjoining booth could be easily overheard, and both men in this case spoke above an ordinary tone.

Obviously, therefore, they were discussing nothing of a private nature, or anything thought to be of much importance, or serious significance. It meant no more to them, in fact, than it would have meant to most men, to all save one in a million.

That one in a million was seated alone in the next booth—Nick Carter.

The two men were strangers to the detective. They had entered when he was near the end of his lunch, and while waiting for their orders to be served they engaged in the conversation which, though heard only by chance, soon seriously impressed the detective.

“You were a little later than usual this noon, Belden,” said one.

“Yes, a few minutes, Joe, but I thought you would wait for me. My ticker got busy just as I was about to leave. I remained to take the dispatch, Gordon, and it proved to be quite a long one.”

“Something important?”

“Not very. Only political news for the local paper.”

“Belden evidently is a telegraph operator,” thought Nick.

“Anything warm by wire this morning?” questioned Gordon.

“No, nothing,” said Belden; and then he abruptly added: “There was a singular message, however, and an unusual circumstance in connection with it.”

“How so, Arthur?”

“The dispatch was addressed to John Dalton, and we were instructed to hold it till called for,” Belden explained. “I looked in the local directory, but it contained no John Dalton. I inferred that he was a traveling man, or a visitor in town, whose address was not known by the sender.”

“Naturally.”

“Strange to say, however, he showed up in about five minutes and asked if we had a dispatch for him.”

“Why, is there anything strange in that? He evidently was expecting it.”

“It was strange that he came in so quickly, almost while I was receiving the message. That, too, was singular.”

“The message?”

“Yes.”

“Why so?”

“As I remember it, Joe, it read: ‘Dust flying. S. D. on way. Ware eagle,’” said Belden. “It was signed with only a single name—‘Martin.’”

It was then that Nick Carter pricked up his ears and leaned nearer to the wall to hear what the two men were saying.

“By Jove, that was a bit singular,” remarked Gordon.

“I thought so.”

“Dust flying, eh?” Gordon laughed. “The dispatch must have come from a windy city.”

“It came from Philadelphia.”

“I’m wrong, then. Not even dust flies in Philadelphia. Did Dalton send an answer?”

“Not that I know of; certainly not from our office.”

“Or volunteer any explanation?”

“No. It probably was a code message, or had some secret significance. He took the dispatch and departed.”

“A stranger to you, eh?”

“Total stranger. I don’t imagine the message amounted to anything. It appeared a bit odd, however, and—ah, here’s our grub,” Belden broke off abruptly. “The Martini is mine, waiter. Here’s luck, Joe.”

It was obvious to Nick that the discussion of the telegram was ended. He immediately arose and departed. He sauntered into the hotel office, then out through the adjoining corridor, which just then was deserted, of which he took advantage. He quickly adjusted a simple disguise with which he was provided, and he then passed out of a side door leading to the street. Nick was watching the café when the two men emerged. He followed them until Gordon parted from his companion and entered a large hardware store, where he evidently was employed.

Arthur Belden walked on leisurely alone, and Nick judged that he was heading for the main office of the Western Union Company, whose sign projected from a building some fifty yards away. The detective walked more rapidly, and quickly overtook him.

“How are you, Belden?” said he, slipping his hand through the young man’s arm. “Don’t appear surprised. Pretend that you know me. I have something to say to you.”

Belden was quick-witted, and he immediately nodded and smiled.

“I will explain presently,” Nick continued. “We’ll wait until we are under cover. It’s barely possible that we are observed. You work in the telegraph office, don’t you?”

“Yes. I’m assistant manager.”

“Got a private office?”

“Yes. I receive and send most of the important dispatches.”

“Good enough. I’m going with you to your office. Carry yourself as if it was nothing unusual. Fine day overhead, isn’t it?”

“Yes, great,” laughed Belden, gazing up. “This way. We’ll cross here.”

Nick accompanied him across the street into the building. Not until they were seated in his private office, however, did the detective refer to the matter actuating him.

“I was in the adjoining booth while you and your friend Gordon were discussing a telegram received here this morning,” Nick then explained. “I wish to talk with you about it.”

“For what reason?” questioned Belden, more sharply regarding him. “Have you any authority in the matter?”

“Yes.”

“How so? Who are you?”

Nick saw plainly that the young man was trustworthy. He smiled agreeably, yet said, quite impressively:

“This is strictly between us, Belden, so be sure that you don’t betray my confidence under any circumstances. I am in Shelby on very important business. Any indiscretion on your part might prove very costly. You read your local newspaper and must know me by name, at least. I am the New York detective, Nick Carter.”

Belden’s frank face underwent a decided change. He quickly extended his hand, saying earnestly:

“By gracious, I ought to have guessed it. Know you by name—well, I should say so! I’m mighty glad to meet you, too, Mr. Carter, and to be of any service. The local paper has, indeed, had a good deal to say about you and your mission here, as well as about your running down Karl Glidden’s murderer, Jim Reardon. Yes, by Jove, I ought to have guessed it.”

Belden referred to recent events. The secret employment of Nick and his assistants to run down the perpetrators of a long series of crimes on the S. & O. Railway, his investigation of the murder of the night operator in one of the block-signal towers, resulting in the detection and death of the culprit, James Reardon, and the arrest of several of his associates suspected of being identified with the railway outlaws, though their guilt could not then be proved—all had occurred during the ten days that Nick Carter, Chick, and Patsy had been in Shelby, and all still were vividly fresh in the public mind.

Nick smiled faintly at Belden’s enthusiastic remarks.

“We still have much to accomplish here,” he replied, referring to himself and his assistants. “We got James Reardon, all right, and cleaned up that signal-tower mystery, which was what we first undertook to do. That did not clinch our suspicions against some of his associates, however, as I had hoped it would do. I refer to Jake Hanlon, Link Magee, and Dick Bryan, who have succeeded in wriggling from under the wheels of justice.”

“But you expect to get them later?”

“I expect to, yes,” said Nick. “But my identity and mission in Shelby now are generally known. That has put the railway bandits on their guard, which makes our work more difficult. But that’s neither here nor there, Mr. Belden, and I am wasting time. I wish to see a copy of that telegram you were discussing with Gordon and to ask you a few questions about it.”

“Go ahead. Go as far as you like, Mr. Carter. I’ll never mention a word of it,” Belden earnestly assured him.

“Good for you,” Nick replied. “About what time was the telegram received?”

“Precisely ten o’clock.”

“And Dalton called for it almost immediately?”

“Within three or four minutes.”

“That indicates that he was expecting it at just that time,” said Nick. “If I am right, and I think I am, he was acting under plans previously laid with the sender, Martin, or he was otherwise informed just when the message would be sent. Do you recall ever having received another dispatch from Philadelphia signed Martin?”

“I do not,” said Belden, shaking his head.

“What type of man is Dalton? Describe him.”

“He is a well-built man, about forty years old, quite dark, and he wears a full beard. He was clad in a plaid business suit.”

“The beard may have been a disguise.”

“I think I would have detected it.”

“You do not detect mine,” smiled Nick. “He may be equally skillful.”

“There may be something in that,” Belden admitted, laughing. “At all events, Mr. Carter, the man was a total stranger to me. But why do you regard the message so suspiciously?”

“Have you a copy of it?”

“Yes, certainly.”

“Let me see it.”

Belden stepped into the outer office, returning presently with a spindle, on which were copies of all of the telegrams received that day. He began to remove them, seeking the one in question, and Nick said, while waiting:

“By the way, Belden, have you received any other telegrams from Philadelphia this morning, or within a day or two?”

“Yes. There was one this morning.”

“Let me see that, also. Was it received before the other, or later?”

“About an hour earlier.”

“Let me see both of them.”

“Here is the first one,” said Belden. “It was received at nine o’clock. See for yourself, Mr. Carter.”

Nick took the telegram and read it:

“Gus Dewitt, Reddy House, Shelby: Ten will hit me. Quickest route.

A. Monaker.”

It was a message that would have signified very little to most men. It might have been an ordinary business communication, a wire concerning the price and quantity of desired merchandise and the direction for shipping it.

Nick Carter’s strong, clean-cut face, however, took on a more intent expression.

“By Jove, I am right,” he said. “It’s a hundred to one that this was sent to notify Dalton just when to call for the message.”

“Why do you think so?” Belden inquired, leaning nearer to read the telegram.

“For three reasons,” said Nick. “First, the signature—A. Monaker.”

“What about it? It evidently is a man’s name. I see nothing remarkable in that.”

“There is, nevertheless,” Nick replied. “Monaker, Belden, is a slang term for a nickname. Undoubtedly in this case it refers to a fictitious name, or an alias. It means, I think, that an alias would be used in the message afterward sent, signed Martin and addressed to John Dalton, presumably an alias of which Dalton already was informed.”

“By gracious, Carter, you may be right.”

“Ten will hit me told Dalton at just what time he must expect the message. He was, in effect, directed to call for it at that hour. Obviously, too, the business is secret and important, as well as off color, or such a circumspect method of communication would not be necessary.”

“Surely not,” Belden agreed. “But what do you make of the last—quickest route?”

“By wire, Belden, of course,” said Nick. “A telegram is the quickest means of communication when the telephone cannot be wisely and conveniently used.”

“That’s right, too,” Belden readily admitted. “By Jove, you have a long head, Mr. Carter.”

“Training enables one to detect such points as these,” Nick replied. “Do you know Gus Dewitt, to whom this message is addressed?”

“I do not.”

“It was sent to the Reddy House.”

“Yes. It may have been signed for by the clerk, or delivered to Dewitt himself. The boy who took it there could tell us, but he is out just now. You can telephone to the Reddy House and find out.”

“Not by a long chalk,” Nick quickly objected. “I don’t want my interest in this matter suspected. Have you found the other message?”

“Yes, here it is.”

Belden tendered the yellow paper on which the copied message was written.

CHAPTER II.
THE INTERCEPTED LETTER.

Nick Carter read more carefully the telegram discussed in the hotel café, and which had so seriously aroused his suspicions.

“John Dalton, Shelby: Dust flying. S. D. on way. Ware eagle.

Martin.”

Belden watched the detective for a moment, then asked:

“What do you make of it? Dust flying seems to have no definite significance.”

“On the contrary, Belden, it is very significant to me,” said Nick. “You have heard it said, no doubt, that some men have dust on their clothes, others in them.”

“Dust—you mean money?”

“Exactly. There is money moving in some way, Belden, or about to be moved, of which felonious advantage is going to be taken. In other words, Belden, crooks are out to get the money.”

“Ah, I see!” Belden exclaimed, with eyes lighting. “You suspect that a crime is being framed up.”

“Precisely. I feel reasonably sure of it, in fact.”

“For any other reason?”

“Yes. Notice the last phrase in the message.”

“Ware eagle,” said Belden, reading it. “What the deuce can you make of that? Is one of them to wear an eagle, or some such insignia?”

“Not at all,” said Nick. “It’s a warning.”

“A warning?”

“Surely. Observe the spelling of ‘ware.’ The word does not refer to something to be worn, or it would be properly spelled. It is an abbreviation of the word beware. In reality, Belden, the phrase means: Beware eagle.”

“But how do you interpret that?” questioned Belden perplexedly. “Why is Dalton to beware of an eagle. I can’t see any sense to that.”

Nick laughed a bit grimly.

“I can,” he said tersely. “Crooks have favored me with all sorts of names and epithets. I am the eagle referred to, Belden, as sure as you’re a foot high.”

“Ah! I see the point.”

“This man, Martin, the sender of the message, has warned Dalton to beware of me,” Nick added. “It was that phrase that first led me to suspect the character of the entire message. It is generally known, now, that I am here in the service of the S. & O. Railway. This message convinces me, therefore, that another of the railway crimes is about to be attempted. It’s up to me to head it off, if possible, or at least to get the outlaws.”

“By Jove, you are a wonderful man, Mr. Carter,” said Belden, with much enthusiasm. “There is no denying that you probably have interpreted both messages correctly.”

“I think so,” said Nick modestly.

“But how can you head off the anticipated crime, or succeed in getting the outlaws?”

“That’s another part of the story,” Nick replied, smiling.

“One of them evidently is on the way here. Some one whose initials are S. D.,” added Belden, glancing at the message. “If you can identify him and find Gus Dewitt——”

“I shall certainly do the latter,” Nick interposed. “But you are wrong in regard to the other.”

“How so?”

“S. D. does not, in all probability, refer to a man.”

“A woman?”

“No.”

“To what, then?”

“To a special-delivery letter,” said Nick confidently.

“Oh, by thunder!” Belden exclaimed. “That must be right, too. You have nailed every point in both of these messages.”

“And the next step, Belden, is to nail the special-delivery letter,” Nick declared. “It presumably is coming from Philadelphia, and most likely sent by this man Martin. Do you know whether a mail from Philadelphia has arrived here since ten this morning?”

“There has not,” said Belden promptly. “I know all about the mails. One is due here from Philadelphia at two o’clock.”

“Very good. Let me use your telephone to talk with one of my assistants. I want him to meet me at the post office.”

“Certainly. Go as far as you like.”

“In the meantime, Belden, kindly make me a copy of each of these messages,” Nick added, turning to the telephone. “I then will be off to intercept that special-delivery letter. I may yet succeed, I think, in putting something over on Martin, Dalton, and Dewitt.”

Belden hastened to comply.

Nick called up the Shelby House, in the meantime, and quickly got in communication with Chick Carter and Patsy Garvan, his two assistants, both of whom he directed to meet him in disguise at the local post office. Then, having again cautioned Belden to absolute secrecy, Nick hastened away to keep the appointment.

It was half past one when he entered the post office, where he found Chick and Patsy awaiting him. Without delaying to explain the situation, he at once led the way to the private office of the postmaster, Adam Holden, who readily gave him an interview.

Nick then made himself known, introducing Chick and Patsy, after which he exhibited the two telegrams, confiding his suspicions to Holden and stating what he required of him.

“But that is decidedly against the law, Mr. Carter, the intercepting and opening of another person’s letter,” Holden forcibly objected. “I don’t see how I can consent to let you do so. It is a very serious offense.”

“Not nearly as serious as the circumstances,” Nick forcibly argued. “When dealing with offenders against the law, with a gang of criminals engaged in we know not what, nor have other means of learning, an unlawful step in order to foil them and serve the law may very properly be taken.”

“Possibly. I do not feel, nevertheless, that I can permit——”

“Now, Holden, you wait one moment,” Nick interrupted. “It is absolutely necessary that I shall see that letter. I will assume all of the responsibility.”

“But——”

“Or, if you prefer,” Nick cut in impressively, “I will send Chick to Judge Barclay, of the local court, and get from him a special order to open the letter. He is corporation counsel for the S. & O. Railway Company and will have a very keen appreciation of the circumstances. Bear in mind, too, that the letter is not to be held up permanently. It will be delayed only a very few minutes, and the recipient will be none the wiser. I can open and reseal the letter without his even suspecting it.”

“Very well,” Holden said reluctantly. “You get an order from the court, Mr. Carter, and I will yield to your wishes.”

“Attend to it, Chick,” said Nick, turning to his assistant. “State the circumstances to Judge Barclay and bring the order here as quickly as possible. You will have no trouble in getting it.”

“Surely not,” Chick agreed, rising to go. “He has absolutely confidence in your judgment. I’ll return within a quarter hour.”

“You have ample time,” put in Holden. “The mail will not be in for nearly half an hour.”

“Very good,” said Nick. “In the meantime, Patsy, you go to the Reddy House and see what you can learn about Gus Dewitt. You will probably find him there, for he must be expecting the special-delivery letter and should be waiting for it.”

“Sure thing, chief, if the game is what you suspect,” Patsy declared.

“Be off, then, and phone me here,” Nick directed. “Make sure you do nothing to arouse his suspicions.”

“Trust me for that.”

“Look up Dalton, also, and see what you can learn about him. Call me up in half an hour for further instructions.”

“I’ve got you, chief,” said Patsy, hastening to depart.

Nick waited patiently.

Postmaster Holden appeared nervous and uncertain. He was relieved in about fifteen minutes, however, by the return of Chick, bringing from the magistrate the order Nick had requested.

Ten minutes later a mail wagon rattled into the post-office yard, and Holden went to bring all of the special-delivery letters to his private office.

There proved to be only six of them, and the one referred to in the telegram was easily determined. It bore the Philadelphia postmark and was addressed to Gus Dewitt, at the Reddy House.

“How can you open and reseal it?” Holden questioned doubtfully, while the detective examined the letter.

“Very easily,” said Nick.

“So that it will not be detected?”

“Surely. A little steam will turn the trick, no wax having been applied to the flap of the envelope. Your radiator will serve us. We’ll find out in about two minutes what this letter contains.”

Nick arose while speaking and stepped to the radiator. He turned the key of the small air tube and opened the valve. A faint blowing and sputtering ensued, soon followed by the ejection of a slender stream of steam.

Nick adjusted it carefully, then held the back of the envelope in the thread of steam until the heat and moisture softened the paste on the flap, which he then opened without injury, removing the letter and laying the envelope aside to dry.

“Now, Chick, we’ll see what Martin has to say in this special delivery,” he remarked complacently, while unfolding the single sheet of paper so artfully taken from its cover.

Chick drew nearer to gaze at it.

The communication also was typewritten, on a sheet of perfectly plain paper. It read as follows:

“Dear Gus: The pay-roll package goes through to-night, Tuesday, on the Southern Limited. We’ll have the substitute down fine in ample time, and the other dead to rights. Be on hand to relieve us of the goods at the point agreed upon. Nothing doing until south of North Dayton. It looks like a walk-over. I will see you after turning the trick.

Martin.”

Nick Carter glanced through the letter, then read it aloud to his two companions. The significance of it could not be mistaken.

“By gracious!” Holden exclaimed. “You were right, Mr. Carter. It’s a job to rob the express car on the Southern Limited.”

“Nothing less,” said Nick. “I suspected something of the kind.”

“That train is due here from Philadelphia soon after midnight.”

“A fit hour for such a felonious job,” Nick declared. “But we must be equal to the needs of the hour. Not a word of this to others, Holden, under any circumstances.”

“Surely not. You can depend upon my discretion.”

“I will make a copy of this letter. You then may reseal it and have it delivered precisely as if it had not been opened.”

“I will do so, Mr. Carter.”

It took Nick only a few moments to make the copy. Holden had not finished resealing the letter, however, when the ringing of the telephone was the harbinger of a communication from Patsy.

“Hold that letter until after I have a talk with him,” Nick directed.

Patsy’s report was brief and to the point.

“John Dalton is not known here,” said he, speaking from a booth in the Reddy House. “Gus Dewitt arrived here two days ago. He has been here on other occasions for a day or two, but nothing definite is known about him. He now is in the hotel office and evidently is waiting for the special-delivery letter.”

“Anything more?” Nick inquired.

“That’s all to date,” returned Patsy. “I’ve got my eye on the man.”

“Keep it on him, Patsy, after he receives the letter,” Nick directed. “Shadow him, if possible, or find some way to trail him. Listen while I tell you what the letter contains. It may be of advantage to you.”

“Shoot! I’m all ears,” said Patsy.

Nick then repeated the letter verbatim and told Patsy of what his suspicions consisted, again directing him to make a special mark of Dewitt until otherwise instructed. Replacing the receiver, Nick then turned to the postmaster and said:

“Now, Holden, you may send that letter along. Take it from me, too, that Dalton will not be the wiser—until I snap a pair of bracelets on his wrists.”

“The sooner the better, Carter, in my opinion,” replied the other. “It could be done when the letter is delivered.”

“I know that, Holden, but that’s much too soon. It’s not going to be done until I can put bracelets on every crook engaged in this job,” Nick declared, with grim determination.

“I agree with you that that would be still better,” smiled Holden, turning to hasten out with the fateful letter—for such it proved to be.

CHAPTER III.
NICK CARTER’S PLANS.

Starting with a fine spun thread, a mere film that only one man in a million would have picked up under such circumstances, Nick Carter had gradually twisted it to the size of a cord of considerable strength, of which he now aimed to make a rope with which to twist, perhaps, the necks of the culprits deserving it.

It was after two o’clock when Nick, still in disguise and in company with Chick, left the Shelby post office.

Three o’clock found them seated with Judge Barclay and President Burdick, of the S. & O. Railway, in the magnate’s private office, to both of whom Nick had stated his discoveries and suspicions.

It was then that he picked up another strand for the rope.

He learned from President Burdick that an express shipment of sixty thousand dollars in currency and specie was to be made from Philadelphia that day, for the payroll and construction expense on the Shelbyville branch road, then being built; which had aroused the bitter and vengeful opposition of a lawless section of the country through which it was to pass, resulting in the numerous crimes and outrages to which the road since had been subjected, and the perpetrators of which Nick and his assistants had been employed to run down.

“This proves to be about what I suspected,” Nick remarked, after hearing Burdick’s statements. “We are up against some of the same bandits guilty of the previous crimes. I was not sure of it in the case of Jim Reardon, who had a personal grievance, or a fancied one, to avenge.”

“It is not too late to cancel the shipment, Carter, or defer it for a few days,” Judge Barclay suggested.

“That should be done, I think,” Burdick added.

But Nick Carter quickly objected.

“By no means,” he declared. “That is the worst step you could take.”

“Why so?”

“Because we now have an unusual advantage over these rascals, in that we have anticipated their designs, and now is the time to catch them red-handed.”

“Surely,” Chick agreed. “It’s a rare opportunity. It is one that should not be lost.”

“There is something in that, Carter, after all,” Burdick thoughtfully admitted. “We can easily protect the shipment by concealing a posse of well-armed men in the express car. How will that do?”

“It won’t do at all,” Nick replied. “The crooks might discover the fact and throw up the job. They are not working blindly, Mr. Burdick, nor in the dark. Being absolutely ignorant of their identity, moreover, you might reveal your intentions to some man who would betray you. You must leave this matter entirely to me. I want the rascals to undertake the job. I’ll be on hand to prevent it.”

“You may safely depend on him, Burdick,” put in Judge Barclay.

“What are your plans, Mr. Carter?” President Burdick inquired.

“I don’t know,” Nick said frankly. “I have not laid any plans, nor shall I until I get all of the information I can obtain. All I want of you, Mr. Burdick, is to answer a few questions for me. I then will do the rest.”

“Very well. I will leave it to you, then.”

“You will make no mistake,” Nick confidently predicted. “Now, to begin with, how is the money to be shipped? It will be in the express car, I infer.”

“Yes, certainly, locked in the safe.”

“Who has charge of the car?”

“A man named Daniel Cady.”

“Reliable?”

“Until the last gun is fired,” said Burdick emphatically. “I know him root and branch, Carter, and he has both judgment and courage. He would fight to the last ditch.”

“Does he run alone on the car?”

“Yes. The night run does not ordinarily require a second man. The express carriage on that particular train is never very heavy. Cady has had charge of that car for a dozen years.”

“Where does he live?”

“His home is here, in Shelby. He has a wife and several children. He now is in Philadelphia, however, for he goes and returns on alternate nights.”

“Very good,” said Nick. “What time is the express due in North Dayton?”

“Twelve o’clock precisely.”

“Does it stop there?”

“Not at the station. It stops at the junction of our western division south of the town to take water and get instructions from Sampson, the train dispatcher here in Shelby. It is the last stop the limited makes before reaching Shelby.”

“A run of eighteen miles, isn’t it?”

“Nearly that.”

“What is the next stop north?”

“Amherst, fourteen miles beyond North Dayton.”

“There is a block-signal tower at the North Dayton Junction, I infer.”

“Yes, certainly.”

“Who is the night operator?”

“Tom Denny, a very reliable man.”

“Capital!” said Nick promptly. “Write a line introducing me to Denny and directing him to coöperate with me. I shall require nothing, President Burdick, that will interfere with his customary duties.”

“I will give you a letter to him.”

“Also one to Daniel Cady,” added Nick. “Make it of the same character. I am probably a stranger to both men.”

President Burdick turned to his desk and wrote the two letters, then handed them to the detective.

“I think that is all,” said Nick, taking his hat. “By the way, however, what time does the next north-bound train leave Shelby?”

“At five-thirty.”

“Does it stop at North Dayton and Amherst?”

“Yes, both stations.”

“That’s all,” Nick repeated, rising. “Do absolutely nothing more in this matter, gentlemen, but leave it all to me. I will contrive to thwart these rascals and land them behind prison bars. Come, Chick, we must get a move on.”

“What’s your scheme?” Chick inquired, when they emerged up the street.

“That can be briefly told,” Nick replied. “Martin, whoever he is, evidently is in Philadelphia, where he probably learned about the money shipment and most likely he was there with that object in view. It is almost a safe gamble, too, that he will be on the Southern Limited to-night, since his letter to Dewitt states that he will see the latter after the robbery.”

“I agree with you,” Chick nodded. “It does look, indeed, as if he would be on the train.”

“What part he will play in the robbery, however, is an open question,” said Nick. “He may take no active part in it, as far as that goes, but may leave the work to his confederates.”

“Possibly.”

“We have, of course, no idea just when, where, or how the job will be attempted,” Nick continued. “The letter states, however, that there will be nothing doing until the train is south of North Dayton.”

“I remember.”

“The job will be undertaken, then, somewhere in the run of eighteen miles to Shelby.”

“Surely.”

“Thinking they have a walk-over, as Martin terms it, the rascals may be overconfident,” Nick added. “I think we can foil them, however, and get them with hands up. I will leave Patsy to trail Dewitt to cover, if possible, while we tackle the train end of the job.”

“But what do you make of the other statements in Martin’s letter?” Chick inquired.

“As to having a substitute down fine by that time and the other dead to rights?”

“Yes. What do you make of that?”

“That seems open to only one interpretation,” Nick reasoned. “It probably refers to the package containing the money. A substitute evidently is to be used in some way, and the other taken from the express car.”

“That seems like a reasonable theory.”

“The money certainly is to be on the car, however, for Dewitt is directed to be on hand to relieve some one of the goods, possibly Martin himself.”

“Very likely.”

“But, as the letter also states, nothing is to be done until after leaving North Dayton,” Nick repeated.

“And your plans?”

“We will leave town in disguise at five-thirty. You go as far as Amherst, to board the express when it arrives. You must be governed by the make-up of the train as to what car you will take. Select that which Martin would be most likely to occupy, and be on the lookout for him, or for any other suspicious circumstances. There is a fourteen-mile run before you arrive in North Dayton.”

“I understand, Nick, and will be governed accordingly,” Chick assured him. “But what are your own designs?”

“I’m going to board that express car at North Dayton,” said Nick, with rather grim intonation. “I’ll contrive to do so in a way that will occasion no misgivings, even if I am seen by some of the gang.”

“And then?”

“Predictions beyond that point would be speculative. I will make only one. If Cady proves to be the man of nerve and courage ascribed to him by President Burdick—well, in that case, Chick, if this bunch of bandits gets away with the money, I’ll chuck my vocation and open an old man’s home.”

Chick Carter laughed.

CHAPTER IV.
THE REAL SUBSTITUTE.

It was a clear night with a myriad of stars in the sky. The silver crescent of a quarter moon had sunk below the wooded hills in the west. A chill from the distant mountains was in the air, though but little wind was stirring.

The midnight stillness of the rural country south of North Dayton, where the lofty signal tower loomed up at the junction of the western division of the S. & O. Railway, was broken only by the frequent croakings of frogs in a swamp east of the tracks, or the occasional cry of some night bird circling overhead.

The N. D. tower, as it was known on the wire, was in a lonely locality. Trains stopped there only for water, or in response to the signal lights, which changed from green and red to white when the night operator, Tom Denny, worked the huge levers in the tower chamber.

He was seated at his telegraph stand shortly before twelve on that eventful night, a compact, muscular man of middle age. A revolver was lying near the instrument.

The murder in the K. C. tower at Shelby, the brutal killing of Karl Glidden, also the other crimes and the outrages along the S. & O. road—all were so fresh in the mind of every night operator during his weary vigil, that none was taking any chances of being caught unprepared.

Three bells suddenly broke the stillness of the tower chamber. They told Denny that the operator in the next tower north was waiting for his unlock, that the Southern Limited was approaching North Dayton, and Denny pushed the plug into the box and held it for an O. K. Getting it almost instantly, he arose and set his signals.

As he turned from the lever, he heard a step on the tower stairs. As quick as a flash, while a hand was laid on the knob of the door, Denny stepped to the table and seized his revolver.

The door was opened and a roughly clad, bearded man appeared on the threshold. He looked like a track hand, or one employed on the railway. He was a stranger to Denny, however, who covered him instantly, crying sharply:

“Hold on! Stop right there! What do you want?”

Nick Carter smiled and said quietly:

“A few words with you, Denny, nothing more. I have a letter of introduction from President Burdick. It will tell you who I am and why I am here.”

Denny appeared incredulous and suspicious.

“Stay where you are!” he commanded. “Toss me the letter, then hands up while I read it.”

Nick obeyed, remarking, with a laugh: