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No. 139. NEW YORK, May 8, 1915. Price Five Cents.

THE PRESSING PERIL;
Or, NICK CARTER AND THE STAR LOOTERS.

Edited by CHICKERING CARTER.

CHAPTER I.
THE WOMAN WHO VANISHED.

“Oh, I say, old top!”

Nick Carter stopped short and looked at the speaker.

There was no mistaking his nationality.

He was English to the bone. English in aspect, attitude, attire, and accent. English of the most pronounced and impressive type—but impressive upon as keen and thoroughbred an American observer as the famous New York detective chiefly because of the insipid and mildly obtrusive aristocracy that stuck out all over him.

He was tall and slender. He wore a suit of pronounced plaid. He was about twenty-three years old, with yellow hair and the fair skin of a straight-bred Anglo-Saxon. He wore a monocle with a cord dangling from it, and through which one watery blue eye glared larger and brighter than the other.

He had been hurrying up Fifth Avenue for about five minutes in a sort of subdued and desperate agitation, threading his way quite rudely through the stream of pedestrians always in that fashionable thoroughfare shortly before six on a pleasant October afternoon, and he incidentally had overtaken Nick Carter near the corner of Fifty-ninth Street.

He did not accost the detective because he knew him, or had the slightest idea of his vocation. It was purely by chance that he had appealed to the man he most needed. He obeyed a sudden, irrepressible impulse, that of one who scarce knew what else to do, when he grasped Nick’s arm and stopped him, exclaiming apologetically:

“Oh, I say, old top!”

Nick sized him up with a glance. He saw more than others would have seen, that this stranger not only was deeply disturbed, but also in doubt what course to pursue. Nick merely said, nevertheless, tentatively:

“Well?”

The other responded with a forward thrust of his head, a more appealing scrutiny, and with native accent and characteristics that no attempt will be made to even suggest on paper.

“You’ll pardon a chap, old top, won’t you? I’m in a bally bad mess, so I am, and jolly well upset. Would you tell me where I could find an inspector—what your blooming people call a detective? I don’t want any gumshoe bobbie, don’t you know, but a ripping roarer who knows his beastly business and can keep his mouth closed. You see, old top——”

“What’s the trouble, young man?” Nick interposed. “I may be able to aid you, or advise you. I am a detective—what your blooming English people call an inspector.”

The subtle retort in the last was wasted upon his hearer. He gazed more sharply at Nick through his monocle, nevertheless, saying quickly:

“That’s blasted lucky, then, don’t you know? I can’t account for it, ’pon my word, this running bunk against a man I wanted. What name, sir, may I ask?”

“My name is Nick Carter,” replied the detective indifferently. “But what——”

“There it is again!” exclaimed the Englishman, interrupting with countenance lighting. “This is a blooming, blasted good wheeze. I’ve heard of you, sir. You’re bally well known by name even in old Lunnon. I’m deuced well pleased, Mr. Carter, so I am.”

He seemed to have temporarily forgotten his trouble, in his surprise and pleasure upon discovering the detective’s identity. He even smiled and extended his hand, which was accepted and shaken in a perfunctory way.

Nick saw plainly, in fact, that the young man really was instinctively very frank and genuine, and that under his somewhat insipid and superficial personality he was possessed of true manly sentiments and probably some depth of character.

That he was a well-bred gentleman was equally manifest, moreover, and Nick was impelled to assist him, if possible. He brought him to the point at once, nevertheless, by replying:

“Granting all that, young man, what is your trouble? Why do you need a detective?”

“Because I’m blasted hard hit, don’t you know?” he replied, serious again. “I’ve been jolly well robbed.”

“Robbed of what?”

“My wife, sir.”

“Robbed of your wife?” questioned Nick, surprised and almost inclined to laugh.

“That’s the blooming truth, Mr. Carter, or how it looks to me. I’m as hard hit as if I’d got a jolly bash on the beak. She’s a bally American girl, is Mollie, and——”

“Stop a moment,” Nick interrupted again. “My time is valuable. I cannot listen to your digressions. Answer my questions briefly and to the point. I then may be able to aid you, if there is any real occasion.”

“That’s deuced kind, old top, on my word. If——”

“When did you lose your wife, and where?” Nick cut in a bit sharply.

“I didn’t lose her. She was jolly well stolen; I’m sure of that.”

“Where and when? By whom?”

“Blast it, how can I tell?” protested the Englishman, with wagging head. “We were walking down the avenue, Mollie and I, don’t you know? A limousine shot by us, heading uptown. I heard it come to a blooming quick stop. A chauffeur came running back, a bally bounder in bottle-green livery. He tipped his lid, respectfullike, and said as how his fare had caught sight of Mollie when passing us and wanted to speak to her.”

“His fare, eh? He was the driver of a taxicab, then?” put in Nick inquiringly.

“I reckon that’s right, sir, but I won’t be cock-sure.”

“What more did he say?”

“Mollie asked the name of his fare, but he could not tell her. He said she had sent him to say a friend wanted to speak to her.”

“His passenger was a woman, then?”

“I’m jolly well sure of that. I saw her hat and veil through the window.”

“The taxicab must, then, have stopped quite near you,” said Nick.

“A matter of thirty yards, sir, not more.”

“Your wife went to see who was in the conveyance?”

“That’s precisely what she did,” nodded the Englishman. “Wait here, Archie, she said, and I’ll return in a moment. I was jolly well surprised, don’t you know, but what else could I do?”

“Nothing at all, perhaps.”

“I always do what Mollie says. She hurried to the taxicab and stuck her head through the door. She shook hands with some one, too, as well as I could tell. Then the bally chauffeur shoved her into the car, or so it looked to me, and bounded to his seat and drove away at top speed. Dash it, what d’ye think of that?”

“What did you think of it?” Nick inquired.

“I was so beastly hard hit I couldn’t think,” cried the Englishman. “I chased after the bally cab as fast as possible, hoping it would stop and let Mollie down, but it sped out of sight into the park, and here I am. I’m deuced well convinced there’s something wrong. Mollie wouldn’t bolt off in that fashion. She’s above serving me a scurvy trick. She——”

“One moment,” Nick again interposed. “You feel quite sure, you say, that you saw the chauffeur force your wife into the cab?”

“It looked jolly well like it, Mr. Carter.”

“Did you hear her speak, or utter a cry?”

“I did not, sir.”

“Were there other persons near the taxicab at the time?”

“None nearer than I, sir, nor quite as near. I ran after it as fast as I could. I felt cock-sure, even then, it was a beastly job of some kind.”

“Do you know of any reason for which your wife might be abducted?” Nick asked, more gravely.

“No, no reason at all, Mr. Carter. There can’t be any reason.”

“And you know of no person who might have designs upon her?”

“I do not,” said the Englishman, with a groan at the mere suggestion. “What designs could one have? Mollie is my wife. She thinks the world of me. She’s true-blue and deucedly clever and self-reliant. She——”

“Wait!” said Nick, checking him again. “You are English, I judge.”

“Yes, of course.”

“And your wife is an American girl?”

“She is, sir, and none better.”

“Do you reside here in the city?”

“We are here only for a time. We are boarding in Fifty-third Street, near the avenue.”

“Let’s walk that way,” said Nick. “It’s barely possible that your wife will have been dropped at the boarding house before we reach it. How long before you appealed to me did this incident occur?”

“Not more than three or four minutes. We were about three blocks below here.”

Nick remembered having seen a taxicab speeding up the avenue noticeably faster than usual at about that time. He had not observed it particularly, however, nor could he recall anything distinctive about it.

There were other reasons than that, moreover, for the interest he was taking in this stranger. He regarded the episode quite as seriously as the young Englishman himself. He knew much better than the other what daring and audacious crimes are committed in New York, and he began to suspect that this might be one of them.

Nick had decided to look at least a little deeper into the matter, therefore, and it was with that object in view that he suggested going to the Englishman’s lodging house, which was only a few blocks south of where the two men had met.

Nick continued to question him while they walked briskly down the avenue.

“How long have you been in New York?” he inquired.

“I have been here only two weeks, Mr. Carter, this time,” was the reply.

“Your second visit?”

“Yes. I was here about two months ago for the first time. I have been out in the bally Cripple Creek country to invest in some mines. Deucedly rough section, old top, with a beastly lot of bally bounders, but they dig out a jolly quantity of rich ore. ’Pon my word, I——”

“You are a man of means, then, I infer,” put in Nick.

“Well, I have a bit of a fortune in my own name.”

“By the way, speaking of that, what is your name?” Nick pointedly inquired.

The Englishman hesitated for half a second. Most men would not have noticed it. Nick was quick to detect it, suspecting deception, however, as well as some secret occasion for it.

“My name is Archie Waldron.”

“Archie Waldron, eh?”

“Yes. I am English, you know, as you remarked, though I’m jolly well puzzled as to how you discovered it.”

Nick did not inform him. Instead, as they turned into Fifty-third Street and approached the boarding house occupied by the Englishman, he inquired, more earnestly:

“Where had you been with your wife, or where were you going, Mr. Waldron, when this strange separation occurred?”

A tinge of red appeared in the Englishman’s cheeks. He appeared somewhat embarrassed. He gazed at Nick for a moment, then said:

“We went out for a bit of a walk, Mr. Carter. It’s deuced tiresome, you know, sitting around a bally boarding house. Here we are, too, and——”

“Wait one moment,” Nick interrupted, as they arrived at the steps of the house. “I have something to say to you, Mr. Waldron.”

“Glad of it, old top, on my word. What is it?”

“You already anticipate it,” Nick replied impressively. “I can read that in your face. Now, young man, this matter may be even more serious than you really think. I have no idea that we shall find your wife here. There is no telling when she will return, by whom she was carried away, or how she can be traced and the truth discovered—unless you tell me the truth.”

“But——”

“Your name is not Archie Waldron. You did not come out merely for a walk with your wife. You were going, or had been somewhere, with a definite object in view, and that possibly may have some bearing upon what followed.”

“’Pon my word, sir——”

“Oh, there is nothing to it,” Nick insisted. “I mean just what I say. You will be perfectly safe, Mr. Waldron, in frankly confiding in me. You must do so, too, or I shall drop this matter immediately. Under no other conditions will I enter this house.”

CHAPTER II.
DOWN TO CASES.

Nick Carter had a way of making himself felt under such circumstances. His impressive remarks were immediately effective. The Englishman turned even more pale and grave, gazing apprehensively at the detective, while he replied, with agitated voice:

“You’re deucedly well right. I’d be a blooming idiot, Mr. Carter, if I couldn’t see that. Come into the house, sir, and I’ll tell you the whole beastly business. Your word is as good as a Bank of England note, sir, and I’ll keep nothing from you.”

“You have decided wisely,” said Nick, while they mounted the steps. “In so far as the circumstances permit, I shall consider your disclosure strictly confidential.”

“That’s mighty kind, sir, and I’ll pay you handsomely.”

“Payment is an afterconsideration. I will accept no more than my services warrant.”

“You’re deucedly clever, old top, and I’m proud to know you. Some jolly good fairy must have sent you my way in an hour of need. Come up to my room, sir.”

The Englishman had opened the door with a latchkey, and he now led the way to an attractively furnished room on the second floor.

Among the first articles to catch Nick’s eye, amid other evidence of feminine taste and sentiment, were two artistic photographs on the mantel. One was a likeness of his companion.

The other was that of a very beautiful girl still under twenty, a face that reflected culture and vivacity, and the winsome features and expression of which, with the finely poised head and shapely shoulders, might have been the ideal of a Raphael or Correggio.

Nick at once inferred rightly that this was the girl who apparently had been spirited away so boldly, as well as mysteriously, in so far as a motive had yet appeared.

The young Englishman looked disappointed when Nick’s prediction was verified, his wife not being found there, and he at once waved the detective to a chair, saying with nervous haste and in his own peculiar fashion, which was much less frivolous than appears:

“You were jolly well right, Mr. Carter, and I’m confoundedly upset. What the devil can a poor chap do? I’m going to tell you all about it. How the dickens did you know, old top, that my name isn’t Archie Waldron?”

“Because you hesitated when I questioned you,” said Nick. “No man would shrink from stating his true name under such circumstances.”

“Dash it! that was blasted clever, don’t you know? I was a fall guy not to think of that. But you hit the bally nail on the nob. My name is not Waldron, ’pon my honor. I’m the fifth son of the Earl of Eggleston, and an only son by his second wife, the late Countess of Waldmere, from whom I got my title and a bally bit of a fortune. She died when I was born, and I became Lord Waldmere.”

“I suspected something of the kind,” Nick replied. “I find that I sized you up correctly.”

“Did you really, now? Well, that’s deuced kind and clever, ’pon my word. What’s to be done, my dear fellow? We can’t stay here, old top, while Mollie——”

“Now, Lord Waldmere, you’re talking,” Nick interrupted. “We must get down to rock-bottom as quickly as possible. You must leave me to determine what shall be done. I know more about New York and its deviltry than you could possibly imagine.”

“That’s jolly well right, sir, of course.”

“All I require of you, Waldmere, is to tell me a straight story, as briefly as possible,” Nick added familiarly. “What are you doing over here? Who was your American wife? Why are you living under an assumed name in a New York boarding house? Tell me all about it with as few words as possible.”

Nick then obtained a straight story, in so far as the essential facts were concerned, but not without comments and digressions, from which Lord Waldmere appeared utterly unable to refrain, and which divested his story of anything like desirable brevity.

Briefly stated, however, it appeared that his young lordship, who in most respects was a worthy representative of one of the wealthy and most conservative families of the English aristocracy, had fallen deeply in love with a beautiful American chorus girl about three months before, who then was one of an American opera company singing in London.

In spite of the violent opposition and threats of his father, Lord Waldmere had married the girl, one Mary Royal, then only nineteen, but a girl of remarkable beauty and many accomplishments, and of unblemished and enviable reputation.

What followed was in line with the old, old story. His lordship was promptly disowned and disinherited. He at once left England and came to America with his bride, already having small interests in several Colorado mines, and bent upon investing in others a part of his personal fortune, which amounted to something like fifty thousand pounds, then tied up in English securities and mortgages.

Lord Waldmere had remained only ten days in New York after his arrival. He then went to Colorado with his wife to investigate various mining properties, concerning which he already was partly informed, and in which he anticipated investing quite heavily.

Lack of ready money, however, and his inability to realize immediately upon his home investments, had led him to take an unusual step, one taken upon the suggestion and advice of his wife, pending receipt of funds from a London agent.

Lord Waldmere had, in fact, raised ten thousand dollars by placing in pawn with the Imperial Loan Company his wife’s valuable jewels, given to her before her marriage, and valued at about thirty thousand dollars. This not only had been done upon his wife’s suggestion, but she also had made the deal and conducted the entire transaction, having had far more experience and being of a much more practical business mind than her husband himself. All of this money had since been invested in Colorado.

Returning to New a week before, Waldmere then communicated by cable with his London agent, who, during the interval, had converted some of his lordship’s property into cash, and drafts were immediately sent him more than doubly sufficient to redeem the pledged jewels.

These funds had arrived that afternoon and were immediately placed on deposit. A little later Waldmere went with his wife to the office of the Imperial Loan Company to redeem the jewels, arriving there soon after five o’clock.

They were told, however, that the jewels were in a time-lock vault that had just been closed for the day, and which could not be opened until nine o’clock the following morning, when the jewels could be redeemed and the transaction ended.

This was perfectly satisfactory under the circumstances, of course, and Lady Waldmere promised to call with her husband the following morning. It was while they were returning to the boarding house, however, that they were separated in the extraordinary manner described.

Such was his lordship’s story, told in his own peculiar way, and to which Nick Carter very attentively listened. It revealed the truth in so far as Waldmere could reveal it—but it by no means explained the disappearance of her ladyship, the beautiful American chorus girl for whom Waldmere had lost his heart and sacrificed his prestige.

Nick smiled somewhat significantly when the Englishman had finished. He glanced at the photograph on the mantel, remarking agreeably:

“Well, well, Waldmere, you were hard hit indeed by the pretty American girl. In view of the incentive to many of our international marriages, your conduct is really quite refreshing. I rather like you for it. That is a photograph of Lady Waldmere, I infer.”

“Yes, taken in London,” bowed Waldmere, evidently deeply pleased with the detective’s comments.

“A very beautiful girl, indeed.”

“She jolly well is, Mr. Carter, and worthy of——”

“Of all your devotion, Waldmere, no doubt,” Nick familiarly interrupted. “But we must not drift away from the matter. We must get onto our job and stick to it, or valuable time may be lost.”

“I agree with you.”

“None of the circumstances you have stated seem to present, on the surface at least, any reasonable explanation of what has occurred, nor any consistent motive for felonious designs upon her,” Nick added. “Unless she soon returns, nevertheless, there can be no doubt that she is a victim of knavery of some kind, that does not appear on the surface. Let me ask you a few questions. I then may hit upon some theory to fit the case.”

“That’s a ripping good idea, old top,” Lord Waldmere nodded. “Come on with them.”

“To begin with, then, has your wife many acquaintances here in town?”

“Hardly any, sir, ’pon my word. She is a Kentucky girl, and has spent but little time in this bally city. We have met none during either of our visits. We live very privately.”

“It is quite improbable, then, that the occupant of the taxicab was a friend, or even an acquaintance,” Nick pointed out. “Deception having been employed, therefore, we must assume that she was forcibly carried away. That also appears in the fact that you think the driver thrust her into the cab.”

“I’m deuced well sure of that, Mr. Carter,” Waldmere again declared. “The bally bounder placed his hand squarely on her shoulder, sir, and gave her a push. I can almost swear to that. If she——”

“Let me do most of the talking, Waldmere,” Nick interrupted. “I wish to get at the salient points as quickly as possible. Answer me with merely an affirmative, or negative, when you can.”

“Very well, sir.”

“Has your father, or any of your family, ever threatened the girl because of your marriage?” Nick then inquired. “In other words, Waldmere, do you believe any of them capable of a conspiracy against her?”

“No, sir,” protested the Englishman quickly. “They are above anything of that kind. Besides, Mr. Carter, they have jolly well cast us both out. No one knows where to find us.”

“You think, then, that they may be safely eliminated from any connection with this affair?”

“Yes, absolutely.”

“We must seek nearer home, then, for a motive,” said Nick. “Had Miss Royal any former admirer who might——”

“No, no; nothing of the kind.” Lord Waldmere quickly shook his head. “Her sweet heart has been an open book for me to read at will. There is nothing in that, sir.”

“And you recall no incentive, or circumstance, that might have a bearing upon this matter?”

“No, none, Mr. Carter.”

“Let’s consider, then, the one nearest to it—your visit to the Imperial Loan Company,” said Nick. “I think you said that Lady Waldmere did most of the business.”

“She did the whole blooming business,” Lord Waldmere quickly assured him. “She’s jolly well fitted for it, is Mollie, while I’m a doughhead and——”

“I understand,” Nick cut in. “You went with her to redeem the jewels, which had been pledged for ten thousand dollars. Did she have the money on her person? That may have been the incentive for the crime, if such it turns out to be.”

“But that can’t be, don’t you know?” Waldmere at once protested. “Mollie had the bally ticket for the pledge, but she had no money. I had a certified bank check for the amount. Here it is, sir. See for yourself.”

Nick merely glanced at the check, which Lord Waldmere hastily drew from his pocketbook. It bore the current date and corroborated the Englishman’s statements.

“It seems to knock that theory on the head,” Nick said thoughtfully, after a moment. “Nevertheless, by Jove, it may be that the jewels——”

Nick broke off abruptly, not stating what he had in mind. Instead, drawing forward in his chair, he said, more earnestly:

“By the way, Lord Waldmere, did your wife transact this business under her own name, or a fictitious one?”

“An assumed name, of course.”

“The one by which you are known here?”

“No. She used another.”

“What was it?”

Lord Waldmere scratched his head, staring desperately at the carpet for several moments.

“Dash it, sir! I’ve jolly well forgotten,” he cried dubiously. “’Pon my honor, Mr. Carter, I can’t remember.”

“Rack your brains for a moment,” Nick suggested, though he had no great hope of any desirable result.

“Hang it, sir! I’m giving them a ripping racking. But Mollie always kept the bally ticket, you see, and I had no hand in the blooming business. She has a head for it, don’t you know, and I always let her run things for me. Blast it, sir, I can’t remember!”

“Well, well, never mind,” Nick said, a bit bluntly. “Whom did you see in the loan office?”

“The jolly manager, I think.”

“Do you remember his name?”

“’Pon my word, sir, I don’t,” said Waldmere, with a groan over his inability to be of any material aid. “I don’t know that I heard his bally name, sir, as far as that goes. Molly did all of the talking.”

“What was said, or done?”

“Very little, sir, ’pon my word. Mollie turned in the ticket to a dinky clerk in a window. He took it to a back room, as I remember, and in about five minutes the bally manager came out.”

“What did he say?” Nick inquired.

“He said as how the jewels were in the vault, which had been closed about five o’clock for the day, and that it couldn’t be opened until to-morrow morning.”

“He stated that it had a time lock, didn’t he?”

“Exactly. That’s just what he said.”

“And that your wife could redeem the jewels if she were to call to-morrow morning?”

“Precisely,” Lord Waldmere nodded. “That’s all there was to the blooming business.”

Nick did not feel so sure of it. He saw plainly, however, that there was nothing more to be learned from the titled Englishman, who obviously knew as little of business as a lad in knickerbockers.

More than an hour had passed since the episode on the avenue. There was no indication of Lady Waldmere’s return, nor did Nick really expect it. He glanced at his watch and found that it was nearly seven o’clock.

“Dash it! I’m deucedly upset,” Waldmere remarked, and he really looked so. “What the dickens am I to do? What——”

Nick interrupted him kindly, but impressively.

“There is only one wise thing for you to do, Lord Waldmere,” said he. “You must leave this matter to me and do precisely what I direct. If your wife has been abducted, or is a victim of other knavery, I will leave no stone unturned to find her and punish the crooks. I can accomplish both, perhaps, while you would surely fail.”

“You’re jolly well right, Mr. Carter, as far as that goes,” Waldmere frankly admitted.

“You must see, then, that my advice is sound,” said Nick. “I will take the case, if you wish, but you must promise to follow my instructions.”

“That’s deucedly kind, sir, and I’ll do so. I will, sir, ’pon my honor.”

“Very good,” said Nick. Give the matter no publicity, then, at present. Remain here quietly until to-morrow morning, stating to others in the house merely that your wife is away for a short time. I don’t want the matter to reach the newspapers.”

“Dear me, no!”

“Be silent, then, and discreet. Here is a card with my address and telephone number. Is there a telephone in this house?”

“There is, sir,” Waldmere nodded.

“If your wife returns before morning, then, call up my office and inform whomever answers you,” Nick directed. “That would probably end the matter. If she does not return, however, which now seems more probable, you may expect me here at half past eight to-morrow morning. I then will begin a thorough investigation. In other words, Lord Waldmere, I’m going at this like a bull at a gate.”

The last was added chiefly to encourage the down-hearted Englishman, who, strange to say, appeared to detect it. For he pulled himself together with a manly effort, then adjusted his monocle to gaze more intently at the detective, whose hand he warmly grasped with both of his.

“’Pon my honor, old top, I can’t find words to thank you,” he said gratefully. “I really can’t, don’t you know.”

“Don’t try, Lord Waldmere,” Nick replied, pressing his hand. “Merely do only what I have directed. Keep a stiff upper lip and leave this matter to me. I’ll call the turn, all right, as sure as you’re a foot high.”

CHAPTER III.
HOW NICK SIZED IT UP.

Nick Carter came out from dinner in his Madison Avenue residence after eight o’clock, two hours later than usual. Instead of going to his business office, he entered his private library, saying to Joseph, his butler, as he passed him in the deep, attractively furnished hall:

“Send Chick and Patsy to me. They’re in the office.”

Nick had waited only a few moments, when he was joined by his chief assistant, Chick Carter, who was presently followed by Patsy Garvan. Both knew that something of importance was in the wind, and Nick at once proceeded to tell them of what it consisted, covering all of the essential points of the case.

“Gee, that’s some puzzle, chief, for fair!” commented Patsy, after listening attentively. “What’s the game? His royal nob from England must be a decent sort of a chap, after all, don’t you know. He sure has been dead square with the chorus girl.”

“So he is, Patsy, and less shallow than he appears,” Nick replied. “But he don’t know enough about business to last him overnight. Evidently, however, his wife is a keen and clever girl, as well as handsome.”

“Why not? She’s an American girl,” said Patsy.

“That’s one reason why I took on the case,” smiled Nick.

“The Imperial Loan Company,” put in Chick. “Why, I know that concern. It’s nothing else but a high-grade pawnshop. It was established by Isaac Meyer several years ago. I knew him when he had a shop in the Bowery. But he’s nearly down and out, now with creeping paralysis. He never leaves home.”

“Where is that?” Nick inquired.

“Over in Columbus Avenue.”

“Who runs his business?”

“His manager,” said Chick. “A man named Morris Garland. He has been with Meyer since he opened the Fifth Avenue place. It’s only a few blocks from where you met the Englishman.”

“I know the place very well, Chick, but none of the inmates,” said Nick. “What do you know about Garland?”

“He’s all aboveboard, Nick, as far as I know,” Chick replied. “There is only one out about him, if that really cuts any ice.”

“What is that?”

“I have seen him quite frequently with Stuart Floyd. They appear to be very friendly. You know Floyd, of course. He’s about as keen and slick a fellow as can be found in this old town.”

“Do you think so?”

“Don’t you?”

“I don’t know much about him, Chick, save that he is a well-known man about town. The police have nothing on him, have they?”

“No, nothing that I know of,” Chick admitted. “Floyd has no record, to be sure, barring a record that makes him a mystery to me, at least.”

“Why a mystery?”

“Because he has no visible means of support, yet he always has plenty of money, or appears to have,” said Chick. “He inherited nothing, nevertheless, for I knew his people, as I have known him for years.”

“I see.”

“He has lived by his wits since he was fifteen. I never knew him to do a stroke of work. At thirty, nevertheless,” Chick pointed out, “he frequents the best hotels and restaurants, lives like a lord, dresses like a millionaire, and spends money more lavishly than most of them. He apparently is a thoroughbred sport and man about town. But where does the coin come from? How does he get by? If that don’t constitute a mystery, Nick, what the dickens does? I’m from Missouri. You’ll have to show me.”

Nick laughed.

“We are drifting from the more important matter,” said he. “You know of nothing wrong in his relations with Morris Garland, do you?”

“No, nothing,” Chick allowed. “I’ve told you all I know about him.”

“He is not alone in those respects,” Nick replied. “There are hundreds like him. I have heard, of course, that Stuart Floyd is a slick fellow. He really looks it, as far as that goes, for he is as clean-cut, attractive a man as one often meets. That’s neither here nor there, however, at this stage of the game. We’ll get back to Hecuba.”

“Do you suspect the Imperial Loan Company, chief, in connection with Lady Waldmere’s disappearance?” asked Patsy.

“I do.”

“Why?”

“For two reasons,” said Nick. “First, because there seems to be no one else to suspect. Second, because the episode occurred so soon after her visit to the loan company. That suggests a possible connection between them.”

“I see the point.”

“Furthermore, there are ten thousand dollars involved, or jewels valued at close upon thirty,” Nick added. “Those may be the incentive to knavery of some kind. There seems to be no other motive for a crime, in fact, assuming that a crime really has been committed.”

“That’s right, too, chief,” nodded Patsy. “There seems to be nothing else to be gained, if Lord Waldmere had told a straight story.”

“I have no doubt of that.”

“But what could the loan company gain by abducting the woman?” Chick questioned, perplexed. “The jewels must be in their possession.”

“Very true,” Nick admitted. “They knew that Lady Waldmere had called to redeem them, and that she must have brought the funds with which to do so. They may not have known, however, that she intended redeeming the pledge with a certified check. They may have thought that she had the ten thousand dollars in cash on her person.”

“Gee! that listens good to me, chief!” cried Patsy, quick to see the point. “That seems to be the only way to size it up.”

“That is one way, at least,” Nick replied, smiling a bit oddly.

“But it must have been a mighty slick job, Nick, in that case,” Chick objected, with manifest doubt of the theory advanced by the other.

“It was a slick job.”

“But how could they have framed it up so quickly?”

“What are you driving at?” Patsy demanded, turning upon Chick. “Why quickly?”

“That ought to be plain enough even to you,” Chick retorted. “Lord Waldmere stated that he and his wife were in the office of the loan company only about five minutes.”

“Well, I admit that.”

“It is obvious, too, that their visit could not have been anticipated,” Chick proceeded to argue. “Neither Morris Garland, nor the assistant manager, Moses Hart, could have known that Lady Waldmere had any intention of redeeming the jewelry at just that time.”

“True again, old man,” nodded Patsy, with an expression of perplexity returning to his face.

“That’s what I mean, then, by their having framed up the job so quickly,” Chick forcibly added.

“I get you.”

“They would have had only five minutes in which to have laid their plans and made all the arrangements for executing them. That’s a mighty short time in which to shape up such a job, to say nothing of getting ready to carry it out. It’s not a simple stunt to pick up a woman on Fifth Avenue and get away with her from under her husband’s eyes.”

“Say, you’re getting wiser every minute, Chick,” cried Patsy, laughing. “I begin to think there really is something in what you say.”

“You ought to have seen it before.”

“What do you say, chief?”

Nick laughed and knocked the ashes from the cigar he was smoking.

“Chick’s argument is all right, Patsy, as far as it goes,” he replied. “We know that the couple were only a short time in the office of the loan company, and that their visit could not have been anticipated. We are not pinned down to five minutes, however.”

“What do you mean?” questioned Chick.

“What Lord Waldmere really said was this—that, after talking with one of the clerks, who very likely was the assistant manager, the latter went into Garland’s private office, where he remained about five minutes before either of them came out to resume the discussion.”

“Gee! that’s right, too,” nodded Patsy.

“And it is quite significant,” Nick added. “It certainly would not have taken Hart five minutes to state merely what the couple wanted.”

“Surely not.”

“Garland could have come out and joined them in half a minute, as far as that goes. Why, then, did he not do so? What were the two men doing that occupied five full minutes? It looks very much to me as if they were framing a job.”

“But——”

“One moment, Chick,” Nick interposed. “I know you’re going to object again to my theory. I advanced that, however, as a matter of fact, only to point out that there could have been a reasonable motive for knavery.”

“Ah, that’s different,” said Chick, smiling.

“I have no idea, nevertheless, assuming that Garland and Hart are back of this business, that they aimed to rob Lady Waldmere of money supposed to be on her person,” Nick continued. “They would not have acted upon a mere supposition. They first would have made absolutely sure that she had the money.”

“Certainly,” Chick nodded. “That goes without saying.”

“All the same, chief, there was a job framed up for some reason during those five minutes,” Patsy said roundly. “I’d wager my bankroll on that.”

“I think so, too,” Nick agreed.

“But what’s the game?” Chick questioned, still doubtful.

“Can’t you think of one that may have been necessary?”

“Not on the spur of the moment.”

“I can,” said Nick, smiling.

“Well, well, out with it,” laughed Chick, coloring slightly. “What do you suspect?”

Nick laid aside his cigar.

“Pull up a little nearer,” said he. “I can tell you with very few words what I suspect—and how we may contrive to clinch my suspicions.”

CHAPTER IV.
NICK DECLARES HIMSELF.

Nick Carter’s anticipation proved to be correct. He received no telephone communication from Lord Waldmere, informing him that his pretty American wife had returned. In accord with his promise to the Englishman, therefore, while Chick and Patsy prepared to carry out the instructions given them, Nick appeared at the boarding house in Fifty-third Street at precisely half past eight that morning and rang the bell.

As the saying goes, however, Nick’s own mother would not have recognized him. He was clad in a rather obtrusive plaid suit of pronounced English cut. He looked portly and imposing. He carried a heavy ebony cane. His strong, clean-cut face was artfully disguised. He could have walked through the Strand or Piccadilly, and readily have been taken for a Bond Street banker on his way to business.

Nick directed the servant to inform Mr. Waldron that the friend he was expecting had arrived, and the detective was presently conducted to the first-floor front, which he entered and closed the door.

Lord Waldmere, looking white and haggard after a sleepless night, stared at him in blank amazement.

“Oh, I say!” he exclaimed. “There is some beastly mistake. I’m not expecting——”

“Yes, you are, Waldmere,” Nick interrupted, smiling and speaking in his customary tones. “There is no mistake. I told you, you know, that I was going at this case like a bull at a gate.”

Waldmere’s face lighted wondrously.

“Oh, by Jove!” he cried, hand extended. “You are——”

“The man you expect,” Nick interposed, more seriously. “Don’t be surprised at seeing me thus disguised. My face is very well known to the denizens of the underworld, and I frequently must get in my work under cover.”

“You are jolly well covered, sir, as to that,” Waldmere replied, smiling significantly. “I’d never know you. I’d take you for some blooming banker, or——”

“That is precisely what I aimed at,” Nick replied. “But we have no time to waste. You have heard nothing from your wife, of course?”

“Not a word, or——”

“Or you would have advised me, certainly,” Nick cut in again. “We will get right at this matter, then. Sit down while I give you a few instructions.”

Lord Waldmere complied, all attention.

Half an hour later, or about quarter past nine, a taxicab stopped in front of the quarters of the Imperial Loan Company, which Nick and his companion entered, or that part of the establishment open to its patrons.