The Babbington Case
OR
Nick Carter’s Strange Quest

By NICHOLAS CARTER
Author of “A Double Identity,� “The Poisons of Exili,�
“Out for Vengeance,� etc.

STREET & SMITH PUBLICATIONS
INCORPORATED
79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York, N. Y.

Copyright, 1911
By STREET & SMITH
———
The Babbington Case
All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign
languages, including the Scandinavian.
Printed in the U. S. A.

THE BABBINGTON CASE.

CHAPTER I.
A MYSTERIOUS AFFAIR.

“A man and a woman together; then a man alone.�

Nick Carter thought this remark rather than uttered it in words, as he came to an abrupt pause in his walk and looked down upon the tracks in the snow.

There were no other tracks than those anywhere visible, save only his own, which he had made in his approach to the spot, and he was careful not to approach too near while he made the examination which only his curiosity suggested—for there could have been no other reason at the moment than curiosity to attract him.

But before him was a huge iron gate between two enormous posts; a gate which had the outward appearance of not having been opened in a long time, and, indeed, upon it now, as the detective looked at it, there was a formidable padlock, with its heavy chain, to hold the great barrier against all comers.

Nick Carter could see from where he stood that the lock was securely locked, that the chain had been drawn tightly around the spindles of the iron gate, and, therefore, that the man who had come out of the place alone, after having passed inside with the woman not very long before, had locked it.

There were the tracks he had made when he had turned about to fasten the gate when he came out alone, and there were his tracks when he walked away from the place.

But where was the woman? and why had she not come again with the man?

These were perfectly natural questions which the detective asked himself; natural, because he knew something about the grounds upon which those gates opened, and also something about the house within those grounds.

Still more, he knew something about the people to whom the magnificent residence and grounds belonged.

He remembered also that the light flurry of “sugarâ€� snow which now covered the ground like a white sheet of tissue paper—and it was scarcely thicker than that—had fallen within the last hour.

So it followed that those tracks must have been made within that hour.

Within an hour a man and a woman had entered the grounds of Pleasantglades—for that is the name by which the magnificent estate was known, or, at least, it is the one that we will use here to represent it—within an hour the two had entered together, and the man had come out alone, locking the gate after him, and, therefore, leaving her there.

And Nick Carter knew that the great house was unoccupied; that there was not even a caretaker there, so——

Why had two gone in and only one come out?

Curiosity gave place to interest; and as he studied the footprints with still more care, interest became absorbtion.

Both persons had been well shod. The woman daintily so, for, as the detective looked even more closely, he came almost to the opinion that she had been wearing slippers.

And the tracks of the man suggested dress shoes, even pumps, if one was to call upon one’s imagination just a trifle.

The hour, be it said, when the detective discovered the tracks in the snow, was between two and three o’clock in the morning, and a hundred feet away from the gate an arc light glowed brightly. Otherwise, the place would have been intensely dark, for, although that flurry of snow had lasted but a few minutes, it was still cloudy and threatening.

If Nick had approached the gate from the opposite direction, he might not have noticed the tracks at all; but, as it happened, he had approached toward the light, and had looked directly down upon them, plainly revealed.

The place was quite near to New York; near enough so that the detective had gone there in his car since dark that night.

The business that had taken him there had nothing to do with this thing that now interested him, and, if it seems strange to the reader that he should have been strolling along such a thoroughfare alone at that hour of the morning, we need only to say that that is quite another and different story.

What would be your impulse, reader, if you made just such a discovery as this one?

Would it not be to follow the footprints of the man without delay, to find out where he had gone, and with the probability of learning his identity? Probably. And yet Nick Carter knew at once how fruitless such a pursuit would be, since at the next corner toward the direction the man had taken, which was approximately three hundred feet distant, two trolley tracks passed, and it was upon a thoroughfare where there was considerable travel; the tracks left by this strange man, therefore, would be quickly lost at that point, even if he had not succeeded in stepping upon a trolley car, and being borne away in one direction or the other.

Nevertheless, after a moment of thought, Nick ran along the street to that corner, for it had occurred to him that possibly the two, the man and the woman, had come to that point in a motor car, and if that were so there would still be evidence of the fact that such a car had stopped there.

He found that much evidence, too, but no more.

There, beside the curb in this same street upon which the gate was located, were the plain tracks in the snow, showing where the car had pulled out after the man had returned to it, although there were no tracks to show its approach.

And this demonstrated the undoubted fact that the motor had arrived there just about at the beginning of the fall of snow.

Nick remembered that it had continued to snow not more than ten or fifteen minutes at the most, and so it was at once apparent to the detective that the car had arrived at the corner just before the snow began to fall; that the two had remained in the car for several moments thereafter, probably discussing the trip from the car to the house, and had finally left it while the snow was still falling rapidly.

Well, all that was not important save to demonstrate that one of the persons, probably the woman, had not left the car to go to the house willingly, but that persuasion of some sort had been resorted to.

If the car arrived at the corner before the snow began to fall—and Nick knew that it had done so—and if the snow had ceased to fall while they were midway of the distance of three hundred feet, it followed that they must have remained talking together in the car for at least eight minutes, and, at the most, thirteen minutes.

And yet there was no evidence anywhere to be seen that the woman had not accompanied the man willingly enough.

It was apparent that she had walked along by his side even without clinging to his arm, for the tracks were not close enough together to suggest that; there was no place where it appeared that she had made any effort to turn back; there was no suggestion anywhere, that the detective could see, save the one of the hesitation, while still in the car, that the woman had not gone willingly enough.

The car itself, upon leaving the corner, had been driven upon the trolley tracks where it had been turned southward toward the city.

It must not be supposed that the detective wasted any time in making these discoveries. A glance at the tracks in the snow as he ran to the corner, then at the tracks left by the car, was all that was needed to inform him of the points already made, and he turned and went toward the great gate again, thinking.

Plainly, as a humane man, if not as a detective, it was his duty to enter the grounds of Pleasantglades and to find out what had become of that woman who had entered there with a man, at or soon after two o’clock in the morning, and who had not come out again.

He decided, as he again approached the gate, to go inside.

To decide to go inside, and to get inside were quite two different things.

Nick decided that the top of the wall was quite fourteen feet above the pavement where he stood. He could see that it was guarded by that most effective of all means for such a guard—by broken glass set in cement.

The gate between the two high posts was a double one, which opened at the middle, and the tops of the highest spears were nearly as high as the posts themselves, while the shortest ones were only a trifle lower than the walls.

Plainly the only method of entering the grounds was by opening the gate, and that meant that he must either pick the lock, or file through the chain that held the two gates together, for, although he had his nippers with him, they were by far too small and delicate to bite through a chain of that size.

And his picklock, which he was never without, had not been intended for locks of that sort, for he found when he examined it that it was of the most complicated pattern of padlock, and that it had probably been made to order for the owners of the place.

Indeed, as he examined it more closely, he found it to be one of those rare locks which require the use of two, and sometimes three, keys, to open them.

His picklock was therefore out of business for once.

But he had his pocket case of delicate tools with him, and among those tools was a file which would eat through that chain, or any other one, in short order; and so, at last, he took it from the case and adjusted it.

It was the last extremity to which he resorted, for he disliked the idea of filing his way into the place, necessary as it seemed to be, that he should enter. He would greatly have preferred to scale the wall, or to pick the lock if either had been possible.

He did not like the idea of leaving the place unguarded even temporarily, when he came out again, for, after all, there was no certainty that he would find anything wrong, and it was quite possible that there might be a plausible and logical reason and explanation for all the things he had discovered that had interested him so greatly.

But he had decided that he would go inside, and, therefore, he went inside with no more delay than was absolutely necessary.

That little file of his, no larger than the blade of a penknife, and not much longer, ate through the chain cleanly and rapidly, and, although we have taken so much time and space to describe his discovery of the tracks in the snow and to explain his reasonings upon that discovery, it is doubtful if more than fifteen minutes had actually elapsed after he first saw the footprints, until he opened one of the gates, passed through, and closed the gate after him.

Then, having rearranged the chain again with great care so that it would not be noticed that it had been tampered with, he turned to follow the tracks in the snow, that led toward the great mansion.

CHAPTER II.
WHERE THE FOOTPRINTS LED.

Pleasantglades, although located directly within a large community which has lately taken upon itself the dignity of a city, and situated almost at the center of it, is as isolated, in more senses than one, as if it were in the midst of a forest. There are many who will read what is written here who know the place perfectly well, and have often admired it—and who would recognize it at once if the right name of it were given.

But there are reasons, which will develop later in the story, why the exact name and locality cannot be given here. Suffice it to say that it is within an hour of New York City by motor car.

The high wall that has already been described incloses six acres of beautiful grounds, which the owner always referred to as “The Park.�

From the great gate, which strangely enough is the only entrance to the grounds, or park, the roadway winds in two directions, to the right and to the left, among splendid trees, and in the summertime there is no more beautiful and spacious home to be found anywhere near the metropolis.

The owner, J. Cephas Lynne, was justly proud of it—almost as proud of this possession, as of one greater one that was his, his daughter.

We have to mention her here and now, because it was Edythe Lynne, or, rather, all that remained of her—her dead body—that Nick Carter speedily found when at last he forced his way into the house just as a burglar would have done it, only more expertly even than that, and penetrated to the beautiful room which he judged to have been one of her own private suite.

She was in the parlor or boudoir of her suite; she was lying peacefully upon a large couch among a myriad of pillows, which had been tastefully and comfortably arranged to support her body in a comfortable and graceful position.

She was reclining entirely at ease, as if she had arranged herself there to rest, having first fixed the pillows so that she could do so in comfort, fully dressed as for a party or a wedding, as she was.

One hand, the left one, rested upon a pillow that was partly behind her, the arm being stretched out to its full length; the other one hung partly over the edge of the divan couch, as if it had fallen there in that position of its own weight.

And just beneath that right hand, upon the rug, was a tiny glass vial capable of holding thirty to forty drops of liquid—and the room was pungent with the odor of almonds.

It was not difficult to guess, because of that odor, what the vial had contained: Prussic acid. Nor was it difficult to understand that the man who had taken her there and murdered her had carefully arranged everything so that it should appear to be an undoubted suicide.

To understand and appreciate everything just as Nick Carter found them, and as he discovered them, it must be remembered that it was still pitchy dark outside, and that there were no light connections in the great mansion at that time. As a consequence, the detective’s only means of searching the place was by the aid of his electric flash light, which he always carried with him when engaged upon business—and he had been on business of quite another nature, when he discovered those tracks in the snow.

When he forced his way into the house by picking the lock of the same door to which the tracks had led him, traces of the snow that those other two had brought into the house with them led him speedily enough to the scene we have already partly described.

And when he opened the door to that room, and threw his light from point to point about it, the shaft of illumination at last rested directly upon the beautiful face of the dead girl on the couch.

Such was the picture he saw before he made further investigation.

Then came the other details that we have told about, and some others that are yet to be told.

A long coat of sable, that might have reached to the young woman’s ankles, had been carefully laid across the back of a chair, and upon that were the scarf and veil that she had worn as a head covering, and they had been put there with exactly the same degree of careless attention that she might have used in doing so.

A fan, her gloves, and a gold vanity box set with jewels were upon the table in the middle of the room, and, beside them, was a sealed envelope addressed to J. Cephas Lynne.

The writing on the envelope was in the bold, rather large feminine hand that was in vogue at that time, and was presumably her own—or an imitation of her own handwriting; underneath the address was written the one further word, “Personal.â€�

There was not a thing about the room to indicate that another person than herself had visited it, and, although the detective searched diligently for such evidence, he could find no trace of the man who had accompanied her to the house which had been her home.

Never in the experience of Nick Carter had he known of a clear case of murder like this one, where the murderer had left absolutely nothing undone to demonstrate a suicide; but Nick Carter, because of those tracks in the snow, because he had arrived upon the scene at precisely the psychological moment to understand them, and because he had read the other signs that we have described, knew it to be a deliberately planned and executed crime.

There was not the slightest doubt of that in his mind, and, therefore, he did not hesitate to break the seal of that letter which otherwise would have been sacred.

But there was no time to be lost in getting a trace of that man who had accompanied the young woman to the house.

One who could plan and execute a crime in such a masterly manner would have planned much farther ahead of him than that, also, and would have arranged to cover his tracks so that if the accident of Nick Carter’s passing that way at the moment he did so had not happened, it is doubtful if the crime and criminal would ever have been discovered, and the young woman who died that night in all the glory of her young womanhood would have been remembered only as a suicide.

Therefore, the detective broke the seal and read the letter—after which he returned it to the envelope and put it carefully away in one of his pockets, already determined that no eyes but his own and his assistants should see it until he had run down the man who had committed the awful outrage.

The contents of that letter are not important save to demonstrate the cleverness of the murderer; but we will give them as the detective found them:

“Darling Papa: I will not ask you to forgive me for this act, for I know you will do that. I also know that I will have made you suffer deeply by it. Yet I do it with deliberation—because I feel that I must do it. The reasons why I have decided that there is no other way, you will discover soon enough, and you will feel deep regret because I did not go to you and tell you all about it, instead of doing this thing. Yet there are some things which one cannot face, and the one thing that I cannot face is your sorrow when you come to know what I have done. I would never have believed it possible that I could be brought to this pass, but here I am, and soon I shall be only a memory. I hope you will cherish only the tenderest parts of that memory, and that you will always believe that even in taking my own life, I love you.

Edythe.�

Such was the letter that the detective read and then hid away in his pocket; but there was one sentence of the letter that burned itself upon his memory, one sentence that must be the explanation of the crime itself. It was:

“The reasons why I have decided that there is no other way, you will discover soon enough, and you will feel deep regret because I did not go to you and tell you all about it, instead of doing this thing.�

In that sentence was concealed, doubtless, the secret of why the crime had been committed, and Nick Carter felt as certain as he had ever felt assured of anything in his life, that the dead girl on the couch, if she could have come to life at that moment, would have been utterly ignorant of what those reasons were.

In other words Nick Carter read the scene in this manner:

This crime was committed to conceal another crime, and the murderer, knowing that his lesser crime would presently be discovered, determined to fix it upon this innocent girl, the daughter of the house.

Therein existed the nucleus of the whole affair as the detective saw it.

It was plain, of course, that the man who could have induced Edythe Lynne to go with him to her out-of-town home in the dead of night must have been a near relative, or a person who was entirely in the confidence of the family—otherwise she would not have consented to accompany him.

And even then there must have been a powerful motive beyond any that could appear on the surface.

Was the man who had done this thing young or old, or middle aged? There was no present means of ascertaining that, but that he must be one who stood upon terms of at least cordial familiarity with J. Cephas Lynne and his daughter was beyond doubt.

The detective made one further hasty survey of the room, throwing the beam of his flash light again upon every detail that he had discovered; and then he left the room, leaving every detail as he had found it, save only the letter which he carried away with him in his pocket.

It was snowing hard when he got outside, and he nodded, as if to say:

“The murderer foresaw this additional fall of snow, and hence took no trouble to cover his tracks.�

Then he went on through the gate, fixing the chain again after him as he had done upon entering the place, and he hurried in the direction from whence he had first approached the gate, less than an hour before.

He walked rapidly onward a quarter of a mile or more, and presently came upon his own car, to discover that Danny, his chauffeur, and his two assistants, Chick and Patsy, were already there, awaiting him.

He looked at his watch before he spoke to them, and they had a fashion, born of long experience, of never addressing him on such an occasion until he had spoken. It was not always well to break in upon Nick Carter’s preoccupation.

“It is now a quarter to four,� he said; “a good two hours and a half before daylight. Danny, I want you to remain here with the car until we return, which will be within three-quarters of an hour. And, lads, I want you both to come with me. I have made a discovery that I want you both to see.�

Then, without further words, he led them both back to the house where he had discovered the crime, led them inside with the same care that he had used in the first place, making them dust the snow from their feet and clothing before they entered the house, and then he piloted them straight to the room where all that remained of beautiful Edythe Lynne awaited them.

Not until they were all inside that room and Chick and Patsy had looked upon the sad scene that was there, did he offer the slightest explanation; but then, in detail, just as it has been told here, he told them everything that had occurred, and everything that he had found since he first saw the tracks in the snow. But he expressed no opinions upon any of the incidents, for it was their separate opinions that he wanted, unbiased by his own. But he gave each of them the letter to read; and after that they left the house again, together.

CHAPTER III.
A MORNING CALL.

“We won’t discuss this affair just yet,â€� said the detective, as they hurried along together toward the place where the car was awaiting them. “There are other things to be considered first. But I want you both to think it over—all that you have seen and all that I have told you about it—so that later we can talk it over understandingly. Just now I have an idea in mind which is about the most absurd thing, on the surface, that I ever did in my life.â€�

Chick glanced around at him with sudden understanding, but it was Patsy who replied.

“I think I can guess what that is,� he said.

“Well, what is it?�

“It isn’t snowing so very hard just now,â€� said Patsy. “Those tracks that we have made in going to the house and coming away from it, while they will be covered, will not be entirely obliterated—not if six inches of snow should fall over them. There would still be the indications of footprints in the snow; of the ones we left there, eh?â€�

“Sure,� said the detective. “You’re on, Patsy.�

“You had more reasons than one in taking us back to the house with you, chief,� the second assistant continued. “You wanted to leave those tracks, didn’t you?�

“I’ll confess that I did, Patsy.�

“Just to mystify—who?â€�

“Who should you say, Patsy?�

“Well, the first thought would be that you preferred to mystify the police, than to tell these local chaps all you know; but there is more, isn’t there?�

“Yes; there is much more; but in order to accomplish it I am compelled to mystify the local authorities—until they have made their first report on the matter; after that I will be glad to take them into our confidence.â€�

“In other words,� said Chick, “you want to puzzle the murderer himself, but you want the local police out here to do it for you.�

“That is precisely the idea. Now, in the first place no one at the local headquarters, where I think they have about four policemen on duty, would think of questioning a report that you or I, Chick, would leave with them. So we will drive directly to the local headquarters, where I want you, Chick, to go inside while Patsy and I remain in the car. Do you know the rest?�

“You had better tell me so that I will get it exactly as you want it.�

“They know that we were out here to-night, and they know what for, don’t they? I told you to go there.�

“Yes.�

“Say to the officer in charge at the desk merely that in passing the gate at Pleasantglades you noticed that there were tracks in the snow, showing that several men had passed in and out of there during the night; that you thought it best to mention the fact—and that is all. Come back out and get into the car, and we will drive away.â€�

“You mean for them to find the body, and to report that three men had been in the house and had come out again.�

“Just that.�

“But I don’t quite see the point,� said Patsy, as he climbed into the car, and Danny, having received his directions, started forward.

“It is this: The local police of course know that Pleasantglades is at the present time unoccupied, and, doubtless, it is up to them to keep it free from molestation. Your report will hurry them around there to see what the tracks in the snow mean. They will find that the chain on the gate has been filed; they will follow the tracks to the door where we entered; they will find the body of the young mistress of the house, as we saw it; they will find no indications of violence anywhere, and yet the undisputed proof that men have been there.�

“Well?� said Patsy, when he paused.

“The afternoon papers to-morrow—to-day, rather—will teem with this greatest of all recent mysteries, and whatever conclusions the local police draw from what they find, there will be the statement that at least three men entered the house. I want the murderer to see that, and read it.â€�

“And also to fail to find any mention of the letter, eh?�

“Precisely. I want to puzzle him, and worry him. So much for that. Here we are at the station. Go on in, Chick, and get through with it as quickly as possible.�

Chick was gone only two or three minutes, and he returned with a half smile on his face.

“Well?� asked the detective, as they started to drive on.

“The information that there were tracks in the snow, showing that men had passed in and out of the grounds over there to-night, was like an electric shock to that copper,� said Chick. “He asked me if I had examined the tracks, and I truthfully told him that I had not. Then he thanked me and I came out.�

Nick leaned forward in his seat and spoke to Danny.

“I want you to make as good time as you can to the city,� he said. “The snow is a little heavy, I know, but you ought to get there by seven, Danny.�

“Easy, sir,� was the reply.

“When you do, drive directly to the residence of Mr. J. Cephas Lynne. It is on Riverside Drive. Do you know just where it is?�

“Yes, sir.�

“Well, you can’t get there any too quickly to please me.�

When the detective leaned back in his seat again, Chick said to him:

“Won’t the police up there already have telephoned to him, don’t you think?�

“Sure thing,� replied the detective. “I am going there in order to see Mr. Lynne as soon as possible after he gets the information. It may be that they will be slow up there about sending it.�

“Do you mean to tell him the entire story, just as it is?�

“That is my present intention; but I haven’t finally decided upon it. I shall be governed by circumstances in that matter. Have you ever seen this J. Cephas Lynne, Chick?�

“N-no; I don’t think I have.�

“Have you, Patsy?�

“No; not that I know of. I might have seen him without knowing who he was.�

“Exactly; that is an unaccountably brilliant remark for you to make. The point is this: I have never seen the man, either. I have seen his so-called pictures, in the papers, and so have both of you, I suppose, and I have always heard the very nicest things about him that one could hear of a very rich man who is rather in society, but who keeps out of it as much as possible. I want to see him, and talk with him, and size him up, and see how he withstands this blow, before I decide just what to say to him.�

“But,â€� said Patsy, “you will have to give an excuse for going there at all, won’t you? We are not supposed yet to know anything about the murder—or suicide, whichever it will be called in the newspaper reports.â€�

“I shall go there,� replied Nick quietly, “merely as a matter of duty, to report to him what Chick has already reported at the police station up there; merely that there were tracks in the snow, showing that some persons had entered his country home.�

“It may be,� said Chick, “that he will not yet have been notified of the tragedy.�

“I think it very likely that we will find it so.�

“I don’t see——â€� began Patsy.

“It is this way,� said the detective, interrupting: “In this snow it will take us, from the time we left that police station, about an hour and a half to get to his house. Now, up there it will be at least half an hour before those local police find the body; they will use up certainly an hour in looking about them before it will occur to them to telephone to Mr. Lynne, and probably more; so it is likely that we will get to his house before he hears anything about it. That’s all. Think that over; and now let’s ride on in silence for a while.�

Nick told Danny to stop the car directly in front of the residence on Riverside Drive, and, leaving the others to wait for him—it had long since stopped snowing—he ran up the front steps and pressed the button of the electric bell.

But he had to ring again and again before a sleepy butler at last appeared at the door and demanded, in a tone that was both haughty and surly, to know what was wanted.

“I must see Mr. Lynne at once,� said Nick, who knew by the very attitude of the butler that no intelligence of the crime had yet reached that house.

“Well, you cawn’t see him—at seven in the morning—the idea. Mr. Lynne never leaves his room in the morning till nine, and——â€�

“Look here, my man,â€� Nick interrupted, for he had already stepped inside the doorway, and so was well inside the house, “this is a matter of the utmost importance to Mr. Lynne, and you are to take this card to him at once, and tell him that it is extremely important that he should see me with as little delay as possible. If you don’t do it, I will find my way to his rooms myself—and you will probably lose your job.â€�

There seemed to be no help for it, and, besides, Nick spoke with a quiet assurance that visibly impressed the butler.

Rather ungraciously he took the card, which was one of Nick Carter’s own, and departed.

He returned, too, very quickly; much sooner than Nick had anticipated.

“Please come with me, sir,� he said, with more graciousness than he had shown before.

He offered no explanation of his change of manner, but, nevertheless, the detective was not surprised to find that Mr. Lynne was dressed and was engaged in sipping his morning coffee, when he was shown into the private morning room of the master of the house.

Mr. Lynne left his chair and greeted Nick pleasantly, then indicated a chair and asked him to be seated.

“I know your name, Mr. Carter, of course,� he said, “and I cannot imagine your coming to see me at this time of day unless something of the utmost importance sent you. It is fortunate that I am about rather earlier than usual this morning, otherwise you would have had to wait. I was trying to get an early start to visit my country place. May I offer you a cup of coffee?�

“No, thank you,� replied Nick, seating himself in another chair than the one that had been indicated. He always liked to sit, if he could, so that the light shone upon the features of the man he was talking with.

“What is the important business that brought you to me, Mr. Carter?â€� Mr. Lynne asked, affably enough, but with much of the air of one who was bored by the entire proceeding—and as if nothing could convince him that it was really of vital importance.

Somehow Nick did not like the man, although there was no reason why he should not do so.

But there was something about him which did not seem to the detective to be quite genuine.

“In referring to your country place, you mean Pleasantglades, I suppose?� Nick asked, in reply to the question.

“Most certainly,� raising his brows.

“In that case, and if you were going there at once, it was perhaps unnecessary that I should have called at all, for you would presently have discovered for yourself what I have come to tell you,â€� said the detective. “I have just come from there, and I came to tell you that——â€�

The cup of coffee which Mr. Lynne was holding in one hand unaccountably slipped from it and crashed to the floor, and, as that gentleman bent forward to pick it up, he said:

“How stupid of me. Please go on, Mr. Carter.�

CHAPTER IV.
A MAN, OR A MONSTER?

Nick Carter looked at the man closely.

“Mr. Lynne, were you out with your car last night?� he asked abruptly.

“Really, Mr. Carter,� was the slow reply, given with another raising of the eyebrows, “you amaze me. You send up word to me that you have information of the utmost importance; I receive you because I recognize the name on your card as representing one of the greatest detectives of modern times, and I assume that your important news must really be important, or you would not have come here at all; then you say that the important information you have has something to do with Pleasantglades, and in the next breath you ask me if I was out with my car last night. Will you be good enough to tell me why you are here?�

The cordiality and affability had all gone from his voice now, and it was cold, distant, and genuinely the one of a man who is not accustomed to being intruded upon for nothing.

“Would you mind answering the question?� Nick replied, with equal coldness. “My important information will follow at once.�

“Before I reply to any questions at all, Mr. Carter, I must ask for the information; or, at least, for the character of it,� was the reply.

“Very well. Pleasantglades was entered last night, I believe. One of my assistants has already given the information to the local police.�

“Is that all?� exclaimed the millionaire, with an air of great relief. “I really thought it might be something else; that the place was burned down, or something of that sort. It was good of you to come here yourself to tell me, however. I appreciate it.�

“Thank you. Now, will you reply to my question?�

“About the car? What has that to do with it?�

“Merely that it might have been yourself who visited Pleasantglades last night—or very early this morning.â€�

“Oh! I see. No, I was not there, nor near there, in fact.�

“Nor your car, either?�

“My dear, sir, I have three cars. Which one do you refer to?�

“To any one of them. Do you know where all three of the cars were last night?�

“No; but I could easily ascertain, if it is important.�

“It may prove to be quite important, sir. One of your cars was there last night.� This was merely a guess on Nick’s part, but he thought best to make it at that point.

“At Pleasantglades?� asked the millionaire, elevating his brows again. It seemed to be a favorite gesture of his.

“Yes; or near there.�

“Then it was entirely without my knowledge. I will inquire about it at once;� and he started to leave his chair.

But the detective interrupted him.

“Please keep your seat a moment longer, Mr. Lynne,� he said. “Of course it is not likely that you will know just what happened at your country place last night, until the local police have investigated, but there are a few questions which you might answer me, if you care to do so, which might be important.�

“Pardon me, but I don’t quite see what you have to do with it, Mr. Carter. You have not been asked for an opinion.�

Nick shrugged his shoulders, determined not to pay any attention to this man of so many attitudes.

“You have a daughter, Mr. Lynne. Do you happen to know where she is at this moment?� he asked.

The man sat up straight in his chair, grasping both arms of it tightly so that his knuckles stood out white and distinct. His brows drew together in a straight frown, and in a voice that was entirely unlike any that he had used before, so harsh was it, he exclaimed:

“Really, sir, you go too far. You exceed——â€�

“Do you know if your daughter went to Pleasantglades last night?� Nick interrupted him.

“I know that she did not go there. But what——â€�

“She did go there.�

It was an interruption, but it was a very quiet one; yet the four words were said with such a precise enunciation that the man stared at the detective for several seconds before he at last exclaimed:

“What do you mean?�

“Just what I said. Your daughter went to Pleasantglades last night. I wished to know if you were aware of the fact, and if you could tell me who accompanied her.�

The reply was cool, cutting, and precise.

“I will answer no to both your impertinent questions, and will ask what the devil business it is of yours, anyhow. You have intruded here upon my quiet morning, and now I will ask you to——â€�

“Just one moment, Mr. Lynne, if you please. If you could forget your dignity, and the position you occupy, and the millions you possess for just a moment, and come down to earth, it would not be amiss. I have heard many things about you, sir, and never an unkind one. I have had the highest estimate of your personal character until this moment, when you fly into a rage over nothing at all. You received me pleasantly enough when I came, but the moment I mention Pleasantglades, your entire attitude changes. Is it because you were going there, to-day?�

The millionaire had leaned back in his chair again while the detective was talking, and was smiling now, with a certain superciliousness that would have been an insult under any other circumstances.

“I am greatly indebted to you for your good opinion of me,â€� he said, with cool insolence. “Have you been—er—drinking?â€�

“No,� replied the detective calmly.

“Then will you be good enough to tell me exactly why you have made this call upon me?�

“I came, Mr. Lynne, to tell you that your daughter did go to Pleasantglades last night; that she arrived there about two o’clock this morning; that she entered the grounds and the house; that she is there now.�

“That she is there now? What do you mean? Has something happened to her? Has she been injured? And why should she go there at all?�

“Something has happened to her, Mr. Lynne,â€� said Nick slowly—for the life of him he could not feel sympathy for this man whom he had gone there prepared to like immensely, and to sympathize with greatly, and to offer every talent that he possessed—“something very serious indeed has happened to her.â€�

The man got upon his feet, white now to the lips, and the hands with which he grasped the back of the chair upon which he had been seated, trembled visibly; and all the while the detective never took his eyes from Lynne’s face. He wanted to sympathize with the man and could not, and for once in his life he was entirely at fault as to what judgment to pass, or to understand why he hesitated to form one.

There was not an expression of feature, not a line of the face, not a motion of any part of the body of the man before him that was lost upon the detective at that moment, for he could not believe that any man could be guilty of connivance at the death of his own daughter—and yet had he been a stepfather instead of a father, or had he borne any other relation than he did to that beautiful dead girl, Nick Carter would unhesitatingly have pronounced him the murderer then and there.

“What—what has happened to her—to Edythe?â€� faltered Lynne.

“She—is—dead,â€� was the slow reply.

“God!� cried the man, and dropped again upon the chair, and then his arms upon the tray filled with dishes, scattering them right and left, and burying his face in his arms; and Nick Carter could not help thinking that John Drew or Bob Hilliard could scarcely have done it better.

The reader must not misunderstand.

Nick Carter did not really suppose that this man was the murderer of his own daughter—but the only reason why he did not was because he could not bring his mind to believe such a monstrous thing.

But, all the same, the detective could not get it out of his mind that this millionaire had been acting a part from the moment the detective entered the room; and that the dramatic climax that had just occurred, with the scattering of the dishes, and all, was not in keeping with the attitude of thoroughbreds, when they receive a blow.

They take it standing, full in the face, and there is never even a touch of the dramatic about it.

The detective made no move forward. He waited; and presently, after a moment of silence, Lynne raised his head, then got upon his feet again, and with an apparent effort at calmness he said, half brokenly:

“Tell me about it.�

“I have told you about it, Mr. Lynne.�

“But—what does it mean? What killed her? What happened?â€�

“Who can know what happened, who was not there to witness what happened?�

“But—you keep me in doubt. I do not know what you mean.â€�

“The body of Miss Lynne is in the parlor of her own private suite of rooms; it is upon the divan couch, among the pillows, as if she had thrown herself there to rest. Her left arm extends along the top of the pillows; her right one hangs over the edge of the couch, and on the rug beneath the right hand there is an empty vial that has contained prussic acid. That is as much as I can tell you.�

“Suicide? Do you mean that she killed herself?�

“Appearances would point to such an answer, Mr. Lynne. Do you know of any reason why your daughter should have killed herself? or why she should have thought of doing so?�

“No, no, no! Why should she do such a thing?�

“That is what I came here to ask you?�

“But, if she did not do it herself, who could have done it?�

“That is another question that I wished to ask of you.�

“But there is no one, no one.�

“Are you quite sure of that?�

“Oh, you have shocked me so that I do not know what to answer. It is all so amazing; so unbelievable. Was there nothing—did you find nothing to indicate that another, or others, had been there with her?â€�

“The local police, up there, will report to you on that point, Mr. Lynne. They were going to the house to investigate when I started for the city to tell you about it. It seems to me that you should have heard from them before this; but, perhaps, they would consider it a wiser course to send a messenger to break the news.�

And then, as if in reply to the thought of Nick Carter, there was a tap at the door, and the butler again made his appearance.

“An officer of the police to see you, sir,� he said to his master.

“Show him up; show him up at once,� was the reply, and the owner of so many millions began to pace the floor, wringing his hands, and showing every appearance of great excitement.

“If I were you, sir, I would calm myself, and hear quietly what this man has to report,� said the detective, at the same time drawing back toward a far corner of the room.

CHAPTER V.
TRAGIC NEWS.

The officer who came from the local police near Pleasantglades was of that stolid order which, while they can perform a duty perfectly, and carry out orders to the letter, have little originality, and no initiative.

If this man had possessed either he would have noticed the great excitement under which Mr. J. Cephas Lynne seemed to be laboring, and which he was apparently trying hard to suppress; but, seemingly, he did not see either, but, the moment he entered the room, began:

“I have come, sir, to report to you that Miss Lynne was found dead in the parlor of her own rooms at Pleasantglades shortly after four o’clock this morning.�

It was evident that he was awed to be in the presence of the “great man,� the millionaire of the neighborhood, where he had been born and had lived all his life, which had not been so many years at that.

This time Mr. Lynne did not go to pieces as he had done before; there were no more dramatics; no more theatricals—for Nick could not but regard them so, although he tried to tell himself that he must be mistaken.

But there was no doubt of the fact that Lynne’s hands were shaking, and that he found it difficult to steady himself properly. He motioned toward a chair—which, as it happened, stood with its back toward the detective, and so it was that the messenger had no idea of the presence of Nick Carter in the room.

“Sit down,� said the millionaire. “Now, tell me all you know.�

“Yes, sir. It was this way. At four o’clock this morning word was brought to the station house that tracks had been discovered in the snow, showing that some person, or persons, had passed through the gate at Pleasantglades. Our captain was immediately called from——â€�

“Oh, never mind that. What did you find?� interrupted the stricken father.

“We found, sir, the tracks where four men had gone into the place and come out again.�

“Four?�

“Yes, sir. It had been snowing, so we could tell that one of them had gone in and come out again, before the visit of the other three.� (That meant Nick’s first entrance.)

“Well, go on.�

“It wasn’t very long after the first one came out, to judge by the tracks, before the other three came along, and maybe they only found the gate open—we can’t say as to that. But they went inside, and into the house, too.â€�

“How did they get into the house? Quick. Tell me what you found inside the house.�

“They picked the lock, sir. They had all been to the room where we discovered the dead body of Miss Lynne.�

This time Lynne bowed his head upon his hand, where his arm rested upon the table, and the detective felt a qualm of pity for him then, for the first time, for he could see that the man was trembling violently, and he wondered if it had been acting after all, and if the grief of the man had not been real.

“Tell me about that,� said Lynne. “You can give me the other particulars later.�

“Yes, sir. Our chief thinks it likely that she killed herself, sir; he told me to say to you that he would suppose there was no doubt of it at all, if it were not for the tracks in the snow.�

“What have they to do with his opinion?� demanded Lynne.

“Well, sir, the chief doesn’t think that they would likely have anything at all to do with it, if it were not for those other tracks—of the man who went there first, and who came away before the other three got there.â€�

Nick saw Lynne clutch the table, then rise to his feet and cross the room, where he opened a cabinet, and helped himself to a glass of brandy; and the policeman from the outlying district went stolidly on:

“Our chief thinks, sir, that the other three were probably tramps who happened along, and, finding the gate open, went inside; that they followed the tracks to the door, and found, perhaps, that the door was left open, too, and so they went on in. At least, that is his opinion, sir.�

“I understand. Well, what more?�

“The chief wanted me to tell you, sir, that, while everything there gives the appearance of suicide, there is still a large chance that it may be a case of murder.�

“Murder? Murder? No, no, not that. Not murder.�

“Yes, sir, that is what our chief told me to tell you; but he wanted me also to ask you what you thought about it. If you think it was suicide, why, then, it is suicide. That is what he said, and I was to take back your say so as to that.�

“My say so? What do you mean?�

“Well, sir, the chief thought that perhaps you might know something to lead you to express an opinion one way or the other, and that he would be glad to follow your opinion, no matter what it is.�

“You—you haven’t—told me yet what was found in the room. Was there evidence of a struggle?â€�

“No, sir; nothing at all of that sort. Everything was as orderly as possible, and we could not find that a single thing had been stolen or disturbed. There was only the young lady upon the couch with the little bottle under her right hand on the floor, and she was as peaceful and still as if she was asleep.�

“Was nothing else found there?�

“No, sir; and that is what puzzles the chief. He thinks that if the young lady went there to kill herself, she would have left a letter or something of the sort. But there was nothing of that kind, at all. She was just there; that’s all.�

“But who could have murdered my daughter?� It was almost a cry, and yet Nick Carter could not rid himself of the idea that the emotion of it was not entirely real.

“The chief thinks, sir, that if it was a murder—and he is inclined to think it was—the man did it who went there with her.â€�

Nick could have smiled under less tragic circumstances, so pleased was he by the turn that the talk had taken.

“By the man who went there with her? What——â€� began Lynne.

“Yes, sir. There weren’t any tracks of hers to be found, of course, but we figured it out that her feet are so small and she is so light in weight, that the snow would have hidden her tracks so that we were unable to find them, while the tracks of the man, when he went to the house, can still be seen.�

The reader will understand that this man was referring to the tracks that Nick Carter had made when he first entered the house, and to the tracks that he made again when he came away from it and went after his two assistants to take them back there with him. The tracks that Nick had found, that took him into the house, could no longer be discovered, of course.

“Does the chief think that some person, a man, went to that house with—— What are you talking about, man?â€�

“That is what the chief thinks. That somebody went there with her—or took her there by force.â€�

“By force?�

“Yes, sir.�

“But that is preposterous.�

“Drugged her, sir, maybe, and carried her there; or carried her there without drugging.�

“It is outrageous!�

“Yes, sir. You see, sir, she wouldn’t go there alone, at that time of the night, unless she did it with the intention of killing herself—and to tell you the honest truth, sir, the chief doesn’t think she did kill herself—unless you prefer that he should think so, Mr. Lynne.â€�

“Do you mean——â€�

“Wait a minute, sir. I’ll try to explain.�

“Do so, then.�

“Down on the corner we found the tracks of an automobile, where it had been standing a long while. There were tracks of men’s feet around it, where they had stood beside it, and smoked and talked while they were waiting for somebody. Whether that has any connection with the case, or not, the chief does not know, but he suggests that the men there, waiting, were confederates of the one who went into the house with Miss Lynne, or who carried her there, and that they took her there for the purpose of robbing the house.�

“This is a fine case that you and your chief have built up over the body of my poor daughter, isn’t it? You may return to your chief and say to him that no man went to that house with my daughter, unless she was dead before they went there—and in such a case it would hardly be necessary that she should be taken there. I do not know of any reason why she should have killed herself, but I presume a letter will be found somewhere which will tell me about it, if such was her intention.â€�

“Yes, sir; I suppose so, sir.�

“Thank the chief for his courtesy. Ask him, also, to guard the place thoroughly. I shall start at once, and possibly will arrive there before you do—and here is something to pay you for your trouble in coming here.â€�

“Oh, sir, I assure you——â€�

“That will do for the present.�

The policeman from the country district backed himself out of the room with a twenty-dollar bill in his hand, and so he did not see Nick Carter; and Nick was glad that he had not been seen, for he had already surmised that Lynne supposed Nick to have been present when all that the policeman told him had taken place.

In fact, the very first words uttered by Lynne, when they were again alone, proved that.

“Why could you not have told me all this at once?� he demanded; and then, without waiting for a reply, he sprang to his feet and dashed from the room.

Nick Carter followed him slowly, anticipating where he had gone, and, true enough, found him at the telephone impatiently awaiting an answer to the call he had given.

But it was evident that Lynne had in part recovered himself, even in that short time, for, half turning, with the receiver at his ear, he placed one hand over the transmitter, and motioned to the detective.

“Please don’t go, Mr. Carter,� he said. “Wait until I have finished here at the phone.�

“Very well,� said the detective, and was turning away when Lynne spoke again.

“You must pardon me,� he said, “if anything that I have said or done this morning has given you offense. I don’t think I have been quite myself. Will you wait until I am done at the phone, so that I may talk with you a few minutes before starting?�

“Certainly, Mr. Lynne.�

“This is all so horrible, so unreal, so incomprehensible. I want to know all the particulars as you know them, and something tells me that you know more than that officer told. At all events you are an experienced man, and you can—— Hello!â€� He turned to the phone.

“This is Mr. Lynne,� Nick heard him say. “Is that the police station?�

Evidently assured that it was, he went on:

“The officer you sent to me has just been here and gone. I have called you up to let you know that I am starting at once, in my car, for Pleasantglades, but before I start I desire to be assured that nothing whatever will be done there until I arrive. Thank you. Say to Doctor Kuhn, the coroner, that I will be grateful if he will defer all investigation in this matter until I get there. He has already decided to do so? Thank him for me. Say that I will not forget his consideration. Say to your chief that I am bringing Nick Carter, the detective, out there with me, and for that reason, if for no other, I deem it wise.�

CHAPTER VI.
A VITAL QUESTION.

“You heard what I said over the phone, Mr. Carter?� Lynne said, turning about and facing the detective. They were in a room which opened off from the library of the mansion.

“Yes,� said Nick, “I heard.�

“You will go out there with me?�

“I am not sure,â€� replied the detective. “I have been thinking about it since I heard you assure them that I would come. I have been up all night, Mr. Lynne, and have driven a good many miles in my car since dark last night—and I am not at all sure that I can be of any benefit to you.â€�

“But—Mr. Carter, if I particularly request it? If I assure you that money is no object to me in this matter, and——â€�

“Neither would it be any object to me, Mr. Lynne,� the detective interrupted him. “If I go there at all, it will be in behalf of justice to the beautiful girl who was your daughter.�

“That is precisely why I wish you to go, sir. I hope that you will consent to do so.�

“I will consent to go with you on one condition, Mr. Lynne,� was the reply.

“What is that?�

“That during the ride out there you will freely and frankly reply to any and every question I may ask you, without offense, without considering any of them an impertinence, and with an eye single to discovering the truth about this mystery—and I warn you that I may ask questions that will both startle and offend.â€�

“Very well, sir; I accept the condition.� He spoke with a quiet dignity now that entirely changed the man; that made him appear for the first time just as Nick Carter had expected to find him.

“And there is one more, Mr. Lynne; a very small one this time.�

“Yes? What is it?�

“It will be nearly an hour before I will be ready to start. My own car is in front of your door, and my two assistants are waiting for me. I must drive with them to my house. If you care to pick me up with your car, there, in just three-quarters of an hour from now, I will be ready to accompany you.�

“So be it, Mr. Carter. At eight-forty-five, then, I will call for you.�

Nick got into his own car in silence, and said nothing at all until, with Chick and Patsy, he was in his own house, where he led the way at once to his study. Then——

“Lynne has asked me to take the case—or, rather, he has asked me to drive out there with him, and I have consented. I will tell you both, frankly, that I do not know what to make of Mr. J. Cephas Lynne. He puzzles me. He is, all at once, almost as interesting as the crime. I am going out there with him in his car, more for the purpose of studying him at close range, and to see him on the ground where the crime was committed, than for any other reason.â€�

“You don’t mean to say——â€� Chick began, but the detective interrupted him.

“No, I do not mean to say anything, Chick, only that this case has developed strange possibilities, some of which are almost unthinkable. Now, let’s not discuss generalities. I haven’t yet had an opportunity to get the opinion of either of you, concerning the crime itself, and how it was brought about, and before I start I want both. Chick, I will have the result of your thoughts first.�

“I’ll ask a question before I give it, then.�

“Very well.�

“Have you questioned Lynne as to the manner in which his daughter was supposed to have passed the evening, last night?�

“No; I have not.�

“So you have no idea as to that?�

“None whatever, more than you have, judged by her costume. She was at a function of some sort, somewhere, or, at least, dressed to attend one, whether she went to it or not. Now, Chick, let us hear what you have to say.�

“Well, it isn’t very much—only a general thought on the subject.â€�

“I know.�

“The house out there has been closed for at least two months. Miss Lynne would never have gone there of her own accord, at such an hour. If there had been some article there that she wanted to get, she would have selected another hour for going; therefore she made the journey at the behest of another person.�

Patsy nodded emphatically, and Nick said:

“We both indorse that.�

“The question arises then,� said Chick, “as to who would have influence enough over her to persuade her to do such a thing? What manner of man could have done it? Was it a relative? Or was she persuaded to go there by some person who may have had a hold of some kind over her father, and was she persuaded to go there because she believed she was serving him?�

“No; I don’t think that last,� replied the detective.

“I’d like to speak my little piece right here and now,� said Patsy, rather sharply for him.

“Well?�

“Edythe Lynne was persuaded to visit that house last night by a lie. No matter what she imagined the reason to be, it was a lie, and it was sufficient to her to compel her to do something that she would never have thought of doing had not her feelings been wrought upon almost to the point of hysteria.�

“Good,� said Chick.

“Go on, Patsy,� said Nick Carter.

“Now, what kind of a lie could have been told to her to take her to that house in the company of a man at the dead of night? What man could tell her such a lie, and make her believe it? What man, who could tell her such a lie and make her believe it, would yet be closely enough related to the family to make that house the object of the night call? And why did she hesitate so long in the automobile before she consented to enter the house, after she arrived there?�

“You answer those questions yourself, Patsy,� said the detective.

“I’ll answer it like this: My present belief is that Edythe Lynne went to Pleasantglades with her own father, and that when she got inside the house and found that she had been lured there by a lie, and that it was her father who had lied to her, she killed herself.�

“No, Patsy, no,� said the detective sharply.

“Wait. That after she had done so, her father realized the terrible predicament he was in; the impossibility of explaining it satisfactorily; the talk and the scandal that the whole affair would make, and, in short, that he then prepared the evidence we found to point to a deliberate suicide.�

“Patsy, part of your theory sounds good; the rest of it is not to be thought of,â€� said Nick. “I am now of the opinion, myself, that she went there with her father, and that—— No, I can’t say it yet. But all this, lads, leads us to just one thing, and that is what I asked you to this room to listen to.â€�

Both assistants looked eagerly at their chief, and he continued:

“Is J. Cephas Lynne, as we know him, her father? Was he her father?�

Chick and Patsy looked at each other, then back again at the detective.

“I am going out there in the car with the man to study him,� the detective continued. “I want you both to start out at once, wherever you please, to get for me all the information, that is obtainable regarding both, the father and the daughter. I want you to dig up every scrap of information you can find about both of them. Was he her father? Find that out for me beyond the shadow of a doubt either way, before I return. That is all.�

The detective glanced at his watch, and turned away.

“I’ve got fifteen minutes before he arrives here,� he said, and left them to themselves in the study.

Ten minutes later he came out of a cold plunge, put on a complete change of clothing, shaved, and at the time appointed was ready for the arrival of Lynne’s car.

It came, about five minutes late, and the detective ran down the steps to meet it before it had stopped before the door.

The day was bright, cheerful, and sunny, and the weather was almost warm; under ordinary circumstances a better day could not have been selected for such a journey.

Nothing was said between the two men beyond a greeting, when Nick first entered the car, which was driven by one of the Lynne chauffeurs; but as it was a limousine body, the passengers could talk in comfort and at their ease as it sped along.

“Now, Mr. Lynne, are you ready?� Nick asked presently.

The man looked around at the detective quickly, with a half-startled air; he had evidently been absorbed in his thoughts; and he asked:

“Ready for what?�

“For the questions that I wish to ask.�

“Yes, I think so. What are they, Mr. Carter?�

“There are many of them, and some are what you might call intimate,� warned the detective.

“I agreed to your conditions, Mr. Carter, therefore I am prepared to reply to any and all the questions you care to ask me—provided I can do so.â€�

“Were you out late yourself last night?�

“I was.�

“What time did you arrive at your home?�

“At three this morning.�

“You used one of your cars?�

“Yes. I went——â€�

“Wait. Just reply to my questions.�

“Very well, Mr. Carter.�

“Who was your companion?�

“My—companion?â€�

“Yes. In the car you used last night. Who was your companion? You had one, did you not, Mr. Lynne?�

The man turned and looked closely at the detective for a fleeting instant before he replied; then, with a shrug of his shoulders, as if there were no help for introducing a disagreeable topic, or one that he would have preferred to keep out of the conversation, he said:

“Yes, Mr. Carter, I had a companion with me last night; a lady—the lady who is soon to become my second wife. I have long been a widower, Mr. Carter.â€�

“Thank you. The lady’s name, if you please?�

“Is it necessary to bring her into it, Mr. Carter?�

“Unless it should prove to be necessary, you may be assured that she will not be brought into it, Mr. Lynne. But I must know all the facts connected with last night. Will you tell me the lady’s name, and where she may be found, if that is necessary?�

“Really, Mr. Carter——â€�

“I warned you, sir, that some of my questions would be intimate.�

“Very well. The lady’s name is Mrs. Madge Hurd Babbington. I need not tell you her address, since everybody in society knows that.�

CHAPTER VII.
PROBING A MYSTERY.

It was true.

Everybody in society, and a great many who were not knew the name of Madge Hurd Babbington; knew about the remarkable beauty and talent of the young woman who had formerly been an actress, but who had married from the stage into the very elite of society; who had speedily divorced her first husband and married a second one, who had died within a year afterward.

Both her husbands were supposed to be rich, but the first one had so cleverly arranged his wealth that in the divorce proceedings the plaintiff had been able to secure but very little; and it was found after the death of her second husband that his supposedly large fortune had dwindled to little or nothing.

Since her widowhood Mrs. Babbington’s name had been linked with several in a supposed approaching marriage, but Nick could not remember that he had read anywhere that Lynne was one of them.

As for the woman herself, nothing had ever been whispered against her in any form that the detective could recall, and he thought to himself that, if Lynne had really been with her all that time and could establish that fact, it would prove an effectual barrier to all the suspicions he felt, yet did not want to feel.

“Where were you?� he asked, after a moment of thought.

“We attended a reception at the home of Madame de Seville.�

“Was Miss Lynne at that reception?�

“She was.�

“Who was her escort, if she had one?�

“I took her there myself.�

“Did you also take her home again?�

“I did.�

“At what time?�

“She complained of not feeling well, and it was, I should say, about midnight, when she sought me out and asked me to send her home. I took her to the car that was waiting, and entered it with her. I drove home with her.�

“Did you enter the house with her?�

“No. She said it was unnecessary. I returned at once to the reception.�

“Did you see her enter the house?�

“No. I have thought about that since this—this terrible thing has happened. I supposed I had seen my daughter enter her home, but, as I recall it now, I only saw her mount the steps in front of it. I did not actually see her enter the house.â€�

“You took your daughter to the reception with you—was Mrs. Babbington with you at that time?â€�

“No. It had been arranged that we were to meet at Madame de Seville’s. It was my intention to take them both in my car when we came away.�

“Then your daughter was aware of the engagement between you and Mrs. Babbington?�

“If you will pardon me for just one word of protest, Mr. Carter, I confess that I do not in the least see what all this private matter has to do with the subject in hand.�

“Did your daughter know about the engagement?� Nick asked again, without a change of his tone.

“She did not,� replied Lynne, with just a little show of heat. “It was my intention to tell her about it last night. The fact that she did not feel well, and that she wished to return home early, spoiled that intention.�

“Miss Lynne was well enough to start for the reception, but not well enough to remain, so I assume that she became ill after she arrived there—or do you suppose that she only pretended to be ill?â€�

“In the light of what has happened since, I can only suppose that she purposely deceived me, since in some manner, as soon as she parted with me, she must have started for Pleasantglades, though why——â€�

“What is there, at Pleasantglades, that could have drawn her there last night?�

“Nothing. Not a thing in the world that I know about.�

“Nothing that you can surmise?�

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.�

“When you returned to the reception after leaving your daughter at the door of your own home, did you remain there?�

“No; truth to tell, I did not.�

“What did you do, and where did you go?�

“Really, Mr. Carter, one would suppose——â€�

“We need suppose nothing at all, Mr. Lynne. You agreed to reply to my questions.�

“But all this is so preposterous.�

“Do you keep all your promises as unwillingly as you are adhering to this one?� Nick asked sharply.

“You are making it rather hard for me, Mr. Carter.�

Nick turned quickly to the man, and said sharply:

“Lynne, do you wish to be charged with the murder of your own daughter? If not, answer my questions.�

“My God, Carter, what do you mean by that?�

“Just what I say. Who is there but yourself who could have induced Edythe Lynne to go to Pleasantglades after midnight last night? Do you know such a man?�

“No, no; I do not.�

“Then reply to my questions. What did you do, and where did you go, when you returned to the reception after leaving your daughter?�

“I sought Mrs. Babbington at once, and told her about Edythe. I suggested that we had had enough of the party, and she agreed with me. She sent for her wraps, and we left there at once.�

“Where did you go?�

“To her home.�

“It was then what time?�

“Approximately one o’clock; perhaps a trifle later. I am not sure.�

“You entered the house with her?�

“I did. There is, on the first floor, a room that she calls her ‘cozy room,’ and we seated ourselves in there. We were talking over our future plans, and time passed more swiftly than I supposed. It was nearly three o’clock before I was aware of it. I left there, then, and went home.�

“In your car? Was that waiting for you?�

“No. I had sent that on to the garage. I told the chauffeur that I would not need him again. Surface transportation and the subway were sufficient.�

“You arrived home, you say, at three o’clock?�

“Approximately that, yes.�

“When I called upon you this morning you were preparing to go to Pleasantglades?�

“I was.�

“What was the business that was taking you there?�

“Nothing of importance. You probably do not know it, but there is a burglar-proof vault beneath the north wing of the house at Pleasantglades. It was built there, when that wing was built, five years ago. The existence of it has been kept a secret. In that vault are some heirlooms and jewels, and other things of value—in fact, there is a fortune there, Mr. Carter, in jewels, securities, and bonds.â€�

“You were going there this morning, then, to visit that vault?�

“Yes.�

“For no other reason?�

“No; to tell you the truth there are some jewels there which I wished to present to my fiancée to-day. It happens to be her birthday. That was the reason for my proposed visit.�

“Your daughter knew of the existence of the vault?�

“Of course.�

“And what it contains?�

“No, only in a general way.�

“Mr. Lynne, who has had charge of the keys to the lock on the iron gate, at Pleasantglades? or where were they kept?�

“I always kept them in my own possession—there are three of them, and you use one after another in opening the lock.â€�

“I know. Where are those keys now?�

“I do not know.�

“You don’t know? Why don’t you know?�

“I thought I knew exactly where they were until after you had gone from my house this morning. But when I went to get them, they were not in the place where I keep them. They had disappeared—and there is only one explanation: my daughter must have taken them.â€�

“Again, where did you keep them?�

“In a small safe in my own sleeping room.�

“A combination safe?�

“Yes.�

“Did Edythe know that combination?�

“Yes.�

“How is that?�

“How is what?�

“How does it happen that she knew the combination of that private safe, in your sleeping room, where doubtless you kept things of an exceedingly private nature?�

“Oh, as to that, there is nothing so very private in that safe. Edythe knew the combination, because it was only yesterday that I had occasion to send her to the safe for some papers I wanted, and I gave her the combination at that time.�

“Has she never known it before?�

“I don’t think so.�

“What sort of locks are on the doors of that vault you have partly described, at Pleasantglades?�

“There are two combination locks on the outer doors, two more on the inner doors.�

“So it requires the knowledge of four combinations to get into the vault?�

“Yes.�

“Did Edythe know those combinations?�

“She did at one time. Whether she remembered them or not, I could not say.�

“How did it happen that she knew them at all?�

“She wrote them down for me in the little book where I keep them. I remember now, at that time I suggested to her that it would be well if she kept copies of them, in case anything should happen to me, and I think she did so, although the subject has never been mentioned between us since that time.�

“Wouldn’t it have been better to have deposited copies of the combinations with your bankers, or in one of your safe-deposit boxes in the city, to be used in case of accident to yourself?�

“I suppose so. In fact, that has been done; but I did not think of it at the moment. I preferred that Edythe should hold the secret herself.�

“I see,� said Nick. “Well, perhaps it was as well.�

CHAPTER VIII.
DIGGING PITFALLS.

There was another short pause, and then, with a sudden change of the subject, the detective asked:

“You did not look for the keys to the padlock on the gate till after I had left you this morning, Mr. Lynne, did you?�

“No. I did not.�

“Why did you look for them, even then? You must have known that they would not be needed, since the police are already in the house.�

“From force of habit, I suppose; and then, too, it occurred to me to see if they were in their place, since Edythe must have found a means of entering the grounds.�

“I see. I see,� said the detective.

The car was at the moment approaching an out-of-town drug store before which was one of the familiar Bell telephone signs, and Nick bent forward and signaled to the chauffeur to stop.

“I want to ask you to excuse me for a moment, Mr. Lynne,� he said. “I have thought of something concerning which I must telephone back to the city; but it will keep me only a moment after I get the number. I see there is a telephone here.�

He opened the door and left the car before Lynne could more than nod an assent, and in the store he called for his own number, and presently got Joseph, his man, on the phone.

“Joseph,� he said, “Chick or Patsy will communicate with you before very long. When either of them do that, I want you to direct for me that one of them be at the house to reply to a telephone call from me at one o’clock.�

“Yes, sir,� came the reply.

“If by any chance either should find it impossible to be there at one, I will call again at two and at three, and so on. You understand?�

“Yes, sir.�

“That’s all.�

When he returned to the car he noticed that Lynne regarded him rather strangely, as if the man had not exactly liked the idea of that telephone message; but Lynne only said:

“It did not take you long, Mr. Carter.�

“No; it concerned merely an instruction I wished to send to one of my assistants. And now we will resume our conversation. You were abroad nearly all of last summer, were you not, Mr. Lynne? I seem to remember seeing such a report in one of the papers.�

“Yes. I was away the entire summer, as a matter of fact.�

“Your daughter did not accompany you?�

“No. She remained at Pleasantglades in the care of a chaperon. She did the entertaining for both of us.�

“It occurs to me, also, that I saw something in the papers at the time—some time during the summer, relative to your being very ill while you were abroad.â€�

“Yes; that is unfortunately quite true. I was traveling in Switzerland at the time I was taken ill.�

“You were traveling alone at the time, were you?�

“I had my man with me—my valet. He was also seized with the same malady, and he died of it, poor fellow.â€�

“Oh, yes; I remember about that now. You were at a mountain inn, or something of the sort at the time, as I remember the account. What was the malady? What was the trouble?�

“We were poisoned by something that we had eaten, but whether it was at table, or during one of our wandering expeditions, I never did know. But it was awful while it lasted. The regular old-fashioned cramps, you know, and all that. There were some hours when I thought I was to die, also. It was then that I cabled to my daughter. I suppose that is how the news about it got into the papers over here.�

“How long was your valet ill, before he died?�

“Let me see—I was suffering so myself that I scarcely remember much about the duration of time. It was morning—about ten o’clock when we were taken with the cramps, and at precisely the same moment, too, strange to say. I think it must have been about three, that afternoon, when Thomas died. He was a great loss to me.â€�

“You say you were at an inn? Wasn’t there something about being seized with illness while in the mountains, and finding your way to the inn afterward alone?�

“Surely. That was it. We were, as a matter of fact, all alone when we were seized. Some mountaineers found us and gave all the assistance they could, and afterward helped me back to the inn.�

“You did not immediately recover from that attack, did you?�

“No. I was ailing for a long time after that—several weeks, in fact; but the effect of it gradually passed away. I think it was the shock of losing Thomas in that manner that affected me as much as anything.â€�

“He had been with you a long time?�

“Yes. He was, in fact, a distant relative, strange as it may sound to you.�

“A relative, serving as your servant? That is strange.�

“Oh, it was quite generally known among my intimates. Thomas’ name was Lynne, also. He was a cousin so far removed that you could hardly call it a relationship; and, after all, he served more in the capacity of companion than servant.�

“I see. A mutually agreeable relation, eh?�

“Entirely so. I had offered him better things many times, but he preferred the life of ease and luxury and travel that he had with me, even in the capacity of valet, to the undertaking of more arduous things. He was rather a strange character, Mr. Carter.�

“Rather an odd one, I should say. How long a time had you borne that relation to each other?�

“Nearly twelve years. He came to me at the time of the death of my wife. I had been in communication with him before that, seeking to do something for him, for I dislike to have it said that I have neglected poor relations. I sent for him then, and asked him to be my secretary—and that is really what he was. My secretary, although he performed the other services, also.â€�

“I see. How long have you been at home, Mr. Lynne?�

“Not more than six weeks; just about that. I joined a shooting party over there, which kept me longer than I intended to stay.�

“Your house at Pleasantglades was closed when you returned?�

“Yes. Edythe had returned to the city long before that.�

“So she was at home when you did return, I suppose.�

“No. She had gone on a trip to California with a party of friends in two or three private cars.�

“When did she return from that trip, Mr. Lynne?�

“Only last week.�

“It must have been a great joy to her to find you at home waiting for her when you had been parted so long, especially as you had been so ill while you were away,� said Nick, selecting a cigar from his case and proffering it to his companion, who accepted it mechanically, bit off the end, and also accepted the light which Nick offered him before he replied.

“It was,� he said then.

“You were here to receive her when she came?�

“No, but I arrived very soon after she did.�

“The same day, I suppose, eh? You must have arranged so that you could be together as soon as possible?�

“Oh, we did so arrange by telegraph, but I made a mistake in the schedule of the special that brought her back from her trip with her friends, so I was a little late at the meeting. But it was none the less pleasant, for all that.�

“So you met, really, only a day or two ago? I suppose she found you greatly changed, eh?�

“Not at first. She was too glad to see me for that.�

“Why do you say not at first?�

“Because later, after she had had an opportunity to observe me more closely, she decided that I had changed very much—for the better. Stouter, you know, and ruddier; and healthier. I was never very robust, until since this last trip.â€�

“Until since the poisoning in the mountains of Switzerland, eh?�

“Well, you see, I was so ill and down and out and all that, after that affair, that I did what I have never done before: I forced myself to the enjoyment of outdoor life—and I liked it; and it agreed with me wonderfully.â€�

“Just what day was it that you arrived in New York, Mr. Lynne? There was a mention of it in the paper, but it has escaped me.�

“The day before yesterday.�

“Only that?�

“Only that.�

“But in the morning, I suppose?�

“No. I arrived on the train that gets in at the Pennsylvania Station at nine in the evening.�

“And now, after being parted from Edythe so long a time, this terrible thing has happened to you. It is terrible, Mr. Lynne.�

“Ah, sir, it is more than that; it is unbearable. I am compelling myself to keep up, so please let’s not talk about that.�

“No, indeed, we will not, just at present. This engagement of yours with the lady of your choice must have been a matter of long standing, then. At least, we can find something that is pleasant to talk about in that subject.�

“Yes. Now that you know about it, I am glad to talk about it. We met—the engagement was consummated while I was abroad last summer. I had not seen Mrs. Babbington, either, for a considerable time—for several months.â€�

“It is rather strange that you did not hasten to her, rather than to your home, on the arrival of the train, Mr. Lynne.�

“To tell you the truth I did so, although I remained there but a moment.�

“Ah; you saw her first, then, and afterward went to your home?�

“Yes; but I was not there above fifteen minutes.�

“Tell me, had Edythe complained of feeling ill, do you know, before she started for that reception?�

“I don’t think so. I had not heard of it.�

“By the way, that butler of yours: is he the same man you had there before you went away last spring, Mr. Lynne?�

“No. He is one whom Edythe engaged while I was away. The old butler, Tompkins, who had been in my service for years, and who had grown old, wished to retire. He had quite a competence, so he could afford to do so.�

“I see. And Edythe engaged the new one?�

“Yes. She cabled me that Tompkins was leaving three months ago.�

“And what has become of Tompkins? Old servants are always interesting.�

“He has returned to his home somewhere in England.�

“Have you never heard from him since he left you? I should think that such an old servant would like you to know something about what had become of him.�

“Oh, yes, he has written to me, Mr. Carter.�

CHAPTER IX.
THE MATTER OF A CIGAR.

Nick Carter sat silent for a long time after that, and Lynne seemed quite content that he should do so.

The detective was thinking over the facts of the case as he was arranging them in sequence in his own mind, and he could see but one conclusion at which to arrive as an explanation of the mystery; if the reader has already guessed at that conclusion, so much the better, for it is not the purpose here to mystify—only to arrive at facts just as the detective arrived at them.

First, then, the known fondness between J. Cephas Lynne and his daughter Edythe.

The papers had had it, and all the world understood it, that ever since the death of the mother of Edythe Lynne the daughter had been the apple of the father’s eye.

He had taken her everywhere, escorted her to many of the places she attended, and she had seemed to prefer his company to that of the young men of her acquaintance.

She had been his thought and care, and, indeed, his whole life, ever since the death of his wife twelve years before. That was the generally accepted idea of both of them.

One never saw in the papers the mention of the presence of one of them at a function, that the other was not there; for one to be absent meant that both were absent.

Upon the occasion of his going abroad that preceding spring, the papers had commented upon the fact that it was the first time the millionaire had been known to part with his daughter for more than a few hours, or at the most a few days at a time.

But some business had arisen which had called the millionaire abroad, and which could not be avoided, and a house party had already been invited to Pleasantglades.

But it was understood, and so stated in the papers, that it was to be a hurried trip, and so, when later it was announced that he had gone to Switzerland for a little outing, there was some wonder expressed in different quarters about it.

It had even been stated at the time that Edythe would sail by the next steamer to join her father abroad, and that then had come a peremptory cable directing her to remain where she was.

But that father and daughter should have been apart for more than seven months—Nick had not known of the time of Lynne’s return until now—was utterly unprecedented.

The idea of the father’s ever marrying again, devoted as he was to his daughter, and to the memory of her mother, would have sounded utterly absurd in the ears of any one of the acquaintances who knew them well.

The whole affair had a strange look to Nick Carter, for, as he had been led to understand the character of Cephas Lynne, the detective believed him to be a man of the very highest kind of sterling qualities.

Not at all such a man as he had found awaiting him in that room in the Riverside Drive mansion that morning; not at all such a man as was now seated beside him in the limousine body of the car, riding toward the body of his dead daughter.

The man whom Nick had cast for the part of Cephas Lynne should not have resorted to theatricals when first told of her death; and most certainly he should not have discussed trivial matters with the detective now, with the relish that this man beside him seemed to take in it.

In short, the whole bearing of Mr. Lynne had been that of one desiring to avoid some subjects, and to be willing to grasp at almost any other one to avoid those that he disliked—or feared—at the moment.

That sudden illness in the mountains was an interesting feature of the whole affair to the detective, for it seemed to him that the man whom he had cast for the part of the gentleman beside him, would have hurried home to his daughter the first moment he was able to travel after it.

But something had changed the father evidently—how greatly was yet to be determined.

And that something that had brought about the change? Was the woman, whom he had met abroad, but whom he had known for a long time at home, the woman to whom he said he was now engaged to be married—could she be entirely responsible for that?

Was this another case of the devoted father who finds a sweetheart and is afraid to tell his daughter of the fact?

Not as Nick Carter believed he understood the character of J. Cephas Lynne.

Suddenly and without warning the detective reopened the subject of Mrs. Babbington. He began it by saying, as if merely for the purpose of bringing an end to the silence between them:

“So you met Mrs. Babbington abroad and discovered only then that you loved her? That is interesting. I am always interested in romances. You have known her, of course, for some years, haven’t you?�

“Yes; since just prior to her first marriage, six years ago.�

“Was it after your illness in Switzerland that you encountered her abroad last summer?�

“Yes; some time after that.�

“When you had quite recovered from your illness as a result of the poisoning?�

“While I was recuperating in Scotland. I joined a party there, little supposing that I would meet with old acquaintances.�

“Ah! and she was of the party. It is really quite a romance.�

“It turned out to be so,� was the reply, and Nick thought that he spoke with some grimness that was not entirely called for by the circumstance.

“I suppose the fact that you were so far away from home, coupled with the other one that you had been so ill, and the general romantic qualities of the air around you, brought about an understanding quite speedily, did it not?�

“We became engaged almost at once, if that is what you mean,� was the reply. And for some reason, which the detective could not name, the present aspect of the subject seemed to be distasteful to Lynne.

“But,� said the detective meditatively, as if he were trying to remember, “it seems to me that I saw somewhere a notice of Mrs. Babbington’s return to the city, a long time before your own arrival. Were you together long in Scotland?�

“We were at the same house about two weeks. We did not, unfortunately, meet again until I arrived here the day before yesterday.�

“Indeed. It would seem as if you should have made an effort to get together sooner than that, under the circumstances. I suppose you both dreaded the moment when Edythe had to be informed of the prospective relationship.�

Lynne grasped at that straw, as Nick would have called it.

“Yes; that was it,� he said eagerly. “I dreaded to tell Edythe about it; Mrs. Babbington insisted, rightly of course, that she should be told at once. I really think, Mr. Carter, that I found excuses to defer my home-coming, solely on that account.�

“No doubt. No doubt. Really, now, were there no little things that happened here in town when you knew Mrs. Babbington here, that led you to think that she might some day be your wife?�

The man turned a half angry glance upon the detective, and then the ghost of a fleeting smile appeared for an instant on his face.

“What a prober you are, Mr. Carter,� he said, with an effort at kindness, but Nick could see that it was an effort, and that there was something behind it, too.

“My dear, sir,� he said quickly, “I am trying to play the friend, as well as the enforced companion, since you want my professional services. I am endeavoring to discuss subjects that will lead your thoughts into pleasant channels. Now, for instance, when you first met your present fiancée in Scotland, you must have been greatly changed, by reason of your recent illness.�

“Indeed I was very greatly changed in every way.�

“And she saw it at once, of course.�

“Naturally.�

“And was greatly shocked by it, I have no doubt.�

“She admitted as much as that;� again there was that note of grimness in the reply.

“I suppose, quite naturally, it was a more or less delicate topic with you, Mr. Lynne.�

“Yes; it was. Still, I got over it, you know;� and this time there was a short, hard laugh, which the detective thought entirely out of place.

“The very fact of your recent illness, and your near approach to death, no doubt drew her to you as nothing else would have done.�

“I really think that that is the explanation of it all, Carter.�

“And then, too, having been much at your house—for she used to be quite friendly with Edythe, did she not?—there was not so much difference in their ages as to preclude that—she doubtless had some sort of acquaintance with that cousin of yours who was your valet, and who died?â€�

“Naturally.�

“She remembered him, of course?�

“Of course.�

“The relationship between you was so distant that, of course, there was no physical likeness between you, was there?�

“Oh, none at all that anybody ever spoke about.�

“All valets are smooth of face, by necessity of their calling, and you have always worn the mustache and Vandyke beard, haven’t you? Every picture of you that I have seen in the papers has had it so.�

“I haven’t shaved my face or upper lip since I entered college, and that was nearly thirty years ago,� was the quick reply.

Again the detective relapsed into silence—with a purpose.

After a moment he began to speak of the beauty of the day, for it was a perfect one, and he drew his companion’s attention to patches of the snow that had fallen during the night upon the landscape they were passing.

And while he did that he did another thing—in an utterly abstracted manner, as if he had no thought of what he was doing.

He removed his cigar case from his pocket a second time, helped himself to a cigar, and then, as if with second thought, passed the case to Lynne while he sought his match safe.

He struck the match and held the flame of it out for the other to light by, and then applied it to his own cigar; and so they smoked on in silence for another distance, until the detective said:

“We should arrive in another ten minutes now. How do you like those cigars, Mr. Lynne?�

“They seem very good, indeed. I—er—I am not much of a smoker, Mr. Carter.â€�

“No? You seem to take kindly to it just now. I suppose that is due to the excellence of the cigars, isn’t it?�

“It must be so.�

There was another silence after that, and a grim smile was playing upon the features of Nick Carter.

It broadened, too, when as they drew nearer to Pleasantglades, and came into the more thickly populated localities, Lynne threw the not half-smoked cigar from the window, and straightened himself suddenly.

“We will be there in a moment now, Mr. Carter,� he said.

“Yes. We will be there in a moment.�

“Need I say to you that you shall be very generously recompensed for whatever you can do to relieve me of the strain and terror of this awful business? I have no doubt that my daughter came here deliberately to kill herself. Why, I do not know; but you must help me to find that out.�

CHAPTER X.
THE CHIEF’S BEST REASON.

At the house Nick Carter found things unchanged.

Save for the presence of the policemen who were guarding it, and the local coroner who was awaiting the arrival of “the great man� of the neighborhood, there was no change.

They were a respectful, quiet lot, truly sorrowful for what had happened, and genuinely in sympathy with the man whose dearest possession had so ruthlessly been taken from him.

And he passed among them with bowed head, with his hands behind his back, not speaking to a single one of his many old acquaintances of the neighborhood who had been permitted inside the grounds to offer their sympathy.

And this, one man was heard to say, was not at all like Mr. Lynne, although he couldn’t be blamed under the circumstances.

But Lynne looked neither to the right nor the left as he advanced into the house, and, followed closely by the detective, led the way straight to the room where the dead girl waited.

At the door of it, when others would have followed him inside, he turned and spoke to one of the officers at the door in a low tone, and the officer announced:

“Mr. Lynne would like to be alone for a time. Please wait.�

But Nick, who was close behind him, stepped forward and gripped him by the arm.

“I think I had best go inside with you, Mr. Lynne,� he said, in a low tone. “It may be important, you know.�

Lynne nodded, and Nick followed him inside the room and closed the door.

While Nick paused near the door by which they had entered, Lynne crossed quickly to the divan couch, and Nick could see that he looked eagerly everywhere about the room as he did so, and that he half paused near the table where the fan and the gloves and the vanity box were still lying as Nick had left them.

But he kept on his way until he stood beside the couch, looking down upon the dead; and Nick could see that the man was shuddering, shuddering, shuddering, through his frame and shoulders, as if with something more than grief.

“I will go over to the opposite side of the room to one of the windows, until you call me,� said the detective, speaking in a kindly tone; and he did cross the room to the window, which was, however, tightly closed and one could not see out, although some one had had the forethought to have the electric lights connected. There had been no time nor reason to take down the guards at the windows.

But Nick stood there with his back toward Lynne—and he took a small mirror from his pocket, and held it, by folding his arms, so that it reflected enough of the room that was behind him for him to be able to see perfectly well all that might happen there.

And after a moment he saw Lynne turn calmly about as if to speak to him, and then, discovering that his back was turned, he saw the man leave the side of the couch and cross quickly and silently to the table, the top of which he searched with his eyes.

And Nick, even in that small mirror, could see a pained expression come into those eyes when that search was not rewarded; and he saw those eyes dart swift glances from place to place around the room, as if searching for something.

Without stooping or searching with his hands, he sought under the table as well as upon it, and an expression of amazement, and then suddenly one of relief, appeared on his features.

“Mr. Carter!� he called, after a moment, and Nick turned about.

“Yes? What is it?� he asked.

“I am ready for you to do what you please here, now.�

“Very well.�

“There is only one thing that I would like to suggest, in case you wish me to leave the room.�

“I have no wish for you to leave the room. That is for you to decide for yourself. But what is the suggestion?�

“It seems to me that my daughter could not have done this terrible thing without leaving some word for me somewhere. It seems incredible that she should take her own life in the manner she has done it, and leave no message behind her. I want to ask you to search diligently for such a message. For a letter or a written line. There must be something, somewhere.�

“Why are you so certain that she took her own life, Mr. Lynne?� Nick asked quietly.

“Why, everything points to that.�

“Do you think so? Have you considered everything, since you speak of everything?�

“Yes, yes, yes, of course I have.�

“But, nevertheless, Mr. Lynne, there is one thing that you have overlooked.�

“That I have overlooked? What is it?�

“This: Whether she took her own life or not, she was not alone in this room when she died.�

“Not—alone—in—this—room—when—she—died!â€�

“No, sir, she was not. There was another person here with her.�

“But, what in the world do you mean? How could you possibly know that?�

“Mr. Lynne, people who die suddenly, as she died, have their eyes wide open when they are found. Edythe’s eyes were closed—are closed, rather, and, therefore, there was some person here to close them.â€�

“Great Heaven, Carter, what do you mean?�

“Just what I say, Mr. Lynne. Edythe was not in this room alone when she died. There was another person here with her, who closed her eyes after death.�

“My God, Carter, is it possible that you can surmise that?�

“I do not surmise it; I know it.�

“Know it? No, no, that is impossible.�

“It is not impossible. It is a fact.�

“But——â€�

“Edythe died from the effects of a dose of prussic acid. People who die from prussic acid die so suddenly there is no time for a thought even. Her eyes would have been wide open now, if some person had not closed them—the murderer!â€�

“The murderer? Ah, no, not that.�

“Yes. I mean that.�

“But—I can’t believe it. I won’t believe it. It is impossible! It is preposterous! It is not to be thought of. Search, search, Carter; you will find somewhere a note that she has left behind her to tell of this deed. It must be so.â€�

“Even if I should find such a note or letter, Mr. Lynne, I would not believe it. I would deem it a forgery, made by a clever scoundrel, to deceive others. Edythe Lynne did not kill herself; she was killed!�

“But—who? Who? Who could have done such a thing?â€�

“Ah, who, indeed? That is yet to be determined.�

“What makes you so positive, Carter? Tell me that.� The man was making a great effort to control himself, but all of that effort might easily have been attributable to the excitement and emotion of the moment, under the harrowing circumstances, and Nick Carter was perfectly well aware of that fact.

“There are many things that make me positive, Mr. Lynne.�

“The condition of the eyes alone?�

“No. Not that alone. There are other things.�

“What other things?�

“I will not go into them now, sir. You are too greatly excited by all that has taken place since last night.�

“But tell me. Tell me.�

“I will tell you after a little, Mr. Lynne. I think, just now, we had best call the coroner inside. He has been very patient.�

And, although Lynne tried to protest, Nick stepped past him to the door, opened it, and called to Doctor Kuhn to join them.

“I think,� the detective said, when the doctor entered the room, “that you had best give your first attention to Mr. Lynne; and if I may make a suggestion, it would be that he is ordered into another room to lie down while the chief of your police and you and I make what investigation we can in this room. Don’t you agree with me?�

“I do, certainly,� replied the doctor, taking Lynne’s wrist and feeling his pulse. “You really must rest, if only for a few moments, sir,� he said, in a kindly tone to the millionaire. “You are greatly excited. Your pulse is beating like a triphammer.�

Lynne opened his mouth as if to protest, just as the big figure of the local chief of police loomed in the doorway; and somehow the sight of it seemed to change his mind, for he bowed to the policeman and spoke in a low tone to him, and passed out of the room.

Nick Carter stepped forward quickly and closed the door after him, thus shutting himself in alone with the coroner and the chief.

“Gentlemen,� he said, “I suppose you notice the great change in Mr. Lynne, since you last saw him, don’t you?�

“I certainly do,â€� replied the chief, with emphasis on the I. “He was always most cordial to me, and to-day he has scarcely spoken to me at all; but I suppose that is due to this affair. Poor little girl. Why, Mr. Carter, I’ve watched that girl grow up, and she seems almost like one of my own. A sweeter, purer, gentler, more lovable soul never dwelt in a human body. If I could get my hands on the fiend that did that act—I expect I’d have to go to prison myself.â€�

“You are convinced, then, that it was murder, chief?�

“Just as sure as can be. There isn’t the slightest doubt of it in my mind.�

“So am I convinced of it, chief. And we will get at that, presently. By the way, doctor, have you, too, noticed any especial change in Mr. Lynne?�

“Why, yes, but more in his manner than in anything else, although he is certainly much stouter and in much better general health than when I last saw him. Oh, no, I don’t know as there is so much change, after all. He has grown considerably grayer, I think.�

“I wonder—he is feeling badly, you know—if a cigar would do him any good? A cigar is a great thing for me when I am——â€�

“No use, Mr. Carter,� said the chief. “He don’t smoke.�

“Doesn’t smoke? Are you sure?�

“Never smoked in his life. He has often told me that. He said he used to want to smoke because he liked to see others doing it, and they seemed to get so much pleasure out of it, and he often tried it. He has told me that often.�

“And couldn’t he even learn to smoke?�

“No. At least, he said not. He has told it to me often. He couldn’t stay in a room where there was much tobacco smoke, and it used to make him mad because he could not. But there is something about tobacco that he can’t stand. He could never learn to smoke; and I call that hard luck. But come, hadn’t we better get down to business?�

“Yes, I think so. Coroner, have you discovered one of the best proofs that this is a case of murder and not one of suicide?�

“I don’t know that I have. What do you mean?�

“Have you ever seen a case of prussic acid suicide where the eyes were found closed?�

“By Jove! Mr. Carter, you’re right. No, I have not; nor anybody else.�

“Well, what did I tell you?� demanded the chief. “I knew it was murder, just because I know the little girl wouldn’t have killed herself.�

CHAPTER XI.
PLANNING A CAMPAIGN.

The three turned then to the duty in hand.

But it was only a cursory examination of the surroundings that they made, since the doctor and the chief had both already been in that room and had investigated as far as it had been possible or even necessary.

Nick stood back and a little to one side while the two approached the dead girl upon the couch, and for a moment the chief stood looking down upon her with all that adoration which a strong man of middle age feels for a pure young soul such as Edythe Lynne’s had been.

Finally he turned to the detective.

“Mr. Carter,� he said, with slow solemnity, “what I said a moment ago is true. If you had come to me and told me that this girl was dead and that she had killed herself, and that you had seen her do it, I would have told you that you were a liar. She wasn’t the sort that kills herself; not much. So far as I am concerned, the examination is over.�

He hesitated a moment, and then added, with grave dignity:

“What I want to do now, is to find that man that did it. I want to find him.�

“Do you want to find him without fear or favor?� asked the detective quietly.

“I do, sir, without fear or favor. There ain’t no man in all the world that is big enough or great enough, or near enough to me in any way, to get one grain of consideration from me if he did this thing.�

“Very well,â€� said Nick, with quiet decision. “We will find him. I think that I can give you both my word that we will find him within twenty-four hours—or less.â€�

“Do you mean that, Mr. Carter?� the chief exclaimed.

“Yes, I mean it.�

“Would you mind telling me just why you are so plumb certain about it?�

For a moment the detective hesitated. Then he said:

“Chief—and you, doctor, also—if you will be satisfied with a partial explanation for the present, I will make it; but there are reasons, and weighty ones, too, why I would very much prefer to leave the full explanation till later. Will you be satisfied with that, and trust me?â€�

“I will,� said the chief.

“And I, also,� announced the doctor.

“Then I will tell you this much now: This is not the first time I have been in this room since Miss Lynne was killed.�

“Not the first time? Eh? What do you mean by that?� exclaimed the chief.

“That is what I am telling you.�

“All right. Go ahead.�

“Chief, before I went to the station house last night, or very early this morning, I had been here in this room. I knew then what you would find when you arrived here with your men.�

“Then why in blazes didn’t you tell me?�

“Because I thought it best to go about the matter in the manner I have done it; and results have demonstrated that I was correct about that.�

“Well, how did you get here, that’s what I want to know?�

“As you know, I was out here on other business last night. It was about two o’clock, or shortly after that, when I passed this way. It was soon after the snow had fallen, but just then no snow was falling at all.�

“Well, well, well?�

“As I was passing the gate I saw tracks in the snow; the tracks of a man and a woman, entering the place, and the tracks of the same man, made in leaving it. At that time the lock on the gate was securely fastened.�

“Fastened? Do you mean that?�

“Yes. It was I who filed through that chain in order to enter here and discover what had happened to the woman who had come into this place, and who had not gone out again.�

“I see. I see.�

“I made my way into the house by picking the lock of the door. I had my flash light with me. I made my way to this room by following the snow tracks on the rugs and carpets, for they had not melted. It was really colder in the house than outside of it.�

“And you found—this?â€�

“Yes. Just as you see it.�

“So you knew, right on the spot, that a man had come here with her. You couldn’t track him away from here, could you?�

“I have tracked him away from here, chief. I am almost ready to put my hands upon him; but I haven’t sufficient proof of it yet, and the important thing that I wish to impress upon you both, right now, is that not a word of what I have told you shall be uttered to any person for the present. Will you both agree to that?�

“Surely we will. But, have you told her father about it, Carter?�

“I have just said that not a word of it should be breathed to any person. That included Mr. Lynne, also.�

“Oh; I see. Well, he isn’t to know anything, either, until you get ready to tell it?�

“Not one single idea of any of it. He must not even suppose that I had any knowledge that preceded your own, chief.�

“And the—murderer! Do you really think you have got him dead to rights?â€�

“I really do, chief. I haven’t one single doubt of it.�

“Then all I’ve got to say is that you’re a wonder, Carter.�

“Oh, no, it was circumstance, and chance—largely chance—that made it possible, chief.â€�

“Then thank Heaven for the chance. Say, where are you going to get him? Here? Or in New York?�

“Here, if I can. If not here, then in New York.�

“Do you mean to tell me that the fellow is here in this town?�

“He might be here, or he might be lured here, but wherever he is—no matter where he may be, chief, I will get him. I promise you that.â€�

“Shake hands, Carter. You’re a man after my own heart. You do things, and that’s what I like. And don’t you think that it even occurs to me to be one bit jealous of it all. I am only thanking Heaven that you were here to do it. I wasn’t cut out for a detective. I’m all right as a policeman, but I know my limitations, thank the Lord. And say, Carter.�

“Well?�

“From this out, you take charge of things, will you? You be chief.�

“No; I won’t do that; but if a suggestion occurs to me I will make it to you, and you can give your orders as you see fit. That will be the better way, although I don’t now think there will be any occasion for such exercise of authority.�

“Maybe not.�

“But there is one thing that I want to do at your office at one o’clock.�

The chief looked at his watch and snapped it shut.

“That will be another half hour, yet,� he said. “What is it that you want to do then?�

“I want to sit at the telephone in your private office at the station house, and do some telephoning to one of my assistants in New York—and I want you to sit beside me and listen, without questioning, when I do it.â€�

“That’s all right. What else?�

“I want the doctor here to join with us in a little plot of mine, to help us out.�

“You may count on me, of course,� replied the doctor, who had been listening intently.

“Doctor,â€� said the detective, turning toward him, “I called upon Mr. Lynne at his home in the city this morning. It was my intention to tell him then, more or less, about what I had discovered here—while I was there, chief, your man came and made his report, but I don’t think he saw me.â€�

“Huh; that isn’t strange. He wouldn’t see the moon at night if he wasn’t told to look at it, and then he wouldn’t see all there was of it.�

“Well, Mr. Carter?� said the doctor. “You were about to suggest something to me?�

“Yes. When I went to Mr. Lynne’s house I found him preparing to come out here. He had made all his arrangements to start early. His errand was to take something from a private vault that is built under the north wing.�

The chief nodded as if he understood. The doctor looked surprised.

“When this news was made known to him,� the detective continued, “he asked me to come here with him, and it was while on the way out that he told me about the vault. Now, he intends to visit it before he returns to the city, and for reasons of my own I wish to be with him when he does so. I am quite sure that he will have no objections to that arrangement.�

“I don’t know about that,� interrupted the chief. “He has always been mighty particular about that vault, and it surprises me that he even told you of its existence.�

“Well, he did tell me. The point is this, doctor.�

“Yes?�

“I must go now, with the chief, to the station house to do that telephoning, for that must be attended to, first, if we wish to catch the murderer. Now, if you will play your part in this affair, so that we can ultimately bring the murderer here—we will say, face to face with Mr. Lynne himself—I want you, when we leave this room, to go at once to Mr. Lynne, feel his pulse, and say or do something which will make it imperative—imperative, mind you—that he shall go home to your house with you until I call for him there on my return from the station house.â€�

“I think I understand you,� said the doctor.

“Insist that you must look after his health; that he must have an hour or two of rest while the chief and I are busy about other matters. If he should insist upon returning to this house, come with him. Will you do all that till we return from the station house?�

“Surely. And even if you did not have another reason, the one you have given is already sufficient. He does need the rest and a tonic of some kind.�

“The tonic he will want is brandy, doctor.�

“He was never a drinking man,� said the chief.

“Nevertheless, give him brandy if he wants it, and if it should happen that he has learned to smoke while he was away, offer him a cigar.�

“No use,� said the chief, shaking his head.

“Oh, well, one doesn’t always know. For instance, chief, what would you say if you were told that Mr. Lynne is contemplating a second marriage?�

“I should probably call the man a liar who told it to me,� was the dry response.

“Nevertheless, chief, it is true.�

“What’s that? True? It can’t be. Why, I’ve heard him express himself rather forcibly on that subject, too.�

“Nevertheless, it is true. You have heard of Mrs. Hurd-Babbington? You have seen her out here, haven’t you?�

“Yes.�

“Well, she is the lady in question.�

“You don’t say so.�

“Yes. And it occurs to me that a man who will so thoroughly change his opinions on the subject of marriage might also learn to smoke. And now that we understand one another, shall we go to the station, chief? And will you do your part, doctor?�

CHAPTER XII.
GETTING INTO ACTION.

Nick Carter was at the telephone in the private office of the chief of the local police.

Chick was at the other end of the wire, and the connection had just been made.

“Chick,� said the detective, “I am in the private office of the chief, here. Where are you?�

“At home,� came the reply over the wire. “It is only half an hour ago that I phoned in, and Joseph told me what was wanted, so I came here.�

“Good. Well, I have some instructions to give you; but before I do that, let me hear anything that you have to tell me.�

“I haven’t anything to tell you that amounts to a hill of beans, Nick. So far as I have been able to determine there is no reason to suppose that Lynne is not all that he appears to be. His life, as far as I have been able to find out anything about it, is as clean as a whistle.�

“I believe that. But have you found any person who knew him intimately? who has known him intimately for a number of years? I would like to find such a person as that.�

“Yes; I have found one, although he isn’t what you’d exactly call a friend—although when fellows like him are faithful, they are mighty good friends to a man.â€�

“To whom are you referring, Chick?�

“To a chap named Tompkins, who used to be butler——â€�

“What?�

“Didn’t you get that?�

“Yes. I got it all right, but are you sure that you mean Tompkins, who used to be butler for Lynne? The right Tompkins, I mean?�

“Of course I am sure.�

“I understood that he was in England.�

“England, nothing! He is right here in New York—and a bright old chap he is, too.â€�

“Glory be, Chick. That is the best news you could have given me. Did you tell Tompkins about the death of Edythe?�

“Yes, and the old man is heartbroken. He wants to go out there, but I told him to wait, and I would let him know whether to go there or wait here to see her. He wants to see her.�

“He shall see her, too; tell him that for me, and go to him at once as soon as you leave the phone. I want you to bring him here, in order that there may be no mistake. Now, is that all you have to tell me?�

“Yes. About all. It is all I think of now.�

“Well, before I give you your instructions, answer me a question. From time to time, during the past four or five years, you remember to have seen many items about J. Cephas Lynne in the newspapers, don’t you?�

“About a thousand of them, more or less, I should say. Why?�

“Do you remember to have seen references to his fondness for smoking?�

“Eh? For smoking?�

“Just that.�

“I remember to have seen a good many statements, mostly made in fun, I think, that he did not smoke because he could not, and that it made him sick to stay in a room where there was much of it; and I remember one circumstance where some friends played a joke upon him and induced him to accompany them to a ‘smoker,’ and that it made him deathly sick, whereupon they guyed the life out of him. Is that what you mean?�

“Precisely. I remembered that, too, but I wanted to be sure that you did, also. But, Chick, Lynne has learned to smoke and to enjoy it, too—and my cigars; and you know how strong they are.â€�

“Uh-huh. I’m on. What else?�

“Now for your instructions.�

“Yes.�

“Do you know where Mrs. Madge Hurd-Babbington lives?�

“I can easily find out. What about it?�

“Now, pay close attention, Chick.�

“Yes.�

“I want you to go now, at once, to Judge Masters, of the General Sessions; tell him that I sent you, and that you are carrying out my orders.�

“Yes.�

“I want you to swear out a warrant before him, on information and belief, and get him to issue it from the bench, charging Madge Hurd-Babbington with the crime of murder, in aiding and abetting one Thomas Lynne, former secretary and valet to J. Cephas Lynne, in the actual commission of that crime. Have you got that?�

There was a sharp exclamation, quickly suppressed, from the chief, who was seated near the detective, as Chick replied:

“Yes. I’ve got that. It’s going some, isn’t it?�

“A little. Then swear out a second warrant for Thomas Lynne, for murder—and have them both regular in every particular. Tell the judge that I know exactly whereof I speak; and tell him also that I want the entire matter kept absolutely still until we deliver our prisoners at the headquarters of police in New York City. Have you got all that, straight and regular?â€�

“Yes; but who in the world is Thomas Lynne?�

“You’ll find that out when you get here.�

“What next, Nick?�

“Take my big limousine car, with Danny to drive it. You and Patsy are to ride inside.�

“Yes.�

“Drive to the home of Mrs. Babbington. I don’t think any news about the murder here has leaked out as yet—that is, the papers that contain it will not be on the street before you can attend to all that I tell you to do.â€�

“There is nothing as yet, anyhow.�

“So Mrs. Babbington will listen to what I direct you to tell her.�

“Well?�

“Go to her house with the car. Tell her that Edythe Lynne is dead, out here at Pleasantglades, and that Mr. Lynne is here, very much overcome by what has happened. Say that everything in connection with the death, so far as it can be seen, points to suicide, and that Mr. Lynne is greatly overwrought by it all. Say that he wants her there with him at Pleasantglades at once, and that you have brought the car to take her there. Describe the scene in the room to her, if necessary; about the position of Edythe on the couch, the vial under her right hand on the floor—even the letter, if that should be necessary! Got all that?â€�

“Yes.�

“The point is to induce her to come here with you willingly. I want that done, if it is possible, and I think if you do the right kind of talking, you will have no difficulty.�

“I can do it all right, I think.�

“But, Chick, if she should balk at all, and decline to come, show your warrant, and bring her.�

“I’ll do that, too.�

“While you are after the warrant from the judge, send Patsy after that old butler, Tompkins, and instruct Tompkins to wait for you somewhere along the route you will take after Mrs. Babbington has entered the car with you. If he were out, say at the end of the subway line, waiting for you, that would be the best arrangement.�

“Why?�

“Because the minute she sees him she’ll get a scare, and I want you to have her out of the city, well on the way here, before that happens.�

“I see.�

“Wait a minute, Chick; I’ve got a better idea.�

“Well?�

“Send Ida Jones after Tompkins, or let her go there with Patsy after him; and then let her accompany him to the end of the subway to wait for the car. I don’t want any mistake to happen about getting that old servant here.�

“Why not let Patsy——â€�

“Do it just as I have said, Chick. That will be better and safer.�

“All right.�

“And do it all just as quickly as you know how. I want them both here just as quickly as you can get them here—and you ought to do it all, that is, you ought to get started within two hours at the most.â€�

“I think it can be done in an hour. The only hitch that may occur is that I may not find the woman at home.�

“I think you will find her there, Chick. I think she will be waiting for news. There is no doubt that Lynne communicated with her this morning by telephone, and that she knows now just where he has gone, and is waiting to hear from him.�

“I see.�

“At all events I will make assurance doubly sure and get the chief of police here to telephone to her, as if for Lynne, that he wants her to come out at once and that a car will call for her to bring her—but I won’t send that message until I think you are about due at her house.â€�

“The car is here at the door now, Nick. Patsy is here beside me, and Ida is in her room, so there will be no delay. I can be at the judge’s chambers in twenty minutes; in twenty more I will have the warrants; in fifteen or twenty more I can be at her house, so if you have the chief do that telephoning in about three-quarters of an hour, I’ll engage to be at the house within fifteen minutes after she gets it.�

“Good. That arranges it nicely.�

“Are you sure that I will find Judge Masters at his chambers?�

“Yes. I know that. I saw him yesterday, and he told me that he would be there all day. I had intended to see him to-day about that other matter of ours; tell him that that is postponed till to-morrow.�

“All right.�

“You may tell him as much about this crime as you have time to tell him. Just give him a general outline of it, so that he will understand how very serious it is.�

“Yes.�

“Just one thing more.�

“Well?�

“When you get here drive straight to Pleasantglades, and to the house. The chief will meet you at the door, and will escort the woman into the house—but I want you and Patsy to keep mighty close to her, in case she should try to do injury to herself when she discovers what she is up against.â€�

“All understood, Nick.�

“That is all. Now, lose no time. Get here as soon as possible. Good-by.�

When the detective turned away from the phone it was to find that the chief was staring wide-eyed at him, while beads of sweat stood out upon his forehead.

“Great Scott, Carter, is all that true?� he cried out, clenching his hands and leaning forward in his chair.

“Yes, chief, it is all true—too true,â€� replied the detective.

And the chief could only stare at the detective, speechlessly.

CHAPTER XIII.
A THRILLING CLIMAX.

“Well, Mr. Lynne, are you rested? Are you feeling better now?�

It was the detective who asked the question as they left Doctor Kuhn’s house together, with the doctor accompanying them, to walk the short distance back to Pleasantglades. The chief had gone on alone after the telephoning episode, saying that big as he was he had not the courage yet to meet that man without seizing him by the throat.

“Oh, yes,� said Lynne. “I am beginning to get better control of myself. I am glad that you have come. I want to visit the vault under the north wing, and I rather wanted you to accompany me when I did that.�

“Indeed?� said Nick. “Why so?�

The man shrugged his shoulders, then replied:

“I suppose I am nervous, that is all—and I cannot get it out of my head that somewhere there is an explanation for this sudden act of my daughter’s.â€�

“You don’t expect to find such an explanation in that vault, do you?� demanded the detective, in simulated surprise, for he had already assumed that this was what Lynne did expect to find, for the very good reason that he had arranged it, himself, to be found.

For that, and that only, could explain that paragraph of the letter which still was in hiding in one of Nick Carter’s pockets; that paragraph which was:

“The reasons why I have decided that there is no other way, you will discover soon enough, and you will feel deep regret because I did not go to you and tell you all about it, instead of doing this thing.�

The clever forger—this man, of course—who had prepared that paragraph, had also prepared the evidence to establish the meaning of it; the evidence to explain what the forged letter pretended to refuse to explain; the thing that was meant to explain why she should kill herself.

Lynne claimed that he had not been at home until the time he stated in telling Nick Carter about it, but it was certain in the mind of the detective that he had been out here to Pleasantglades before he made his presence known in New York at all, and that he had prepared everything for the moment which had now arrived. The only upset in his plans was the strange absence of the letter that he had left on the table in the room where he had committed the murder.

That was, of course, preying upon his mind, but he did not dare to ask about it, since he could have no knowledge of it, and, doubtless, he consoled himself with the idea that the chief had found it and was holding it back for some purpose of his own.

But, when new evidence should be found in the vault that there was a reason why Edythe should have killed herself, then, of course, according to his hopes, the letter would be forthcoming.

So Nick followed him into the north wing of the house; saw him draw aside the circular rug that had been made for the semioctagonal room that was there; saw him insert a key into a lock in that floor and lift a ponderous trapdoor by adjusting a lever concealed in the wainscoating which applied weights to it to pull it up; saw him snap on electric lights from a switch, and then descend iron stairs to the regions below; saw him consult a small book that he carried in his pocket, and then attack the combination locks one after another until he had opened the two outer doors, and then the two inner ones of the vault; saw him step inside and use small, flat keys upon inner compartments of the great safe, for that is what it was, and presently step back again into the presence of the detective, and show him a beautiful string of pearls, which he drew slowly and lovingly through his hands.

“This is what I came here to get—what I was coming here to get, to give to Mrs. Babbington for her birthday,â€� he said. “Is it not exquisite?â€�

“It certainly is,� replied the detective.

Then Lynne left the pearls in the detective’s hands, and returned to the interior of the great safe.

“There are some securities that I think I will take away with me, now that I am here,â€� he remarked, as if casually, and he opened another compartment inside the safe—and Nick felt that the moment had arrived.

It had.

Lynne suddenly started back a half-suppressed exclamation; then he cried out, with all the theatrical art that he possessed:

“No, no! It is not possible! I will not believe it. Oh! oh! oh! This is the worst blow of all!� Then he turned slowly around, and added, as one who is overcome by sorrow: “Mr. Carter, I am very sorry now that I brought you here. I might have hidden all this, and now you must know. Look. Come here and look. It is best that you should.�

The compartment into which the detective peered when he stepped forward was about half filled with bonds, which Nick saw at a glance were negotiable ones; and on the top of them, unfolded, face up, was a short note in that same hand that had written the letter found in the room of death. Here was the evidence, then, that the fiend had prepared. The note was:

“Forgive me, papa. I have only taken half, but I had to do so. I will not tell you why, only that it was not for myself, but for another. I would die rather than that you should know all the truth, and I have partly determined to die before you can know it.

“Edythe.�

So this fiend in human guise, not content with taking the life of that beautiful girl, that pure, sweet, young life, had attempted to steal her honor also, and had not hesitated to cast an unthinkable imputation upon her, even then.

Nick shut his fingers tightly together to keep himself from seizing the monster by the throat then and there.

But he controlled himself so that Lynne saw nothing of the danger he was in; and he reached into the compartment and took the note, folded it, and put it into his pocket.

“We must keep that out of sight for the present, Lynne,� he said, in explanation of his act. “Come; let us get out of here. The place gives me the shivers.�

As one who is bent and torn by grief unbearable, Lynne followed Nick up the stairs, after closing and locking the doors of the vault; and in that same attitude of a stricken man, he followed the detective through the north wing to the main part of the house—and they arrived at the front door just as an automobile drove into the inclosure and under the porte-cochère.

He did not even raise his eyes to discover who had arrived, since that was not in keeping with the part he was playing, and so he did not notice that it was Mrs. Babbington who was assisted from it, for Nick quickly turned him about and led him toward the room where the body of Edythe had not yet been disturbed.

The chief had his instructions from Nick, and would carry them out; and, true enough, it was only a moment later when Nick heard footsteps following them along the corridor.

The detective led Lynne into the room of death, partly closing the door after him—and a moment later it was pushed wider open again, and Mrs. Babbington stepped into the room with all the assured presence of the woman of fashion that she was.

Nick had turned Lynne so that he faced the door, and the sudden start and the awful gasp of terror that he gave when he saw and recognized the woman, could not be described.

“You, you, you!� he cried out, and she was startled, too, by his vehemence, which she had not anticipated, of course, since she believed that he expected her.

But before she could reply, or even make a gesture, a still more dramatic thing happened.

An old man, white and uncertain on his feet with age, pushed himself forward. He thrust out his right arm and pointed an accusing finger at the trembling man who faced him.

“You are not my master, Mr. J. Cephas Lynne; you are Thomas Lynne, his servant!â€� he half shouted in a voice that choked with rage. “And you murdered that girl—my beautiful little Edythe, whom I carried in my arms from the time that she was born. Oh, you—you——â€�

Shaking off restraint, he sprang at the throat of the man who cowered before him, and he would have reached him, too, had not Nick Carter interposed himself between them.

But Nick did another thing at that instant; he seized Lynne, whirled him about and snapped a pair of handcuffs on his wrists, and then he flung him into a chair near the chief, who had followed into the room; and the chief stood over the man, with his hands clenched tightly, as if he would have enjoyed tearing him apart.

And there was another sharp click that sounded in the room at the same instant, made by Patsy as he pulled Mrs. Babbington’s hands behind her, and snapped handcuffs upon her white wrists as well.

She shrieked out, then tottered; and then stood upright again at the sound of a shrill laugh from Lynne that was almost a snarl.

“They’ve got you, too, anyhow!â€� he yelled at her. “I won’t be alone in this. Look, Carter, she knew it all from the first. She recognized me at once when I went where she was, in Scotland. She had heard of my supposed death, and, when she saw me, she knew that I had killed my cousin Cephas. Oh, yes, she knew it, and she made the most of it. She made me say that I would marry her, and that she should share the fortune—and it was she, she, I tell you, who planned the murder of that poor girl on the couch. I didn’t want to do it, and I would not have done it, only that I saw she suspected me. She could not believe that her father would change so greatly in so short a time. Even when I had lured her here—Madge was with us last night in that car when we came here, and I took her home afterward—even when I had lured her here—— Oh, well, what is the use. I succeeded in inducing her to come here. She still thought I was her father, and that the accident and the illness had changed me; she trusted me, and I brought her in here, and I killed her. Now you have it. It is the truth, but that woman made me do it. And I forged a letter that I put on that table. I was always an expert penman, Carter. Cephas took me out of a prison when I went to him, and if it had not been for him I would have been back there again long before this, for another forgery. I wrote that note, too, that you have got in your pocket, that we found in the vault. Oh, I can write things; I can write things.â€�

The woman in the meantime had regained control of herself.

“The man is mad,� she said coldly. “I know nothing of the things he is talking about.�

“Mrs. Babbington,� said Nick slowly, “the man is not mad, and you do know all about the things he is talking about. More, I can prove many of them now, and will prove all of them within a week. Take her away, Chick, back to New York, and to headquarters. The chief and I will attend to this unspeakable scoundrel. You have the warrants?�

“Yes.�

“That is sufficient, then. Serve them now.�

CHAPTER XIV.
THE END OF A TRIAL.

Juries are not inclined to convict a beautiful woman unless the evidence offered against her is entirely convincing; and, even then, it is done with reluctance, and usually with a strong recommendation to the judge for mercy and leniency.

The testimony against her must be of the best, and it must be direct, for the germ of chivalry dwells in the soul of every man, and there is always present in his conscience that instinctive reluctance to condemn any woman, whatever her crimes may have been, to the utmost penalty of the law. Circumstantial evidence has sent many a man to the death penalty, but where will you find that it has done so in the case of a woman—and particularly a beautiful woman who still possesses that greatest of all attractions—youth?

It was so in the Babbington case—in that great case which attracted such world-wide notice at the time of the trial—the prosecution of Madge Hurd-Babbington for murder in the first degree, in that she was charged—so the indictment read—with having instigated, aided, and abetted one Thomas Lynne, who posed for the time under the name of his cousin, J. Cephas Lynne, in committing the deliberate and premeditated murder of Edythe Lynne, only daughter and heiress of the said J. Cephas Lynne.

The jury had been out barely half an hour when it returned to ask a question of the presiding judge. The foreman asked:

“Your honor, we wish to know if this defendant could be convicted of any crime less than that which is charged in the indictment?�

The judge replied instantly:

“No. This is an extraordinary case, gentlemen. The indictment charges explicitly that the defendant ‘instigated, aided, and abetted’ another in the commission of a crime; it does not charge that she had any hand in the actual commission of that crime. If you find that she ‘instigated, aided, and abetted’ the man who actually committed the crime, and who has already been convicted in this court for that offense, she is as guilty as he; but, unless you do so find, she is not guilty. You may retire now for further deliberation.�

“That, your honor,� replied the foreman, “is now unnecessary. We find the defendant not guilty!�

After that the usual formalities of the court in discharging a prisoner were quickly disposed of, and the beautiful Madge Babbington turned a derisively smiling face for one instant upon Nick Carter, as she passed, unattended, from the courtroom to the street.

The district attorney, who had personally conducted the case, remarked, in a low tone, to the detective:

“It is no more than I expected, Carter.�

“It is precisely what I did expect,� replied Nick, with a shrug of his shoulders.

“If it had been proved that she actually administered the poison to Edythe Lynne, she might have been convicted,â€� said the lawyer, with a dubious smile; “but anything short of that——â€� He paused, with the sentence unfinished; then added, somewhat irrelevantly: “She is an astonishingly beautiful woman, Nick.â€�

“I think you have made use of the precise adverbial adjective,� replied the detective dryly. “Her beauty is exactly of the type that is astonishing.�

“Or overwhelming; possibly that would be a better word, Nick.�

“No; you were correct in the first instance. She took those twelve men by storm, from the foreman to number twelve. They never had a chance to do anything but what they did do. She fascinated them, and so compelled them.�

“Hypnotized them, you mean.�

“Not at all. There was no hypnotism about it.�

“Then what?�

“What I have already called it—fascination. The compelling force of a style and type of beauty which no man among them has ever seen before; the——â€�

“Nor any other man,� interpolated the lawyer.

“The grace, strength, and the ferocity of a tigress molded into the form of a woman,� the detective continued, as if he had not been interrupted.

The lawyer slapped his thigh with emphasis.

“You struck the keynote there, Nick!� he exclaimed. “The grace, strength, and ferocity of a tigress. I often wondered, during the trial, what her eyes reminded me of. I know now, for I have seen the same sort of eyes through the bars of cages at the Bronx Zoo; great, sleepy, tawny eyes, that peer out at one so mildly and half drowsily, and almost unseeingly, but into which a veritable living flame may leap at any instant, burning, consuming, destroying. She doesn’t like you, Nick.�

“No; evidently not.�

“I saw that glance she gave you as she passed out. I am rather glad it wasn’t directed at me.�

“Why?�

“I should confess myself afraid.�

“Afraid of her?�

“Afraid of her eyes, rather.�

The detective shrugged again, but made no reply in words. The lawyer continued:

“Her vengeance against you, if she ever seeks one, will be unusual.�

“I fancy that she has something else to think about, than vengeance, just now,� replied the detective, with a smile.

“Tigers have long memories for an injury done to them, Nick. The superintendent up at the Zoo told me that only the other day. He said——â€�

“You seem to be fond of visiting the Zoo,� the detective interrupted, smiling again.

“I am. The place fascinates me, especially the cages which confine the tigers and the lions. Did you ever notice, Nick, how the lions will look straight out over your head, and never once into your eyes, and how they look as if they could see the wilderness where they were born?�

“Yes, often.�