The Best American Mystery Stories of the 19th Century

by Otto Penzler (ed)

  If the dastardly assassin could have looked into Nick’s heart at that moment he might have felt a strong impulse to take his own miserable life as the only means of escaping the law’s hand.

  “Murdered!” echoed Nick. “Can that be possible? Tell me how the deed was done.”

  While speaking these words the detective sprang into his dressing room and hastily clothed himself.

  The door was open and he heard the rambling, broken narrative of the unhappy old man.

  “I had been with a patient all night,” said Dr. Keane. “Mr. Henry Lee—you may know him; he lives on West Tenth Street—was dangerously ill.

  “It was not until four o’clock that we could pronounce him out of danger. Dr. Ransom was with me, and we worked hard all night.

  “At last, worn out with exertions far beyond my strength, I left the house for my own home.

  “I was so weary that I could hardly ascend the stairs to our bedroom, which is on the second floor at the front. I must have been a long time on the stairs. At last I reached the door and pushed it open.

  “The morning light had not found its way into the room, for the heavy curtains were drawn to.

  “The night lamp in a corner was more bright than usual. It showed me every visible thing in the room.

  “But there was something invisible which made its presence known.

  “A penetrating and deadly odor came to my nostrils—the odor of prussic acid.

  “Then, in a flash, I saw the little stand beside the bed, with its glasses and vials of medicine; and beyond, on the pillow, her face!”

  Dr. Keane’s voice had sunk to a hoarse whisper, but Nick had now returned to the room. He heard every word.

  The doctor spoke very slowly, as if the effort necessary to put his hideous story into words was too much for his strength.

  So the detective had had time to fully clothe himself when the narration had proceeded thus far.

  “Her face,” repeated Nick. “You read the terrible truth in her face?”

  “Yes; it was rigid and white as marble, except—”

  He trembled so violently at the recollection of his horror that he could not continue, until Nick had said:

  “The scar made by the acid?”

  “Yes; the terrible black stain across her lips. I could not endure the sight of it.”

  “Yet you examined her to assure yourself that there was no hope?”

  “I did. The sight of that terrible scar repelled me, but a stronger impulse urged me forward.

  “Yet I knew in an instant that she was dead. The great quantity of the poison was evident from its vapor in the room, and a few drops would have been enough—indeed a single drop of the strong acid is fatal.”

  “How was the poison administered?”

  “It must have been put into a little bottle which stood on the table by her bedside.

  “This contained medicine which was to be used in case she awoke with a headache—which has happened almost every night during her illness.”

  “But the odor?” asked Nick. “Why did she not notice it?”

  This medicine, replied the doctor, was to be added to another which stood ready in a glass. In order to get the effect, it was necessary to pour it in very quickly, and drink the portion from the glass while the violent bubbling resulting from the mixture was in progress.

  “She would, therefore, have acted so quickly that the odor would not have been perceived, especially as it would have been somewhat disguised by the natural pungency of the medicine.”

  “And you are sure that the poison was in the small bottle?”

  “Yes.”

  “Of course it would be only necessary to smell it.”

  “Certainly.”

  “So much for the method of the crime. Now for the criminal. Have you any suspicions?”

  “Mr. Carter, I am so terribly affected, so utterly prostrated by this awful sorrow, that I scarcely know what I am saying. Perhaps I may do injustice to someone if I state my suspicions now. Let me wait till I am calmer.”

  “As you wish. Now let us go to your house. I must examine the scene of this crime.”

  CHAPTER II: ALPHONSE MARTEL

  NICK ASSISTED Dr. Keane to arise, and held him by the arm as they descended the stairs.

  The old man seemed feeble, and the weakness of his injured ankle, despite the ingeniously contrived support, made walking difficult for him.

  However, with Nick’s help he made fair progress, and in a few minutes they stood before the doctor’s door.

  His trembling fingers made the key rattle on the outer plate of the lock. Nick took the key from his hand, and at the same instant released his hold upon the other’s arm.

  No sooner had he done so than the doctor sank down upon the step with a groan.

  Nick stooped beside him.

  “My ankle gave way under me,” said the doctor. “The support has become loosened.”

  “I will replace it,” said Nick.

  He found that this task would occupy a considerable time, but he did not especially regret this.

  Apparently there was nothing to be lost by so short a delay, and, on the other hand, the cool morning air would do much to restore Dr. Keane, who was almost in a condition of collapse.

  The detective, therefore, made the doctor sit down on the doorstep, and proceeded in a leisurely manner to adjust the complicated mechanism of the support.

  Meanwhile he utilized the minutes in asking necessary questions.

  “You suspect someone,” Nick began. “Tell me who it is.”

  “My suspicion is founded wholly on this,” replied the doctor; “there is only one person in the world, so far as I know, who had, or thought he had, any cause of resentment against my wife.”

  “And who was that?”

  “A young man who assisted me in a certain chemical work this winter.”

  “His name?”

  “Alphonse Martel.”

  “Was he in the house last night?”

  “No; I discharged him from my employ yesterday morning.”

  “For what reason?”

  “Dishonesty.”

  “He had stolen from you?”

  “From my wife.”

  “What had he taken?”

  “Some jewelry. She had been missing it, a piece at a time, for two weeks. We suspected a servant, and watched her closely, but without result.

  “We never thought of Martel, for, so far as we knew, he had no access to the room from which the jewels were taken.

  “Neither of us ever saw him go near it, whereas the servant was in that room every day.

  “Day before yesterday we discharged the servant. Martel knew nothing about it.

  “About noon of yesterday my wife told me that another article of jewelry was missing.

  “She had seen it since the girl left the house. There was absolutely nobody who could be suspected except Martel.

  “I accused him. He turned white as a sheet, but he denied everything.

  “My wife would have had him arrested, but I thought that another plan would be more likely to result in the recovery of the jewelry.

  “The articles were not of great value, but my wife prized them highly as keepsakes. Some of them were presents I had made her.

  “I suggested that we allow Martel to go, with the understanding that if the jewels were returned to us by evening nothing more should be said; but if not, the police should be notified.

  “At six o’clock the stolen property had not been returned, and my wife insisted on sending word to headquarters.

  “An officer was sent out to find Martel, but was not successful. He came to our house about eight o’clock to report that Martel had vacated his lodgings, and that there was a rumor that he intended to skip to France.”

  “To France?” said Nick. “There’s a French liner to sail this morning.”

  “True; and the police would be watching her; but shortly after the officer called, a messenger boy br
ought all the missing articles in a little box.

  “The boy said that a young man had given him the box, and had sent this verbal message: ‘Keep to your agreement.’

  “I understood that to mean that we were expected to withdraw the complaint, and I sent to headquarters to notify them that we would not prosecute.”

  “How much was the jewelry worth?”

  “About three hundred dollars.”

  “That’s queer. A man doesn’t skip the country for three hundred dollars. Was this fellow smart?”

  “He was exceedingly smart—much too smart for me. He deceived me entirely about the robberies.”

  “This is unusual. I don’t like the looks of this story about going to France. Are you sure this fellow hasn’t got away with something more valuable than the jewelry?”

  “I never thought of that. It may be so. If this fiend murdered my wife, he must have been in the house after I went to Mr. Lee’s. Doubtless he plundered the house; but you will understand I gave no thought to such things in the presence of my dead wife.”

  “True; but now we must think of them. What had you of value in the house?”

  “A large sum of money in my safe.”

  “How much?”

  “Sixteen thousand dollars and more. Perhaps nearer seventeen thousand. I cannot recall the exact sum.”

  “There isn’t a minute to be lost,” said Nick. “We must examine that safe.”

  He raised Dr. Keane and opened the door. They entered the hall. The safe stood in a recess in the wall at the rear.

  It was an old-fashioned, useless affair, opening with a key. A modern burglar would think no more of it than if it were made of cheese.

  “I have not the key,” said Dr. Keane, fumbling in his pockets. “I will go upstairs and get it. But no, I cannot. It is in that room. I—I dare not—”

  “There is no need,” said Nick.

  He flung open the door of the safe. It was not locked.

  Dr. Keane got down upon his knees and peered into the safe.

  “Everything is gone!” he said.

  “That would seem to settle it,” rejoined Nick.

  “The two crimes hang together. No person in the world, except myself and Martel, knew that there was a large sum in this safe.”

  “How did he happen to know it?”

  “He came upon me suddenly last Monday morning when I was putting an envelope containing ten one-thousand-dollar bills into the safe. I had marked the amount on the outside of the envelope. He must have seen it.

  “The fellow had a noiseless way of getting about the house which should have made me suspect him at the start. On that occasion he stood right at my elbow before I knew he was anywhere near.”

  Nick glanced at his watch. “The Normandie sails at six,” he said, “and I must make sure that Martel does not go with her. I shall have to go to the pier myself.”

  “Can you reach it in time?”

  “Without doubt.”

  “But you have no carriage.”

  “I shall run for it.”

  “Do not let him escape you.”

  “Don’t be alarmed about that. Now give me his description.”

  “He is of medium height and rather slender. His face is exceedingly handsome. He has large brown eyes and a very clear skin. His teeth are small and regular. They look as if they were false, but they are not. The eyetooth on the right side has a large gold filling on the back of it.”

  “That’s all I need. Now for your part.

  “Summon help at once from my house. Ask for Chick and Patsy.

  “Let Patsy come to the pier. Chick will take charge in this house. And, Dr. Keane, let me say this, which may be a comfort to you:

  “I shall devote myself to a special branch of this case, the capture of Martel. To my assistant, Chick, will fall the decisive work in this house. And when he has taken hold of it, the murderer may abandon hope. Whether he is Martel, or any other of the myriad scoundrels who infest the earth, he is lost.

  “It is not my habit to boast of the prowess of my friend and assistant, but in this case my sympathy for you prompts me to throw off reserve.

  “Your desire for vengeance must be very nearly all that is left to you. It shall be gratified.

  “There is no refuge for this murderer but in the grave.”

  CHAPTER III: ON THE FRENCH LINER

  NICK LOOKED STEADILY into the old physician’s face as he spoke the words which promised full revenge for this cowardly murder.

  There seemed to be an answering gleam in the other’s eyes. Dr. Keane was rousing from the stupor which had been upon him since his dreadful discovery that morning.

  New strength and resolution came to him at the sound of Nick’s words.

  A moment later the detective was in the street, running with incredible speed toward the French liner’s pier.

  The last preparations for sailing were made. In a few minutes the lines would be cast off, and the great ship would move out into the river.

  Nick knew that he must do quick work. He was determined to search the big steamer thoroughly, even if he should be obliged to go down the bay in her, and come back in a tug.

  As Nick hurried toward the gangway, he saw one of Police Inspector McLaughlin’s men disguised as a baggage handler standing near, and evidently keeping a sharp eye on all who went aboard the ship.

  To this officer Nick made himself known.

  “You are after Martel, I suppose,” said Nick.

  “Yes, but I’m afraid I shan’t get him this morning.”

  “He hasn’t shown up, eh?”

  “No; but I had a dead straight tip that he was to go.”

  “You want him for the Keane affair?”

  “Yes; are you on to it?”

  Nick was a good deal more “on to it” than the other man, but he did not say so. It was not his purpose to impart information, but to receive it.

  “Tell me what you know of it,” said Nick.

  “Why, it’s this way: Martel is accused of taking some jewelry belonging to Mrs. Keane, but in my opinion that doesn’t really cut any figure in the case. Martel has a bigger job than that, or I’m a farmer.”

  “Why do you think so?”

  “Because Martel is a thief, and a mighty slick one. He robbed the druggist who employed him before Keane got hold of him.

  “The druggist had him arrested for some petty larceny—a few cents out of the cash drawer or something of that kind that could hardly be taken into court—but back of that was a big haul.

  “In my opinion that druggist lost thousands, but Martel managed to get some hold over him. The arrest was only a bluff, and it didn’t go. Martel and the druggist had a talk, and the druggist evidently weakened. He withdrew his charge.

  “That’s the kind of Frenchman Monsieur Martel is, and when I find such a man making preparations to skip the country very quietly, I know there’s something beside three gold rings and two little diamonds in the case.

  “Keane withdraws his charge just as the druggist did. They’ve both been stuck for big money, and the man who did it is too smart to be at large.”

  “Do you think Martel has a hold on Keane?”

  “I’m nearly sure of it. How else can we account for Keane’s conduct? When a man presses a charge one minute, and withdraws it in a hurry the next, why, there’s a reason, and nobody on earth knows that better than you do. Mr. Carter, I’m not such a chump as to try to teach you anything.”

  “I’m obliged to you for your information,” said Nick. “Is there anything more?”

  “Yes; there’s one very peculiar thing. I hardly understand it. Would you believe that Keane hired that man, knowing him to be a thief?”

  “Is that so?”

  “No doubt of it. Keane went to the druggist and asked about Martel. The druggist told him that the fellow was an habitual thief, and a dangerous rascal generally. Then Keane went right off and hired him.”

  “How did Keane get hold of Marte
l’s name in the first place?”

  “I don’t know, unless he saw a little paragraph in the papers.”

  “Giving a hint of this druggist’s affair?”

  “Yes.”

  “You mean that Keane was deliberately hunting for a crook?”

  “It may be.”

  Could Keane have hired Martel to poison the woman? Was the money in the safe a bait? These were the questions which rushed through Nick’s mind. It seemed incredible.

  Martel was almost certain to be captured. Keane must know that, and if the Frenchman was arrested there was scarcely a chance that he would carry his secret to the death chamber of a prison.

  The risks involved seemed too great. If Keane was playing such a game, it was the most desperate one which Nick had ever encountered.

  To hire a murderer was no new thing; but for the principal in such an affair to put the police at once upon the track of his agent, and betray that agent from the start, was sheer madness.

  Nick could not believe that Keane had done so foolish a thing. And yet why had he hired a man whom he knew to be dishonest?

  “I’m almost ready to give up hope of catching my man here,” said the Central Office man, “and yet I felt sure of him.”

  “How did you get the tip?”

  “From a woman.”

  “One who had learned that Martel was going to desert her, I suppose.”

  “Exactly so.”

  “That is generally a good source of information.”

  “None better.”

  “You think she is giving you a straight story?”

  “I haven’t a doubt of it.”

  “Where is she?”

  “On board the steamer.”

  “Acting in your interest?”

  “Yes. She is making sure that Martel is not aboard. When she satisfies herself of that, she will come ashore. If she suspects that he is there, but is not sure, she will signal to me from the upper deck.”

  “She may be playing a game.”

  “I’ve thought of that. At the last minute, if she says he isn’t there, I’m going to try a bluff.”

  “Arrest her?”