Nick Carter: The Crime of the French Café and Other Stories Page 3
“John Jones?”
“That is the name he has given to the police.”
“But isn’t that his right name?”
“I—I don’t know,” stammered the visitor.
“He must be a very particular friend of yours, since you don’t know what his name is!”
“I never saw him in my life.”
“Look here, Mr.—”
“Hammond is my name.”
“Well, Mr. Hammond, your statements don’t hang together. You began by saying that this man was your friend.”
“I didn’t mean that exactly, but I sympathize with him. It must be terrible to be arrested for such a crime and to find the evidence growing stronger in spite of your innocence.”
“How do you know that he is innocent?”
Before Hammond could reply there came a knock at the door.
Nick answered it.
“Come in, Gaspard,” he said, throwing the door wide open.
“You sent for me, and—Good God! who is this?”
“You know him, then?”
“Yes, yes, I know him,” cried Gaspard; “he is the man who was in room A last night.”
CHAPTER V. PATSY’S TIP.
Gaspard’s declaration produced a stunning effect upon Hammond.
At first he seemed thunderstruck. There was a look in his face which made Nick say to himself, “It isn’t true.”
But whether the accusation was true or false, Nick knew at once that
Hammond recognized Gaspard.
Yet he couldn’t be a regular visitor to the place, because Gaspard had said that he had never seen either of the two men before the fatal evening.
Therefore, as Hammond had recognized Gaspard, he must be the man who was in room A, because the man in room B had not seen the head waiter, according to Gaspard’s story.
Hammond, after the first shock of surprise, recovered his nerve wonderfully.
He calmly took a chair and sat there in deep thought for nearly five minutes. He paid no attention to questions.
Finally he looked up and said:
“I don’t know why I should deny it to you. There is no charge against the man in room A.”
“None whatever,” said Nick. “He is wanted merely as a witness.”
“It occurred to me that you might have some theory of a conspiracy in which both men were concerned.”
“I never thought of it.”
“Then I am not to be put under arrest?”
“Certainly not, unless some new evidence appears, and I do not expect it.”
“Very well; I was the man in room A.”
“And who was the lady?”
“I decline to mention her name. She has nothing to do with this case. You will easily understand that I do not wish to bring a lady’s name into a tragedy of this kind.”
“I can understand that. Now tell me why you feel so sure of this man Jones’ innocence.”
“Will you promise to keep me out of this affair as much as you can?”
“Why do you wish it? What are you afraid of?”
“Well,” said Hammond, looking very much embarrassed, “I’m a married man, very respectable sort of a fellow; and the lady with whom I dined was not my wife. It’s all right, you know. My wife is not a jealous woman. But the thing would not look well in print.”
“I won’t make this public if I can help it, Mr. Hammond. Not that I have much sympathy for you. You shouldn’t have been there. But the publicity would annoy your wife, and do nobody any good.”
“Thank you,” said Hammond, with a grim smile; “now I will tell my story. There is very little to tell.
“We arrived before the other party. We heard them go into room B.
“By and by, I went out into the hall to find the waiter, who didn’t answer my ring. I saw this man,” pointing to Gaspard, “at the desk, and should have spoken to him, but just then the waiter hove in sight at the end of the hall.
“So I went back. Just as I was closing the door of our room, I heard the man come out of room B.
“I didn’t see him, but I know that he went down the front stairs, for I heard his footsteps, and also heard the door shut.
“The waiter came in and finally went out again. We. were just ready to leave the place when we heard the pistol-shot in the other room.
“Then we got out of the house just as fast as we could. It was cowardly, perhaps, but I knew that something terrible had happened, and I didn’t want to be mixed up in it.
“Of course I wanted to keep the lady out of it, too, and—and—well, you can see that there were many reasons why I should have decided to make tracks.”
“You know that the man was not in room B when the shot was fired?” said Nick.
“I’m sure of it.”
“He might have come back.”
“No; the front door makes a loud noise when it is shut I should have heard him if he had come in that way. And if he had come the other way this man would have seen him.”
“You didn’t see him at all, did you?”
“No.”
“So you can’t say whether Jones was the man?”
“No; but I’m sure he wasn’t the murderer.”
“You think it was suicide?”
“I’m sure of it. How could it have been anything else? The woman was alone.”
“There might have been somebody else in the room.”
“No; our waiter told us that the party consisted of only two.”
“You mean Corbut?”
“I believe that’s his name—the fellow who disappeared.”
“How do you account for his disappearance?”
“I don’t; but perhaps he was afraid of being mixed up in the affair. He may have a record which won’t permit him to go before the police, even as a witness.”
“How could he have got that cab?”
“I’ve thought a good deal about that. It was mentioned in the papers. I believe he may have slipped out the front way, called the cab, and then gone back to get something.
“Perhaps he went back for his clothes but didn’t dare to take them.”
“And how about the cabman’s story of the man who engaged the cab?”
“The cabman’s a liar. That’s plain enough.”
“I’m afraid he is. Now, Mr. Hammond, could either Corbut or this man Gaspard have got into room B without your knowing it?”
“Easily. Great heavens, I never thought of that! One of them may be the murderer!”
Gaspard, at these words, turned as white as a sheet.
He was so frightened that his English—which was usually very fluent—deserted him, and he mumbled protestations of innocence in his mother tongue.
“Thank you, Mr. Hammond,” said Nick, without appearing to notice Gaspard’s distress. “I have no more questions to ask, but I would be obliged to you if you would wait here a few minutes for me.”
Nick went into another room, where he knew that Patsy was waiting.
A set of signals is arranged in Nick’s house, by which he always knows when one of his staff gets in.
“Patsy,” said Nick, “there’s a fellow up stairs whom you’ll have to shadow.”
“Gaspard?”
“No; a man who calls himself Hammond. Gaspard has identified him as the man who was in room A.”
“Look here,” said Patsy, “am I a farmer, or is the man Gaspard the greatest living identifier?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why, it strikes me that he picked out his men a good deal too easy. If it’s all straight, I’d like the loan of his luck for a few days.
“That identification on the elevated station looked to me like a fake. I don’t believe he ever intended that you should get hold of the man.
“In my opinion, he’s simply running around identifying everybody he sees.”
“But this man Hammond admits it.”
“Is he telling the truth?”
“No,” said Nick, with a peculiar smile, “I don’t believe he is.”
“Well, then, Gaspard’s a liar, and if he’s lied here, he may have done the same thing in Jones’ case.”
Nick looked shrewdly at his youthful assistant. He is very fond of this bright boy, and gives him every chance to develop his theories in those cases in which he is employed.
“Come, my lad,” said the famous detective, “tell me what has set you against Gaspard.”
“He’s going to skip.”
“Is that so? Well, this is serious.”
“It’s a fact. I got it from one of the men in the restaurant. My man was told of it by Corbut.”
“Corbut?”
“Yes; and there’s another suspicious circumstance. There’s a Frenchwoman who is going to give little old New York the shake at the same time as Gaspard. They’re going back to sunny France together.
“Now, nobody knows this but the man I talked with. Gaspard thinks that Corbut was the only one who knew it.
“So it was for Gaspard’s interest, in case he really did this job, and lifted some valuable plunder off that woman, to get Corbut out of the way.
“Did he pay Corbut to skip first? And is he now identifying Tom, Dick and Harry for the purpose of bothering us and keeping us busy till he can light out?”
“It’s worth looking into,” said Nick. “At any rate, you stick to Gaspard. I’ll put somebody else onto Hammond.”
CHAPTER VI. MRS. JOHN JONES.
Nothing of great importance occurred in the case until the next afternoon when Nick was at Police Headquarters.
He was talking with Superintendent Byrnes.
“The identification of that woman gets stronger all the time,” said the superint
endent. “I’m beginning to think that she is really the wife of our prisoner.”
“It looks so,” said Nick.
At that moment a card was brought in. The superintendent looked at it and whistled softly.
Then he handed the card to Nick, who read the name. The two men exchanged glances, and both smiled.
“Mrs. John Jones,” said Nick; “well, this puts a new face on the matter.”
“It’s a great case,” was the reply. “I’m mighty glad you happened to be on the scene at once.”
He turned to the officer who had brought the card, and directed that Mrs. Jones should be admitted immediately.
A pretty young woman entered. She was of about the same height as the unfortunate victim of the tragedy in the restaurant, and much like her in build.
The faces did not resemble each other in outline, but the coloring was similar. There was a faint resemblance in the large, light blue eyes.
The hair was of the same peculiar shade, and nearly as luxuriant. But nobody would ever have mistaken one woman for the other, after a fair look at their faces.
The costumes, however, were positively identical. Mrs. John Jones, to all appearances, wore the very same clothes as Nick had seen upon the woman in room B.
Mrs. Jones was evidently very nervous, but she made a fine attempt to control herself.
“You have my husband under arrest, I believe,” she said. “And he is accused, they say, of killing me.”
She tried to smile, but it was rather a ghastly effort.
The superintendent motioned the woman to a seat.
“Mr. John Jones is here,” he said, “and he is suspected of murder.”
“I have read about it,” replied the woman. “There certainly appeared to be evidence against him, but of course you must be aware that I know him to be innocent.”
“How?”
“Because I was with him when the crime was committed. At half-past seven o’clock of that evening we were walking toward the Grand Central Depot.
“We had dined in our flat. The people who say they saw us go out tell the truth.
“But we came back. It was my intention to take an afternoon train, but I decided to wait.
“So we came back and had dinner. Nobody saw us go in or out of the flat.
“After dinner we walked to the depot, and I took the eight-ten train for my home in Maysville, ten miles from Albany.
“I arrived in Albany Wednesday morning, and remained there with friends throughout the day and night. Then I went to Maysville, where I heard the news, and came back at once.”
The superintendent touched his bell. Two minutes later John Jones was brought into the room.
“Amy!” exclaimed he. “How came you here?”
He ran up to her, and they greeted each other affectionately. The woman, who had controlled herself up to this point, burst into tears. Jones turned in wrath toward Nick.
“Haven’t we had enough of this infernal nonsense?” he exclaimed. “You have raised the devil with my business and scared my wife into a fit. Now let me out, and arrest the Ameer of Afghanistan. He had more to do with this affair than I did.”
Nick did not reply, but he made a secret sign to the superintendent.
“You are at liberty, Mr. Jones,” said Byrnes, calmly. “I regret that it was necessary to detain you so long.”
“I have no complaint to make against you,” said Jones. “It was that man’s work, and he shall pay for it.”
He scowled at Nick, and then, after bowing to the superintendent, walked out of the room with his wife on his arm.
“Shall I call a man?” asked Byrnes.
“If you please,” said Nick. “My force is pretty busy.”
“Musgrave!” said the superintendent.
A man appeared so suddenly that he seemed to come out of the wall.
“Shadow the couple that has just left here,” said Byrnes. “You are under Mr. Carter’s orders until dismissed by him.”
Musgrave turned to Nick.
“I have no special instructions,” said Nick, “except that you keep your eyes on the woman.”
The officer saluted, and vanished almost as quickly as he had come in.
At half-past seven o’clock that evening Musgrave was on guard outside the flat, the address of which had been given to Nick by Jones.
An old man selling papers came along the street, calling “Extra!” in a cracked voice.
Musgrave bought a paper.
“Well,” said the newsman, in Nick Carter’s voice, “what have you to report?”
“From headquarters they went to an employment agency on Sixth avenue. They engaged a colored girl as a servant.
“They then came straight here, and the girl followed them. Mr. and Mrs. Jones have not been out since.”
“Are you sure of that?”
“Perfectly. There is no way to get out of that house from the rear.”
“How about the fire-escape?”
“There is only that one on the side which you can see. The little yard back of the house is walled in by buildings.”
“So Mr. and Mrs. Jones must be inside?”
“Yes.”
“And the girl?”
“She is out. She has been going on errands half a dozen times, but usually to the grocer’s or the butcher’s around the corner. I don’t know where she has gone this time. She’s been out about a quarter of an hour.”
“All right. I’m going over there.”
Nick changed his disguise to that in which Jones had seen him. He did it in the hall of the flat house, while waiting for the door to be opened in answer to his ring.
Jones met him on the upper landing.
“Look here,” said Jones, when he recognized Nick, “isn’t this going a little too far? What do you want now?”
“I would like to ask Mrs. Jones a few questions if you have no objections.”
“I object very seriously.”
“Will you ask her if she is willing to see me?”
“No; I won’t.”
“Then I shall have to use my authority.”
“Don’t do that. Come now, be a good fellow. Amy is sick with all this worry. She’s just gone to bed. Let her alone until to-morrow.”
“I will,” said Nick. “Good-night.”
He descended the stairs and rejoined Musgrave, who was standing in a dark place on the opposite side of the street.
“Have you seen a light in that window?” asked Nick, pointing to the flat.
“No.”
“Then Jones lied to me a minute ago when he said that his wife had just gone to bed. That window is in the principal bedroom of the flat.”
“There’s been no light there.”
“Then they’ve fooled you, Musgrave.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that Mrs. Jones is out.”
“It can’t be possible.”
“It’s true. She’s gone out disguised as her own servant.”
“I can’t believe it. Why, the girl’s black as your hat.”
“That’s why they engaged her, in my opinion. It made the trick easier. A black face is a good disguise. But I’m going to be sure about it.”
“How?”
“I’m going to see whether the colored girl is in the flat.”
“How can you get in?”
“I’m going down the air shaft. The servant’s room opens on that shaft. They’ll have made her go in there so that her light won’t show, as it would if she were in the kitchen.”
Nick went to an engine-house near by, where he secured a coil of knotted rope.
He wished to make his investigations secretly, so as not to put Jones on his guard. It would not have been safe to get into the flat by the ordinary methods.
By using the fire escape of the building next door to the flat house, Nick got to the roof.
The top of the air shaft was covered with a framework, in which large panes of glass were set.
Nick removed one of them. Then he made his rope fast, and crept through the space where the glass had been.
The Jones’ flat was next to the top, so Nick had a short descent.
But there was an awful stretch of empty air under him as he hung there.
The shaft went to the basement floor, about seventy feet below the level of the window which opened into the room occupied by the Jones’ new servant.
He found that window readily. One glance through it was enough to satisfy him.
There sat the colored girl, reading a book. Nick’s suspicions had been correct.
Naturally he did not delay very long in the air shaft. He had a hard climb to make, hand over hand, to the roof.