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Other documents randomly have
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 “Who is that?” asked Patsy, pretending ignorance.
“You’ll soon see.”
“When? How soon?”
“When he returns from dinner. He’ll say what must be done with you.
He’s the big finger in this—ah, there he is. Don’t stir, or you’ll be a dead
one.”
Draper’s gaze was fixed more sharply upon his helpless hearer, and his
revolver again was leveled.
Patsy took him on his word and did not stir.
A key had been thrust into the hall door. The door swung open while
Draper was speaking, and Doctor Guelpa strode through the narrow entrance
hall.
He started slightly upon seeing the two motionless men, but if he felt any
great surprise, or any consternation, he did not betray it.
“Who is this fellow, Draper?” he inquired, pausing.
“He says he’s a thief,” replied Draper, without turning an eye from Patsy.
“You caught him stealing?”
“It looks so.”
“How did it happen?”
“I was lying on my bed before lighting up, and I heard a knock on the
door,” Draper proceeded to explain. “I did not bother to answer it, nor a
second one, and then I heard him sneak in here. He switched on the light and
began to search your desk. Then I held him up—and here he is.”
Doctor Guelpa came a little nearer and glared down at Patsy.
Patsy gave him stare for stare.
“Keep him covered, Draper,” said the physician, with ominous quietude.
“So you’re a thief, are you?”
“What’s the use of denying it?” asked Patsy. “I’ve told that gink with a
gun that——”
“Never mind what you told him,” Guelpa interrupted, more sharply.
“Shoot him instantly, Draper, if he stirs. We can say we caught him
committing a robbery.”
“That’s what I told him,” grinned Draper.
 “Very likely he’s the scamp who stole Falloni’s diamonds,” added
Guelpa, more sharply watching Patsy’s face.
It underwent no change evincing his identity and designs.
“I’d be a fall guy, for fair, if I came in here after getting away with that
batch of jewels,” he said derisively.
“Keep him covered, Draper,” Guelpa repeated. “I’ll find out who he is.”
He came nearer to Patsy, then suddenly seized one side of his mustache
and jerked it from his lip.
Patsy uttered an involuntary cry of pain.
Guelpa gazed at him more sharply, with countenance turning as dark as a
thundercloud, while his teeth met with a sudden, sharp snap.
“Ah, I see!” he exclaimed, half in his throat. “You’re one of those
detectives whom I saw this morning. You’re that fellow Garvan.”
Patsy realized that he had nothing to gain by denying it. He laughed
indifferently and replied:
“I guess that calls the turn, doctor.”
“I know it does, not guess it,” snapped Guelpa. “What do you want
here?”
“I wanted to see you.”
“For what?”
“To find out whether you have learned anything more about the robbery,
or whether you have any suspicion.”
“Did Nick Carter send you?”
“No. I came on my own hook.”
“You lie, you whelp,” Guelpa now said harshly. “You act only under his
instructions. There can be only one reason for your coming here and
breaking into my apartments. Carter thinks I know something about the
robbery, or suspects me of having committed it. Isn’t that right?”
“Right for him to suspect you?” asked Patsy, undaunted by the blaze that
had arisen in the physician’s eyes.
“Don’t josh me, Garvan, nor try to evade me,” Guelpa fiercely
threatened. “If you do, I’ll have your infernal life. Tell me—does Carter
think I committed that robbery?”
“How can I tell?” retorted Patsy defiantly. “I’m not a mind reader.”
 “You know what he suspects.”
“No, I don’t,” Patsy insisted. “There is one thing I do know, however.”
“What is that?”
“That if he suspects you, Doctor Guelpa, he never so much as mentioned
it to me.”
“Is that true?”
“True as gospel,” said Patsy; and it was.
Doctor Guelpa hesitated for a moment, while Draper put in with an
assurance evincing his relations with the other:
“Don’t swallow that, doc, not on your life. It’s all bunk. He would not be
here, not sneaking in as I caught him, if Carter had not sent him.”
“Do you think so?”
“I think it’s a cinch.”
Doctor Guelpa gazed again at Patsy. His ferocity had vanished, but there
now was a gleam in his eyes that was thrice more threatening. He paused for
a moment with brows darkly knit, then said abruptly:
“You may be right, Draper. Watch the whelp. I’ll fix him.”
“I’ll watch him, all right,” returned Draper, with a warning scowl.
“Gee! I’m in wrong now, for fair,” thought Patsy, thoroughly disgusted
with the turn of the situation. “Fix me, eh? I wonder what’s coming. The
infernal rascal has something up his sleeve. Infernal rascal is right, too, and I
wish I had phoned the chief before butting in here.”
Doctor Guelpa had approached a wall cabinet directly behind Patsy, who
could not then see what the physician was doing.
He had opened the cabinet and taken from it a small vial and graduated
glasses, into which he was pouring a quantity of brown fluid.
Having obtained the desired quantity, he transferred it from the glass, into
a hypodermic syringe, the needle of which he carefully inspected.
Patsy waited a bit apprehensive all the while.
Draper watched him as a cat watches a mouse.
Doctor Guelpa closed the cabinet, then turned again toward Patsy.
“I don’t feel sure you are telling the truth, Garvan,” he said, with affected
uncertainty. “If I did, I would be willing to meet you halfway and discuss
this matter——”
 “But I’m giving it to you straight,” Patsy insisted, interrupting. “Nick
doesn’t suspect you.”
“Doesn’t he?”
“He does not, Doctor Guelpa, on the level. He has not even thought of
you in connection with the robbery.”
“Before he does, then, I’ll make sure to get him and put him away. That
can be done—as easily as this.”
Standing with the syringe concealed in one hand, Guelpa suddenly bowed
and threw his arm around Patsy’s head, at the same time thrust the needle
into his neck.
Patsy vented a growl and began to struggle, despite that Draper clapped
the muzzle of the revolver against his breast.
The injection so quickly administered was a powerful one, however, and
acted instantly. It sent a tingling sensation through Patsy’s veins. His
strength deserted him, seeming to fly out through his toes and fingers. He
tried to shout for help, but his tongue was palsied. Only a hollow gurgle
came from his twitching lips.
Then, for it was all over in ten seconds, the light vanished, Guelpa’s half-
smothered imprecations turned to silence, the grasp of merciless hands no
longer could be felt, and Patsy lapsed into the realm of utter oblivion and
was lowered to the floor, as limp and ghastly as if life had left him.
Doctor Guelpa straightened up and laid aside the syringe, while Draper
thrust the revolver into his pocket.
“Easily done, doc, is right,” he said, grinning. “This was the only way.
The meddlesome rat must have picked up a thread of some kind that led him
here. There was nothing for us but to dispose of him before he could hand
his information to others.”
“He meant it, nevertheless, when he said that Carter does not suspect
me,” Doctor Guelpa declared. “We must get him, then, before he does
suspect. It afterward might be too late.”
“That’s right, too,” Draper agreed quickly. “But can it be done?”
“It must be done,” Guelpa coolly insisted. “I know how and will turn the
trick.”
“And then?”
 “This game that we have been playing must be continued. We must
throttle suspicion where we find it, and choke the cursed weed before it can
spread.”
“That’s the stuff, all right.”
“We must maintain our position and good standing here, Draper, or it will
be a case of bolt for us, with the police of the world out to get us. That won’t
do at all, Draper, not at all. We must bluff suspicion to a standstill, or down it
with a club.”
“I’m with you all the while,” said Draper approvingly. “I reckon we can
make good. But what’s to be done with this pup?”
“Pull out the empty trunk,” said Guelpa. “We’ll crowd him into it and
ship him to my office, then lug it into Biddle’s quarters. Ring for a porter to
lend you a hand with the trunk to the elevator. I’ll remark to him, or to any
other inquisitive observer, that it takes too much room in my suite.”
“That can be done in ten minutes,” nodded Draper, hastening to bring one
of the large trunks from the adjoining room.
Doctor Guelpa smoothed his slightly ruffled coat and bestowed a kick
upon the senseless form of the detective.
“Dead easy,” said he, replying. “Cram him into it and lock it. I’ll get
Scoville on the phone, in the meantime, and have him come round here with
a wagon.”
Patsy Garvan heard none of this.
He was lying with his face upturned in the bright electric light, a face as
ghastly as that of a corpse.
 CHAPTER VII.

A LEAF FROM THE PAST.

“Wait here. I may send you instructions.”

These were Nick Carter’s brief instructions to Chick, in fact, when he left
his Madison Avenue residence at seven o’clock that evening, to seek an
interview with the woman who, he suspected, could supply him with a clew
to the identity of Chester Clayton’s double, if not with positive information
concerning him.
Danny Maloney, the detective’s chauffeur, was waiting at the curbing
with his touring car. Nick gave him the necessary directions, resulting in his
alighting half an hour later in front of the attractive home of Mrs. Julia
Clayton, who had fainted so suddenly in Mademoiselle Falloni’s suite that
morning.
“You may wait, Danny,” said Nick. “I don’t think I shall be very long.”
“Long, or short, chief, you’ll find me here,” replied Danny.
Nick strode up the gravel walk to the front door and rang the bell. Lights
in the hall and one in the side rooms denoted that Mrs. Clayton had returned.
“I hope I may find her alone, or that Chester Clayton is not here,” Nick
said to himself, while waiting. “She seemed averse this morning to talking of
the matter in his presence. That’s one reason why I suspected that she——”
Nick’s train of thought was broken by a shadow on the figured-glass
panel of the door, which was opened by a pretty servant girl in a white apron
and starched cap.
“I wish to see Mrs. Clayton,” Nick informed her.
“Mrs. Clayton is not at home this evening, sir,” said the girl, a bit oddly.
“Not at home?”
“No, sir.”
Nick eyed her more sharply.
“Do you mean that she is not here, or not seeing callers?” he inquired
pleasantly.
“Well, sir, she——”
 The girl faltered, blushing confusedly, and Nick added kindly:
“I understand. Take my card to her, please, and say that it is very
important that I should see her. I think she will consent.”
The girl obeyed, returning in a very few moments.
“Walk in, sir,” she then said, smiling again. “Mrs. Clayton will see you in
the library. This way, sir.”
Nick was ushered into the attractively furnished room, where he found
Mrs. Julia Clayton still gazing gravely at the card he had sent in. There was
something irresistibly impressive about her, a mingling of dignity and secret
sadness that the detective’s sensitive nature was quick to appreciate, even
while conscious of her remarkable beauty and womanly grace.
She arose immediately to greet him, extending her hand and saying:
“If I had known it was you, Mr. Carter, my servant would have been told
not to keep you waiting. I have had a most distressing day, and I did not feel
that I could see callers. I assure you, nevertheless, that I am very glad to see
you.”
“Thank you,” Nick replied, bowing.
“For I am deeply indebted to you,” Mrs. Clayton added feelingly.
“Chester telephoned to me after his arrest and liberation on bail. It is very
kind of you to feel such an interest in him, and to use your influence in his
behalf.”
“He is my client,” smiled Nick, taking a chair she placed for him. “I
couldn’t do less than I have done.”
“But in spite of such adverse circumstances, Mr. Carter, and the fact that
so many think him guilty,” she replied. “You are one man in a hundred. I
know that he is innocent, of course, but I don’t know how I ever can repay
you for your faith in him.”
“I will tell you how, Mrs. Clayton,” Nick said, more gravely.
“Tell me how?”
“Yes.”
“What do you mean?
“Let me begin by—pardon!” Nick broke off abruptly. “Will you permit
me to close the door?”
“Yes, of course, if——”
Nick arose when she faltered, quietly closing it, then resumed his seat.
 “Servants are not always trustworthy, you know, and discretion is always
advisable,” he remarked. “Now, Mrs. Clayton, I will tell you what I mean.”
“Well, sir?”
“Let me begin, however, by stating that anything you say to me will be
received in strict and inviolable confidence. Not even to save your son from
conviction and a prison sentence, Mrs. Clayton, would I, without your
permission, reveal any facts that you may disclose. You must be frank with
me, therefore, and tell me what I may find it absolutely necessary to know,
in order to save him.”
Mrs. Clayton had turned very pale and was trembling visibly.
“This is a strange beginning, Mr. Carter,” she replied. “What do you
expect me to disclose?”
“Only the truth, Mrs. Clayton.”
“About what?”
“Your son’s double,” said Nick. “The man who so resembles Chester
Clayton that he could perpetrate the crime committed this morning. Who is
this man? What do you know about him?”
The woman’s fine face hardened perceptibly. She appeared to nerve
herself to meet a threatening situation, to oppose with tooth and nail, if
necessary, the disclosures the detective evidently was determined to evoke.
She drew up a little in her chair, replying more coldly:
“That seems quite impossible, Mr. Carter. What put that into your head?”
“You did,” said Nick quietly.
“I did?”
“Yes.”
“Impossible! When?”
“When you met your son this morning, Mrs. Clayton, and fainted upon
learning that the robbery was committed by a man so like him that—but you
could not say more,” Nick broke off. “You fell to the floor in a faint.”
“That is true, I admit, Mr. Carter——”
“And you also must admit, Mrs. Clayton, that the circumstances and your
own words permit of no other interpretation,” Nick interrupted, more
impressively.
“But——”
 “Oh, I am not going to argue that point with you,” Nick again insisted. “I
am going to make you see the matter just as it stands. Your son’s reputation
and liberty are at stake. So is my reputation as a detective. Only the truth can
save him. Unless you are willing to aid me by disclosing it, I shall have no
alternative but to drop the case entirely and let others try to pull him out of
the fire. If they fail——”
“Wait! You have said enough, Mr. Carter.”
Nick would not have done what he threatened, but he detected in the
changed face of the woman that the threat would prove effective.
For Mrs. Clayton, though ghastly pale and with trembling lips as gray as
ashes, took on a look of sudden determination, that of a woman who felt
herself driven to the wall.
“I will tell you the truth,” she added, more firmly.
“You may safely do so,” Nick now said kindly. “It will go no further.”
“I shrink from it. Mr. Carter, chiefly for the sake of one man.”
“Your son?”
“Yes. I implore you to keep the truth from him, if that will be possible. I
have kept it from him all his life.”
“I will endeavor to do so,” Nick assured her.
“I will tell you with few words, then, my unfortunate history,” Mrs.
Clayton said, more calmly. “I was an English girl and lived in an outskirt of
London. I was married when I was nineteen to a man I did not love, but who
so had involved my father in financial difficulties that I became his wife in
order to save my father from bankruptcy and dishonor.”
“I can appreciate the sacrifice,” Nick said gravely.
“My father died within a year,” Mrs. Clayton continued. “He and I were
all that were left of our family. Three months later, Mr. Carter, I became the
mother of twin boys.”
“Ah,” said Nick, “that is what I have suspected! Do not distress yourself
by telling me too many details, Mrs. Clayton,” he added considerately. “The
essential facts are all that I want.”
“They may be briefly told, Mr. Carter,” she said, with a grateful look at
him. “My husband was a bad man, much worse than I even dreamed of when
I married him. I discovered his despicable character much too late.”
“Was he a criminal?”
 “Yes.”
“May I know his name?”
“Why not? He has been dead many years. His name was Gideon
Margate.”
Nick had heard of him, a notorious English crook, who had died in a
German prison something like ten years before. He considerately suppressed
the fact that he knew of the man, however, and said kindly:
“You are in no degree culpable, Mrs. Clayton, for the mistakes and
misdeeds of your husband. What more can you tell me?”
“Two years after the birth of my children, Mr. Carter, my husband
disappeared, taking with him one of my sons,” she replied. “I never saw
Gideon Margate again.”
“Nor the child?”
“The child was named David. I will not undertake to tell you what I
suffered from losing him, from my inability to trace him, and from my
terrible fear of the life to which he would be bred.”
“That of a criminal?”
“Yes.”
“And your fears came true?”
“Terribly so.”
“Tell me the bare facts?”
“I took my maiden name, Julia Clayton, about a year after my husband
disappeared,” she continued. “I suspected that he was in America, and in the
hope of recovering my other son, we came here, and since have lived here. I
have been in England only once since then, and that was twelve years ago. I
then saw in a London newspaper the picture of a criminal who had just been
sent to prison for five years for burglary.”
“You recognized him?”
“Yes.”
“Your son?”
“David Margate—yes.”
“Did you see him personally, or do anything about it?”
“Neither,” said Mrs. Clayton sadly. “What could I do? The die was cast.
My husband had shaped the boy’s life. That he should become a criminal
after arriving at the age of judgment and discretion showed only too plainly
that he had inherited Gideon Margate’s criminal traits.”
“I agree with you,” said Nick.
“Thank God!” Mrs. Clayton fervently added; “he left me the child who
had inherited my own character. Chester Clayton is above knavery and
crime.”
“I agree with you again,” said Nick. “Now, Mrs. Clayton, let’s come to
the points bearing upon his case. Does Chester know anything about his
father and twin brother?”
“No, no, indeed,” she said quickly. “He knows only that his father is
dead. He does not so much as dream that he has a brother. I could not cloud
his life, mar his whole future, perhaps, by acknowledging David Margate to
be my son, when I learned that he was in an English prison. It would, have
been an injustice to Chester Clayton. The sacrifice would have been too
great.”
“That is true,” Nick agreed. “Have you ever seen David Margate or heard
anything concerning him since he was convicted in London?”
“No, I have not.”
“You have no reason to believe that he is in New York, then, aside from
the resemblance of the criminal who committed this jewel robbery.”
“That is my only reason. You now can appreciate why I was overcome
and fainted when told of the circumstances this morning,” said Mrs. Clayton.
“That is perfectly plain,” Nick nodded. “I think, too, that we now have
covered all of the ground that is material at this time. I will be governed by
what you have confided to me, and will do all that I can to prevent the facts
from leaking out. You may depend upon that.”
“I have no words with which to thank you, Mr. Carter.”
“Don’t try,” said Nick, smiling. “Assuming that the criminal in this case
is Chester’s twin brother, and despite that he ran across him and observed the
resemblance that made the crime possible, I think it is quite probable that he
does not suspect the relationship. Your husband very likely never told him
about you and Chester.”
“Do you really think so, Mr. Carter?”
“I do,” said Nick. “Men do not often reveal their own baseness, not even
to a son. I doubt very much that David Margate knows anything about his
early history.”
“I hope so, I am sure, for Chester’s sake.”
“Do you know under what name he was convicted in London?”
“I do not. I cannot recall it.”
“Was it a fictitious name?”
“Yes.”
“I will try to learn something definite about him,” said Nick. “I appreciate
your confidence in me, too, and I will rigidly respect it. That is all I can say
to you this evening about the case, but I will leave no stone unturned to bring
it to a desirable termination, particularly in so far as you and Chester Clayton
are concerned.”
Mrs. Clayton again thanked him feelingly, then remarked:
“I was somewhat surprised late this afternoon by a call from another man
whom I saw in Mademoiselle Falloni’s suite this morning.”
“There was only one other man, except Chester,” said Nick. “You refer to
Doctor Guelpa.”
“Yes.”
“He called here to see you?”
“Yes, about five o’clock.”
“Did he say for what reason?”
“He said that he was riding out this way and thought he would call and
see if I had entirely recovered. He did all he could to revive me this morning,
you know.”
Nick’s brows knit a little closer.
“Yes, I remember,” he replied. “Did he say anything about the crime, or
concerning Clayton?”
“No, nothing of any consequence, Mr. Carter. He mentioned you,
however, just before he left.”
“Mentioned me, eh? What did he say?”
“Only that you were very kind to stand up for Clayton under such
circumstances. He asked, too, whether you had been out here to see me.”
“H’m, is that so?” thought Nick. “I was right, then, in thinking that he
deduced something from this woman’s impulsive words and her sudden
collapse. He suspected that I did, also, and he evidently fears that I may
learn something from her. Where there is cause for fear, there are grounds
for suspicion. He may be the very man, the very hotel guest whom I——”
Nick ended his shrewd deductions by glancing quickly around the room.
He discovered what he wanted—a telephone on a stand in one corner.
“Before I go, Mrs. Clayton, may I trouble you for a glass of water,” he
requested carelessly.
“Why, yes, certainly,” she replied, rising. “I will get it for you.”
“Thank you.”
Nick watched her sweep gracefully from the room.
Then, quickly stepping to the telephone, he hooded the mouth with his
hand and called up his library. Within half a minute he had Chick on the
wire, but he spoke only these words:
“No time for particulars. Go to the Westgate. Watch Doctor Guelpa.”
The answer came instantly:
“I’ve got you.”
Nick resumed his seat just as Mrs. Clayton was returning through the
hall.
“It will be better, much better, if she never knows,” he said to himself.
 CHAPTER VIII.

NICK WALKS INTO A NET.

It was half past eight that evening when Nick Carter, returning from his
interview with Mrs. Clayton, arrived at his Madison Avenue residence.
A taxicab was waiting at the curbing in front of the house, and Nick was
momentarily surprised when he entered his library. Its only occupant was the
visitor who had come in the taxi.
“Why, good evening, Clayton,” he said genially. “I was not expecting a
call from you so quickly. I am pleased to see you, all the same.”
One thought that had instantly arisen in Nick’s mind, however, in view of
his talk with Mrs. Clayton, was not reflected in his face. The thought was:
“Which one is this? Chester Clayton—or his crook double?”
Clayton, as he certainly appeared to be, replied without hesitation,
without any observably intent scrutiny of the detective’s face.
“I have a reason for calling, Nick,” said he. “Your butler told me that you
would probably return during the evening, so I requested the privilege of
waiting here.”
“Quite right, Clayton, I’m sure.”
“He could not tell me, however, where you had gone,” Clayton added, in
a way covertly inviting the detective to do so.
Nick did not do so, however, but he was quick to observe the insinuating
remark and draw a natural conclusion, one that he made doubly sure did not
appear in his face.
“Well, that’s not strange, Clayton,” he replied, laughing. “I had no
definite destination when I went out. Besides, I seldom tell my butler where
I am going, unless my mission relates to a case in which my assistants are
employed. Then I usually leave word for them, as I would have done this
evening, had that been the case.”
A momentary gleam, the sinister light of secret relief and satisfaction,
showed like a fleeting flash in the depths of his visitor’s eyes.
“It does not matter in the least, Nick, now that you have returned,” he
said quickly.
 “What’s on your mind?” asked Nick, taking a chair. “You said you have a
reason for coming here.”
“So I have,” said Clayton, more earnestly. “I think I have a clew to the
crook who got the jewels.”
“By Jove, is that so?”
“The chance is worth taking.”
“What do you mean? What kind of a clew?” asked Nick, with manifest
interest.
“It came from a woman friend of mine early this evening,” Clayton
proceeded to explain. “She talked with me by telephone. I have not seen
her.”
“Who is she? What is her name?”
“Grace Alcott. She’s an old flame, a girl with whom I have always been
quite friendly. I know her to be reliable.”
“What did she tell you?” Nick inquired.
“She said she had information for me bearing upon the robbery. She
intimated, in fact, that she could put me in a way to nail the crook and
recover the stolen jewels.”
“Well, well, that would be going some,” declared Nick, apparently
becoming more enthusiastic. “Have you any faith in her statements,
Clayton?”
“Enough to send me here, Nick,” was the reply. “One other reason is the
fact that she lives just around the corner from the business quarters of a guest
in the hotel.”
“I see the point. What guest?”
“The physician you met this morning.”
“Doctor Guelpa.”
“Did she mention his name, or hint at him?”
“No, nothing of that kind.”
“Why did you not go to see her, then, instead of coming here?” Nick
inquired.
“For two reasons,” Clayton now explained, more hurriedly. “One,
because you are handling this case and I feared that I might interfere with
you if I butted in and did something of which you were ignorant.”
 “I see.”
“Another, because Grace said I had better bring a detective with me, as he
would more quickly appreciate the points she wanted to lay before me, and
that he also would know what should be done.”
“She wanted you to call on her, then?”
“Yes, indeed, as soon as possible,” nodded Clayton. “I grabbed a taxi and
rushed down here, therefore, hoping that you would go with me. I thought
that was the best thing for me to do.”
“I guess it was,” Nick quickly agreed.
“Will you go?”
“Yes, yes, Clayton, by all means,” assented the detective. “There may be
something in this. We cannot afford to leave any stone unturned. The sooner
we go, too, the better.”
“Good enough. My taxi is outside.”
“Come on, then, and we’ll be off. I’ll not even wait to tell my butler
where I am going,” Nick added, with a laugh, as they hurried out of his
office.
Clayton joined with him in the laugh and followed him into the taxicab.
He evidently had given the driver his instructions, for he made no move to
do so. He remarked, as they settled back on the seat and rode away:
“I hope this won’t prove to be a wild-goose chase, Nick, after all.”
“It ought not, surely,” Nick replied. “You say you know the girl to be
reliable?”
“I have always found her so.”
“How old is she?”
“About thirty.”
“Old enough, then, to have sense and judgment.”
“So I think,” nodded Clayton. “That’s why I feel hopeful.”
“She lives back of Doctor Guelpa’s business establishment, you said?”
“Yes, directly back of it, Nick.”
“How long have you known the physician?” Nick questioned, and he
instantly detected the readiness with which his companion took up the
subject.
“Oh, for months, Nick,” was the reply.
 “He appears to be all right, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, yes, surely! Otherwise, I would not have him in my hotel.”
“I presume so. It may be, nevertheless, that Miss Alcott has discovered
something about him of a derogatory nature, her home being so near his
business office.”
“Possibly,” Clayton allowed; then, with a furtive glance at Nick’s
inscrutable face: “He appeared all right to you this morning, didn’t he?”
“Yes, indeed,” Nick declared. “He appeared like a perfect gentleman.”
“You saw no reason to suspect him?”
“Far from it, Clayton.”
“I guess Miss Alcott’s clew, if she really has any, relates to some one else,
or something else,” Clayton now said, with less obvious interest.
“Most likely,” Nick agreed.
“We shall very soon find out.”
“True.”
“Have you formed any other suspicions since I last saw you?”
“No, none whatever,” said Nick. “I still am in the dark.”
Clayton did not add to his inquiries.
It was nine o’clock when the taxicab drew up in front of the house to
which the chauffeur had been directed. He at once was dismissed by
Clayton, who was the first to alight, and he then led the way up the steps and
rang the bell.
It was answered by a well-built, powerful man in evening dress, whose
dark features were only faintly discernible in the dimly lighted hall.
“Good evening, Scoville,” said Clayton. “I think Miss Alcott is expecting
me.”
“Oh, it is you, Mr. Clayton,” was the reply. “Yes, sir, she is. Walk in,
gentlemen, and come this way.”
“The butler, Nick,” Clayton whispered, taking the detective’s arm.
Nick nodded indifferently and allowed himself to be conducted through
the hall.
Scoville turned into the nearest room, a front parlor, the others following.
“One moment, gentlemen,” said he. “I’ll switch on the light.”
 He did so while speaking, and Nick Carter then saw into what sort of a
net he had walked—but entirely voluntarily.
Three men with ready revolvers were confronting him.
Scoville instantly drew another.
Clayton, or Clayton’s double, quickly closed the door through which they
had entered, then turned and said sharply:
“Now, Carter, throw up your hands! If you show fight, you’ll go down
and out on the instant.”
Nick raised his hands and backed against the wall. He appeared to be
greatly surprised and equally resentful.
“What’s the meaning of this, Clayton?” he demanded; and the mention of
the name brought laughs from the others.
They were Draper, Biddle, and Scoville, who had been mentioned by
Doctor Guelpa in his apartments, also a third man who had had a hand in the
robbery, one Joe Gaines.
“Oh, I’m not Clayton, Carter,” was the derisive reply. “I’m the man who
looks like him. I’m the crook who got away with the sparks.”
“Good heavens!” Nick exclaimed, in seemingly increased amazement. “Is
it possible?”
“You bet it’s possible!” cried Guelpa, with a sinister nod. “It’s more than
that; it’s a fact. When I run across a man who looks so near like me that I can
see no difference, I’m the sort of a covey who makes the most of it. You
didn’t suspect Doctor Guelpa, eh? Carter, we’ve put it all over you. I’m
Guelpa.”
“You?” questioned Nick, still as if astonished.
“That’s what, Carter, as sure as you’re a foot high,” the rascal declared,
with an exultant leer. “Come out a little from that wall. Keep your meat
hooks up, mind you, or you’ll have no further use for them. Either of these
fellows would kill you at the first sign of violence. I shall do so a little later,
at all events, so I don’t mind putting you wise to the whole business.”
“That’s very good of you,” Nick now replied coldly.
“Slip in behind him, Biddle, and get his weapons,” Guelpa commanded.
“Fish out his darbies, also, and snap them on his wrists. Egad! could one
have more satisfaction than in doing a dick with his own bracelets?”
“Not much more, doc!” cried Draper, laughing.
 “Dukes behind him, Biddle. I told you I’d get him, Draper,” Guelpa
triumphantly added, while two of the crooks hastened to secure the
detective.
“You made good, all right.”
“He isn’t in my class.”
“Few dicks are, doc, as far as that goes.”
“Why, he told me on the way here that he didn’t suspect me,” cried
Guelpa derisively. “We’ve got him dead to rights, then. He can have handed
nothing to others about me.”
“Surely not.”
“And we’ll make dead sure that he never will. I suppose you wonder,
Carter, what we are doing in this house.”
“Well, not seriously,” said Nick, with mocking indifference.
“It’s back of my business quarters, just as I told you.”
“You told the truth once, then, at least,” Nick said dryly.
“Yes, sure,” cried Guelpa, laughing again. “This makes a good retreat for
us in case of danger. That throat-specialist gag is all phoney, a colossal bluff.
I had to pose in some impressive character. We can slip from my office into
this house, or the reverse, in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. We’re the bunch
who got the sparks, Carter, all right, and now we’ve got you.”
“Yes, that’s very obvious,” said Nick, coolly taking a chair. “Since you
are so communicative, Guelpa, if that’s your name, suppose you tell me how
you got away with the jewel cases so quickly.”
“Why not?” leered Guelpa, while the others laughed as if they enjoyed
the detective’s blindness. “Scoville was the stranger who held Clayton in his
private office. My room is on the same floor with Clayton’s. I’ve got
garments like his. Never mind how and when I got them.”
“No, it’s not material,” Nick allowed dryly.
“Not at all, Carter, of course. I merely stole down the stairs, clad like
Clayton, and got the first casket. Biddle, disguised as a laundress and
provided with a big, covered basket, relieved me of it in the corridor, and got
away with it in the basket.”
“Ah, I see,” Nick nodded.
“I then got the other and whisked it up to my rooms,” added Guelpa.
“Then I hurried into my own clothing and my Hungarian hair and whiskers,
and I was right on the spot when wanted by lovely Mademoiselle Falloni
when she fainted. Could anything have been easier? Why, it was like money
sent from home.”
“It does appear so, Guelpa, I admit.”
“I wonder you have not thought of it, Carter,” grinned the rascal.
Nick’s eyes took on a more threatening gleam. He now felt sure that this
man did not suspect his relationship with Clayton, or know anything definite
about his early life, as he already had predicted to Mrs. Clayton.
“Oh, I have thought of it, Guelpa,” he said, a bit curtly. “Don’t think me
quite a lunkhead. I knew the crook had garments and a pin like Clayton’s. I
know also when the scarfpin was duplicated. It was when you rascals
abducted Clayton three months ago.”
Guelpa’s face changed like a flash.
“How did you learn that?” he cried.
“I have methods of my own for obtaining information.”
“You have, eh?”
“And that’s not all I know, Guelpa,” Nick added.
“Is that so?”
“Far from it.”
“Tell me, then, as I told you.”
Guelpa spoke with a scornful sneer, but looks of apprehension had arisen
to the faces of his four confederates.
“Why not, then, as you said?” Nick retorted. “Don’t imagine for a
moment, Guelpa, that you lured me blindly into a net. I knew the instant I
saw you in my office this evening that you were not Chester Clayton.”
“Rot!” cried Guelpa derisively. “If you knew that, why did you walk into
the trap?”
“So as to get a line on your confederates, these fellows,” said Nick curtly.
“I don’t believe it.”
“I will tell you, then, something that you will believe,” said Nick.
“What is that?”
“That your name is not Guelpa. Your true name is David Margate. You
are an English crook. You were convicted of burglary twelve years ago, and
sent up for five years. You are——”