WHO KILLED PAUL CRUDER?

Pelorus Guardian and Miners' Advocate., Volume 29, Issue 18, 6 March 1917, Page 7

WHO KILLED PAUL CRUDER?

(ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.)

A THRILLING NiCK CARTER DETECTIVE STORY. , By the Author of "A Bold Game,” “Caught in Their Own Trap,” etc.

CHAPTER X. THE MAN IN THE CAL

A murky, Christmas Eve ? Al»rky overhead, with the grim Honda themselves lost in the impenetrate gloom of the inky heavens, this pight bereft of the last starry gem of that Judaean Christmas Eve of th» long, lohg ago. Murky down among the buildings of the city streets, and doubly murky in tho»e business sections where the stores had been closed for the day. * Murky and dark with Egyptian * darkness in every court and alley, in V every yard and passage, in every basement doorway. Murky oven the snow of the New York streets, foul with mud, black from contrast, slippery on pavements, streams, in the gutters, sloppy on the crossings, the whole earth slushy and wet and reeking in the warm, unseasonable atmosphere, through the fog and steam of which the electric lights gleamed with an unhealthy pallor, and gas lamps wore the haggard and ' sallow glow of seeming despair.

But a good Christmas Eve for the poor.

No need for fuel that could 1 not be had, if needed. TJrchins could stare unshivering and to heart’s content into the windows filled with sweetmeats unobtainable, and long for toys as far from their possession as the North Pole.

Yet withal a warm, unpleasantly wet, and most unseasonable Christmas Eve !

"I say, officer, lend me a hand, will you 7” “What’s the trouble ?”

“A drunk, I reckon—though he appeared straight enough when he got in. I’ve tried to rouse him, but he’s evidently gone all seas over. Never knew a man to lose his head quite so quickly.” "Does he live here ?” “Don’t know, sir. Only know that be said to bring him here.” It was about eight o’clock. The two men, one a city policeman, the other a cabdriver, were upon the sidewalk in front of an imposing residence on Riverside Drive. At the Vwbing had been drawn up a cab, the door cf which the cabman had opened.

“Are you sure this was the house?” •;u«rltd the officer, rather doubtfully.

“flens ? Of course I am ! He gave we the number plain enough, and ((; is over the door in figures Mg enough for a blind man to see.”

Tnw. in a measure—great gilt figures In the upper pane of the hril-Hantly-llghted vestibule that gave inejess to a sumptuous home. Through the lace draperies of the <r‘miave in the broad swell-front *o*U4 be ted a glimpse of a splendid **tme*ur, beautiful with refined and embellishments. At the end «» *»m wWe ball, almost as though a vista of statecraft, conld bo discerned an evergreen, decked with radiant lights, and round which several people were moving. TUe spelling tones of an ongan, and the sound of voices raised in - song children’s voices among them —could be plainly heard.

All this led Officer Webb to hesitate with augmented resolution. “An infernally unpleasant Christmas gift to deliver these people at just this time !” he observedi, with a dismal glance into the cab. The glance was not reassuring. In the gloomy interior of the cab was the figure of a man. Not sitting upright—not even reclining in drunken stupor. He had capped all by pitching forward from the back seat, and was plunged over upon the front cushion, half-kneeling upon the floor, his head buried in the further corner, his stylish silk hat toppled down near the open door.

“He’s drunk, indeed !” supplemented the officer. “I’ve a good mind to have you drive him round to the station and keep him there until he has sobered up.” “Well, sir, I We to spoil a good mind, but I can’t have that,” returned the cabdriver, firmly. “The man gave me directions plain enough, and I’m in duty bound to follow them, or perhaps lose my licence. Besides, he hasn’t settled yet.”

"He doesn’t look to me as if he would settle very speedily. The man doesn’t live here, I am sure, though he may possibly be a visitor,” "Who does live here, anyway?” demanded the cabman, moving nearer the window, the light from which revealed him to be a smooth-faced, rugged fellow of about thirty years, with a shrewd, sharp eye, and a healthy, red countenance. "Colonel Thomas • Bardolph lives here,” replied Webb, "and has since the house was built. I’ve travelled this beat long enough- to know him and his family tolerably, well, and I know that no such drunken fellow as this would be welcome within his doors. Where did .you pick him up, and when ?”

"Half an. hour ago or so, down near the Brooklyn Bridge entrance,” answered the cabman, with some show of rising impatience. "He had a friend with him whom I dropped at Gramercy Park. My time's worth something to me on a Christmas Eve and I don’t fancy this waiting here. Suppose I ring the bell and ask the boss to step out here and have a look at the fellow ?”

"The colonel’s not in just now, and that’s the trouble. I passed him on the street not five minutes ago.” The cabman had reached the limit of his patience. Returning quickly to the cab door, he cried out, bluntly : “Well, something must be done, sir. I’m hanged if I’m going to stand idle here any longer. I may lose "half a dozen fares while” “Move, aside,” interrupted Webb. “I’ll sec if I cam rouse him.” /He thrust the cabby away, and bending into the cab, cried commandingly : "Here, you, wake up ! Pull yourself together, I say ! The deuce take him, he weighs a ton ! If we can get him out upon his feet, the air may brace him up enough to” “Hold on a bit, sir,” interposed the cabman. “I’ll open the other door,' and perhaps the two of us can haul him out.” “He’s as helpless as a log.” “Wait a bit, sir-.. I’ll brace him from the other side.” Muttering a series of professional curses over the situation, the cabman ran round to the rear of the cab, splashing high the slush andwater with every step, and opened the other door. Bending low his powerful figure, he laid both hands to the passenger’s breast and endeavoured to'raise him from his position and replace him on the seat, while the officer on the kei’b leaned within to aid him. “Get him by the arm, now, and I’ll shove him up where he belongs,” he criedi, impatiently. “Brace up here, sir ! Brace up, you infernal” —• ' But the word he next would have uttered died upon his lips. The hands laid to the breast of the helpless passenger were cleaving to it as if to some glutinous substance, and the coat and shirt front were sopping wet. The lifted body fell like 'a dead weight to the cushion from which it had been raised, and the cabman, with the last sign of colour vanished from his florid face, rushed wildly to the officer’s side. “Look, look !” he cried, hoarsely ; and with features ghastly and distorted, he displayed his reeking palms. “It’s, blood—-blood !” “What ?” “The man’s not drunk 1 He is dead !” , ‘ ‘lmpossible 1” “It’s true ! Look for yourself ! I saw his face I I” "Hold ! Where are you going ?” “To ring the bell ! To tell these people”-^— “Not for your life ! At least, not yet !”

Now fairly appreciating the grave j possibilities 'of the affair, Officer ; Webb instantly took the matter into | his own hands and sternly asserted , his authority. Seizing the dismayed , and affrighted cabman by the shoul- ' der, he added, sharply ; - “If the man is dead, the people in there can do him no good, and there is time enough for them to be inform- | ed. Stand where you are till I have } looked into this.’’ j He thrust the cabman nearly be- ; tween the wheels while speaking, ’ much as if he apprehended, his possible flight, and, leaning into the ; cab, he made a hasty examination of the stranger. A moment satisfied him that the driver was right the passenger was dead. “Go round to the other door and help me lift him to the seat,’’ he commanded, to which the other hastily responded. i “Easy, now, for he’s a dead weight. Steady—a little higher—that’ll do ! Good heavens ) The man has been stabbed through the heart. The weapon still is in the wound.” “Then the man who was with him must” “Close that door and come round here. Let the body rest where it is, and do what I tell you.” j “I’ve no reason to want to ; do anything else,” retorted the cabman, a little nettled by the officer’s curtness. He came round the cab again, with a rather warrantable frown on his dark features, and, stooping to the gutter, >_he washed the blood from his hands and dried them on his handkerchief. I "I suppose you haven’t,” returned Webb, with rather less brusgueness. “What is your name ?” “James Akers.” “Where do you live?” “Clarence-street —No. 22.” “Does this cab belong to you ?”

"No, sir ; it belongs to the Laur- ! ence Stables. I have hired it nearly every day for the past two years.” j “Get upon the seat, Mr. Akers. I want you to drive round to Frost’s Undertaking rooms. Wait—l am going to ride with you.” “All right, sir. And these people?” The officer glanced towards the brilliant windows. Tbe moving people within were still visible ; the tones of the organ could fßtill be heard, and the sound of children’s voices singing sweetly. “The time will come soon enough,” said Webb, significantly, with a touch of grave- consideration. “This is a case for the medical examiner and the secret service, first of all. Drive where I said, and I will notify both.” “But if this man committed suicide, as might be the case” “It is not the case !” Webb curtly interrupted, 'as the cab rolled away through the misty gloom. “There is a revolver lying beside him on the ( back seat, which plainly indicates that he had anticipated and prepared himself to avert, if possible, the fate befallen him. He did not find it possible. The man did not commit suicide. He was murdered !’’ “Then the man who was with him must have done the deed, for there has been no other person in the cab,” said Akers, stoutly. "Very probably ; and that man pears to have vanished." ~j "Vanished” —* j

j “Drive on. Round this corner—and over to the other side. Yonder is the place. Where you see a child’s casket displayed in the window. Steady—so as not to topple our man oil the—ah, that is better ! Now, then, pull up.” CHAPTER 11. REVEALED BY A LENS. The city clocks were on the stroke of nine.' Nearly an hour subsequent to the meeting of Akers and Officer Webb, and fully forty minutes sint e the removal of the dismal burden contained in the former’s cab to the rooms of the undertaker, Joel Frost, the empty vehicle still was standing in front of the latter’s place of business, with both door tightly closed and the curtains drawn. As an additional security against the prying of curious eyes, there stood near the wheels a motionless policeman, as, silent and imperturbable as the functions of his office then required. The position of Frost’s Undertaking Rooms was not in a neighbourhood calculated to speedily draw a crowd, even in the circumstances, being remote from the haunts of those motley aggregations which usually throng, to such places at such times ; yet in front of the doors and windows was gathered quite a number of well-dressed men. They contented themselves, however, with vainly peering through the mistcovered windows, or striving for a glimpse within, each time the door was opened, while the better informed supplied facts to the lesser as fast as their number was augmented or new observations were gleaned. “Found dead in the cab, do you say ?” inquired a new-comer, as a score before him had done. “So I’m told,” “A man or a woman ?” “A youngish man. He has been taken into the back room —so the «ent says.” “I saw him carried in,” the gentleman indicated vouchsafed, rather triumphantly. “A horrid sight ! a knife’haft stuck straight out from his breast.” “Awful.” “Dr. Shaw is now in there. He is the medical examiner.” “Do they suspect a crime?” “It looks like it. I hear they telephoned the facts to Barkis, of the secret service, and expect him up here immediately,” 1 / “Room, gentlemen, if you please. I wish to enter. Ah, thank you very much.” The interruption, of indescribable suavity, and deliberation, came from a man who had alighted from a cab fifty yards down the street, and had walked the balance of the distance. The collar of his ulster was turned up about his ears, half hiding his face ; yet as he quietly opened the door of the undertaker’s room and slipped within, a man near by exclaimed : “Oh, I,say, did you recognise him?” ‘‘Was it Inspector Barkis ?” “Barkis—l should say not. Barkis never saw the day he was in that man’s class. Thfit man was Nick Carter !” “Oh, do let me get a good look at him !” cried a woman who had overheard ; and she hastened to give her nose a tip-tilted slant against the misty pane. “I have read so much about Nick Carter. Oh, dear me, and now I am doomed to disappointment. He has .gone into the rear room,” Nick ’ passed directly through the fropt apartment, which comprised an office and sales room. Entering the rear room, he nodded carelessly to several there, giving no attention to the medical examiner or to the body stretched on the bier over which he

was bending, and at once approaching the officer present, he said, familiarly, in a low tone : “Good evening, Webb. I see by your eyes that you expected me. Odd, isn’t it, how a man’s eyes will reveal his mind ?” The officer smiled faintly and shook the detective’s proffered hand. “Barkis telephoned me that you would look into the affair,” said he. “Why didn’t he care to take it up ?” “He has another case In chargeone that is,keeping him and his best men busy,” replied Nick. “It’s that Guramidge affair, in the Tenderloin district. I chanced to be at headquarters when your message came over the wire, and Barkis asked me to run up here. Of course, I don’t feel equal to Barkis, you know, even while I couldn’t well refuse him.” Webb laughed softly at the languid drawl with which ■ the last remark was volunteered, and the detective added, gravely :

"I’d like you to give me merely the naked facts, as you observed them, and as briefly as possible.’’ With his hands thrust deep into his ulster pockets, with his lithe figure bowed and head slightly bent to listen, Nick Carter received the information requested. Not a question came from his lips. Not once did the expression of his 'grave, thoughtful countenance vary. With his keen eyes steadily meeting those of the speaker he merely nodded now and then through the whispered disclosure of! the bare facts thus far presented. | "That is all you can tell, I take it,” said he. "How long has Shaw been here ?’’ | "About half an hoyr." I •"The cab outside is that in which; the body was found ?” ' “Yes." "Is the driver here ?” "Opt in the front shop.” "Detain him for the present. Which-' of these men is Frost ?” j "Yonder—the one with the beard." i "Who are the others ?” . "One is the undertaker’s assistant.! The . young man in black came with Shaw. The other two are strangers. They helped bring in the body.” "Get rid of them fpr me, please.,

Tell the officer .it the door to clear away the crowd and allow no person to molest the cab; Also tell Frost to' draw the window curtains. I will see what the affair looks like.” He turned while Webb was executing these commands and approached the physician, who was just arising from an examination- of the form stretched upon the bier. It was that of a man between thirty-five and forty, of dark hair and complexion, and, with features that in life must have been fairly attractive. Now their set expression of min .rind horhor and surprise was exc-.e repulsive. The man’s coat and veer, b-ul been removed, exposing a bingio gaping wound just above the heart, where the knife either of a suicide or an assassin had let out the last spark of life. “What do you make of it, Dr. Shaw?” the detective quietly asked. “Ah, it is you, Mr. Carter !” softly exclaimed the'' physician, turning. “I did not hear you enter. I am very glad that- you are here, however.

What do I make of it ? It looks very much like a carefully-planned and brutally-executed murderr” ‘‘Coming from a man of your ex-

cellent discretion, doctor, that sounds very convincing. Have you identified the victim ?”

“Not as yet. I can find nothing

upon him that will serve the purpose. None here are able to recognise him.”

‘‘This was the weapon used, I take it ?” “Yes.”

“A common dirk knife. Wicked looking, isn’t it ? And this is the revolver Webb found lying beside him on the seat ? An ugly toy ! First impressions would suggest that the man had expected an assault, and had prepared himself to meet it. Does the character of the wound warrant a theory of suicide ?”

“By no means,” said the medical examiner, decidedly. “Here was the angle of the stroke given, and this the,exact position of the blade in the wound. Note how very awkwardly the weapon must have been held, assuming suicide. No, sir. My opinion is that the man was stabbed by some person sitting beside him on the seat, or very nearly in that relation.” “It appears so, certainly. I say, cabby, look in here for a moment,” called the detective. “Where was it you picked up the two men you at first had in the cab ?” “Just at the bridge entrance,” announced Akers, as he quickly entered the room.

“Had they come from Brooklyn, do you know ?” “No, sir ; leastwise, this man had not. He engaged ray cab just before the other appeared. He said he wished to be taken to Riverside Drive, and that a friend was coming who would ride part of the way with him.”

“A friend, eh ?” ,“That is what die said, sir.” “A single such friend is quite as many as any man would want,” said Nick Carter, drily. “What more did he say ?”

“Only that I might drop his friend at Gramercy Park. I opened the cab door for him,- and was taking the blanket off my horse, when the man’s friend arrived. I think he came across the street from one of the side exits of the bridge, and they both g.iri the cab.” "Immediately ?”

“Yes, sir.” “Did the men do any talking ?”

“I heard none, sir.” “Not even a name or a word in the way of greeting ?”

‘‘Not that I heard.” ‘‘Which was the first to enter the cab ?”

‘‘l don’t know, sir. They both were in when I returned to close the door and mount to the box. While I think of it, sir, the one who entered last closed the door himself. That fact near slipped my mind, sir.” “Quite natural, I’m sure. Did you start of! at once ?” “Yes, sir, and drove to Gramercy Park.” “By what route?” “Up Broadway.” “And across Gramercy Park ?” “No, sir. I stopped at the sidewalk at the nearest corner.” “Was it there you dropped the friend'?” “Yes, sir.” “Did you get down from your box, Akers?” “I did, sir ; but the man already had opened the door and. was getting out. He appeared to be a young man and wore a light top coat, with the collar turned up about-his neck., I did not take much of a look at his face, sir, as I expected nothing of this sort, and gave him no special attention.”

“In what direction did he go ?” “Down towards Third-avenue/' “Did he hurry away. ?” “Not more than a sharp walk, sir.'’ “Any word of farewell to the man he left in the'cab ?” “Not a word, sir.” “Did you look inside?” “I glanced in to be sure that one of them was there, sir, as the fares had not been paid. I saw the man now dead sitting on the back seat, and on the side nearest to me. The other had passed him in getting out, and I supposed he was all right.” "Did you notice his face ?”

, “I did not see it at all. He appeared to be leaning back on the cushions and all I cared about was that the man was there. I closed the door at once and drove to the house on Riverside Drive.”

“Where you made the discovery that a crime had been committed. ?”

“I discovered that the man was dead, sir.”

“Ah, I stand corrected,” said the detective, with a curious laugh. “I am glad, to find you so precise, my

man, and I will be careful to speak by the card. How long were you at the house on Riverside Drive before Officer Webb came along?” “Not more than a minute, sir,” replied Akers, who had flushed rather resentfully, not quite' understanding the detective’s bantering remark. “It was less than that, Mr. Carter,” here Webb volunteered. “I saw the cab when it came to a stop.” “How far away were you 7” “Not more than thirty yards, I, should say.” “Very good. Now, in what position did you find the body, Mr. Akers ?” i “The body had toppled over on the front seat, sir, and was lying face down upon the cushion. I thought the man w r as drunk, and I reached in and shook him ; and when he did not rousa up I saw the officer coming, and I asked him to help me.” “Where on the seat was the revolver, Mr. Webb ?” I I “Just to the right hand of where the man evidently had been seated, and that was on the right side of the back seat. • He had pitched forward diagonally, and lay with his face on the left end of the front cushion.” 1 “I understand, ”♦ nodded Nick. “Now, who do you say lives in the house on Riverside Drive ?” I “Colonel Thomas Randolph,” .re-, plied the officer. "He has a wife, two or three daughters, and a son at college. He is said to be wealthy, and I think is interested in western copper mines.” I "Ah !” j The ejaculation was a murmur only from which no reliable inference could have been drawn, and Nick Carter, whose inscrutable countenance was always the study of all observers at such times, again turned to the lifeless form near by. For several moments he stood silently gazing down at the dead man’s face, his brow’s knit, his eyes gleaming, his attention strained as if to read in those chill, white features some sign tending to explain that night’s dreadful and mysterious work. i “The face is steadily changing,” he said, softly. i Dr. Shaw overheard and drew near. “Do you think so ?” he asked. Nick slowly nodded, still gazing down.

“I know it, doctor ! When I came in, its expression of mingled horror and surprise was much more noticeable.” ‘‘l really believe you are right.” The keen detective, already noted for his peculiar methods and curious observations and deductions, smiled faintly and looked at the physician from a corner of his eye. ‘‘Have you ever noticed, doctor,” he asked, quietly, “that the face of a person suddenly killed retains for a limited time its last living expression ? By that I mean that, it briefly reflects, in a greater or less degree, the person’s mind at the last conscious moment. Gradually, however, the death expression, the smoothing touch of an unseen hand, relaxes the senseless clay the mortal can no longer abuse. This face, as I remarked, is steadily changing —is nearly changed.” “Now that you call my attention to the change, 1 am inclined to think I can observe it,” admitted the'physician. - “It would be mnn apparent to you if you had made facial expression a carrfUl study, as I have done. The sam» is true l also of the eyes, doctor,” Nick Carter went on, with an indescribably quizzical look, much as if he was revealing some discovery of importance, but in so blindly sugges-, tive a way that he suspected the, other would not follow him. I

“The eyes of men who die slowly of natural diseases are dull and void at the moment of death ; but the eye of a person suddenly, as in an accident, retains for a brief time its lustre and expression. . The light of life seems loth to leave, it. I have seen in such eyes a true picture of the last appalling scene received by eyes and brain. If the eyes of this man were open But, stay, I will open one of them ! Swing that incandescent light this way, and drop it a little. Now, more to the. right of the face. A little lower—that will do. Hold it still for a moment.” Some of these remarks had reached other ears, and the gaze of every person in the room was now fixed on the detective. No man ever yet had been able to forecast the. mind of Nick Carter, or to predict what very slight or strange bit of "evidence he would discover and turn to most telling if not extraordinary account. Now he was upon his knees beside the man who was dead. With the tip of a match he raised one of the lids clear of the sightless eye. Drawing from his pocket a large lens, he peered through it intently, studying for a moment the glassy orb upturned to his view. When he arose to his feet, it was with an abruptness that startled all j observers. He thrust the lens back into his pocket, and said, quickly, in tones that broke sharply the brief, breathless silence :

, “Officer Webb, let nothing here be disturbed till I return. Let no person enter or depart. Detain the cab outside. You can conveniently remain, doctor ?”

“Certainly.” The detective’s- face had turned hard as stone, yet the officer ventured a question.

“Shall you be long absent, Mr. Carter ?”

“Possibly half an hour. I am going to the house on Riverside Drive.” (To be Continued.)