Nick Carter: Nick Carter at Headquarters

Nick knew instinctively that he was Gentleman George, and he wondered if he and George Hatfield were the same.

“Stand there,” he said, pointing toward the middle of the room.

“Well,” growled Sneaker, “ye don't seem overglad ter see us anyhow.”

“If you are the right sort we are very glad. If you are not, you will be very sorry that you ever came.”

“What'll happen?”

“A calamity.”

“Oh. W'at's that? Suthin' good ter eat, maybe.”

No impertinence.”

Who're you anyhow?” I'm the chief here, my man, as you will learn to your cost if you don't keep a civil tongue in your head.”

“The chief, hey? Why didn't ye say so at fust. I'll be civil. Fire away.”

“Who are you?”

“Sneaker.”

“What's your real name?”

“I've got a dozen, an' Sneaker es good es any, I reckon.”

“Who's your friend?”

“Rattler.”

“Has he got another name?”

“'Bout es many's I have.”

“You're from Philadelphia ?”

“You bet.”

“What brought you here?”

“The climate,” and Nick grinned and winked. “Where did you hear of the Undine?”

“The what?”

“The Undine.”

“Never did hear of it.”

“What was the name of the yacht you boarded to-night?”

“Dunno.”

“How did you happen to know so well where she was?”

“Rattler an' me took a tour of inspection this afternoon.”

“Ah! Is river piracy your business when you're at home?”

“Mostly.”

“When did you come to New York ?”

“This mornin'.”

“How do you account for the presence of the cops on board the yacht?”

“I don't.”

“They were there when you arrived?”

“Very much there.”

“What kept you so long away from your boat, and why did you fire your pistol?”

“Well, I seed ther cops there, an' I concluded I'd listen an' hear what they were sayin'. I crept up an' got a good deal of it, leanin' over the hatchway.”

“Go on.”

“All of a suddint somebody grabbed me from behind. We had a tussle, and I chucked him down the hatchway.

“The fellers below had heerd us, an' they were comin' up to see w'at was goin' on. I shoved my gun into the face of the feller ahead, pulled, and then lit out.”

“You say you were listening to what they were saying?”

“Yes.”

“Did you hear anything?”

“Yes.”

“What ?”

“Nothin' much, 'cept that the yacht was a decoy anchored there on purpose to bait us fellers.”

“Ah!”

“Sometbody's lost a steel casket, an' ther hull scheme is ter git that back ag'in.”

“Why, when you had already shot four or five men did you not serve the three who headed you off in the same manner?”

“Cos I didn't wanter. I'd done shootin' enough. ”

“Now, are you disguised?”

“Yes.”

“I thought so. Jumping into the water doesn't improve disguises.”

“Right, pard.”

“Remove your disguise and let me see you as you are.”

“Cert.”

“Rattler also.”

“Keyreckt.”

The two detectives removed the false beards that they wore, but as they had previously darkened their faces with a stain that water would not affect, the revelation did not amount to much.

In fact, except for the color of their complexions, both detectives stood revealed in their proper persons.

Both, however, were as well disguised in that way as in any other, for neither ever allowed himself to be seen by crooks when undisguised, unless, as in the present case, it became absolutely necessary.

“Do you want to stay in New York ?” was the next question.

“Yes.”

“And become one of us?”

“Yes.”

“To whom can you refer me in Philadelphia ? I know a few people there.”

“I ain't referrin' to nobody.”

“Indeed! Why not?”

“Well, if my face an' what's happened tonight ain't enough there ain't no use 'n doin' any more.”

“Suppose I demand it.”

“You kin go ter blazes with yer demand.”

“Men have been found floating in the river for saying less than that to me, Sneaker.”

“Bah! you can't scare me, cap. I ain't no spring chicken. If you fellers want to tackle Rattler 'n me, begin. You're twelve to two, an' maybe you'll down us, but there won't be six left out of yer twelve when you're through, you hear me.”

A murmur of approval went up from behind the masks.

Evidently they liked the grit displayed by the new recruit.

The chief himself did not seem displeased. He took one quick step in advance, and thrust out his hand.

“Well said, Sneaker,” he remarked. “You'll do, I guess. Now, what has Rattler to say for himself?”

“The same that I say; no more, no less.”

“You 're partners?”

“Till death.”

“Well, we'll take you both.”

“Correct, boss.”

“You may consider yourselves wharf-rats now. When I am away Red Rob is captain.”

When Nick shook hands with the chief he noticed that the latter's hand was soft and smooth, not at all the hand of a man who lived the life of a wharf rat continuously.

He was convinced in his own mind that the man before him was George Hatfield, but he had no proof of it as yet.

When the chief remarked that Sneaker and Rattler could consider themselves as admitted to membership of the gang, the men removed their improvised masks, and a more villainous looking set of scoundrels it would have been hard to find.

Gentleman George wore a heavy black beard which the keen eyes of the detective at once saw was false.

He also realized that the men did not know that fact.

“Good!” thought the detective. “I believe my man is George Hatfield, but I've got to find the steel casket and also the girl Sara Varney before I pull him in.”

Nick and Rattler were the centre of attraction, for Red Rob had enlarged upon the exploit of the night rather more than the facts warranted.

The men asked Nick hosts of questions about the Quaker City, which the detective's familiarity with that place enabled him to answer.

An hour went by, and then the detective suddenly turned to his companion and said:

“Rattler!”

“Here.”

“You'd better stop now, an' git ther kit.”

“Keyreckt.”

Chick picked up his hat, and started for the iron-bound door.

But Gentleman George was upon his feet in an instant.

“Where are you going?” he demanded. “Out,” replied Chick.

“What for?”

“For our kit.”

“Where is it?”

“Over in New York, in West street.”

“It can wait, can't it?”

“It can, but it won't,” interposed Nick, stepping forward.

“Look a-here, Mr. Gentleman George, I didn't jine no confounded gang to be made a prisoner in a bole like this, see?

“If my pard an' me don't come an' go when we please, an' as we please, we both leave now, even ef we have ter fight our way out, see?”

“What's your hurry for your things?”

“Well, w'at money we've got sewed up in 'em, fur one thing, and one thing's enough, see? Go on, 'Rattler; git 'em.”

Chick turned to the iron-bound door. For just an instant Gentleman George hesitated.

Then he made a sign to the guard at the door to open it, and Chick passed through, and was gone.

As soon as he was outside he made a rapid change in his appearance, so that five minutes later he was a negro. Then he started rapidly away.

After walking ten minutes he met a policeman, and he hurried to him.

The policeman waited, seeing that he was about to be accosted, but Chick, without speaking, drew out his watch, and opening the back side of the case drew forth a half sheet of thin paper.