Nick Carter: Nick Carter at Headquarters

It contained the signature of Superintendent Campbell, and was an order to every policeman to render Nick Carter or his assistant every favor possible.

The policeman was impassive, notwithstanding the surprise he felt.

“Well?” he said. “Is that all right?”

“Yes.”

“Will you do what I want?”

“If it don't take me off my beat.”

“Have you got an alarm box and telephone near here?”

“Yes.”

“Go to it, call up headquarters, and tell them to repeat your message to New York headquarters.”

“All right.”

“Here is the message.”

“Fire away.”

“Send Barney to Erie Basin, Brooklyn, at once. The quicker the better. He must bring bundle containing two suits of old clothes, a river- man's kit. Also set of burglars' tools. Have him find policeman—what's your name?”

“Nat Thompson.”

“Policeman Nat Thompson, of the—th Precinct, for further instructions.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes.”

“Will he find me?”

“If you were in China.”

“All right. What then?”

“Direct him to the old red wharf, but don't go with him. Keep away from there yourself.”

“All right.”

“Now rush that, Will you, Nat?”

“Yes.”

“One word more. Tell Barney to hang around the old red wharf till somebody says 'Kismet' to him, if he has to wait till Christmas.”

“Anything more?”

“No.”

“Then I'm off.”

Policeman Thompson departed, and Chick quickly retraced his steps to the vicinity of the red wharf.

He knew that Gentleman George might appear at any moment, and that he was expected to shadow him if he did.

When Chick again reached the red wharf the time was between one and two o'clock in the morning.

How long Gentleman George would remain at the Rat-Hole, he had no idea, but he did hope that Barney would be on hand in time to do the shadowing, so that he could return to the river- pirate's retreat to keep Nick company.

Discovery might take place at any moment, and discovery meant a fight.

Not a mere row, but a downright fight, in which lives would be taken; and if such a thing was to occur, Chick wanted to be in it.

He knew that Barney could not possibly reach the place much under two hours, and so he settled himself to wait, prepared to take the shadow business in hand himself, if Gentleman George should leave the Rat-Hole before the arrival of the man from headquarters.

An hour passed, and Chick, from the place of concealment that he had selected among a lot of debris that was lying upon the wharf, saw no sign of life.

But a half hour later, as he was beginning to hope that Barney would reach the scene in time, after all, he saw the chief of the river-thieves come forth, closely followed by Red Rob.

They came upon the pier, and sauntered along until they reached time very pile behind which the detective was concealed.

Gentleman George seated himself upon a piece of an old box, and leisurely lighted a cigar.

“Talk away, now, Rob,” he said, “for I haven't much time. You have something important to say to me, I think.”

“Yes.”

“Well, I have something important to say to you, but my communication can wait, I will hear you first.”

“It's about the steel casket,” blurted forth Red Rob.

“Ah!”

“Yes, that's it.”

“What about it?”

“The boys have been talking it over.”

“Well?”

“They don't think you've acted square with them.”

“Don't they?”

“No.”

“What are they going to do about it?”

“Nothin'—now.”

“Exactly.”

“But it's getting in a wedge that will work harm.”

“In what way?”

“They'll get dissatisfied, and some night there'll be trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“They'll give you away, or something.” Gentleman George laughed.

“Give me away, eh?” he said.

“Yes.”

“How?”

“By informing upon you.”

“Upon whom?”

“You! Gentleman George.”

Again the chief laughed.

“Who knows Gentleman George?” he asked.

“All of us.”

“Exactly—and nobody else.”

“But one of the fellows has a snap-shot photograph of you that he took when you didn't know it. He would give that in with his information.”

“Much good it would do him.”

“Why?”

“Rob, do you think that I have been fool enough to let you fellows see me as I really am, or even hear my natural voice?”

“Perhaps not.”

“Most certainly not.”

Red Rob looked crestfallen. “Now, who took that picture?” demanded the chief.

“I can't tell you that.”

“Why?”

“Because I promised not to do so.”

“Are you one of the traitors?”

“You know I am not.”

“Red Rob uses better English with the chief than with the others,” thought Chick, as he listened.

The chief laughed again, sardonically. “No,” he said, coldly. “I don't think you would betray me if you could, Rob. Now tell me why they complain.”

“They think the casket contained a treasure.”

“So it did and does—to me; to the men, it would not be worth a dime.”

“Why?”

“Because it wouldn't; that is enough.”

“Maybe.”

“Look here, Rob, I made a fair proposition to the boys, didn't I?”

“Yes.”

“I gave up my share of the booty from that affair for the casket, didn't I?”

“Yes.”

“And they all agreed?”

“Yes.”

“Good! They must stand by their agreement, that's all. I have nothing more to say on the subject.”

“Remember, I have warned yon.”

“I will remember—never fear.”

“Now, what did you want to say to me?”

“Do you know who it was that you brought to the Rat-Hole to-night?”

“Yes. Sneaker and Rattler.”

“Bosh!”

“Eh?”

“Bosh!”

“I don't understand.”

“My dear Rob, you' have made the greatest mistake of your life.”

“Have I?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Simply because the man Sneaker is Nick Carter, and Rattler is his assistant, Chick, sometimes called Young Hercules.”

“What!”

“Didn't you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Well, what do you think of the information?”

“Are you sure you are right?”

“Did you ever know me to make a mistake?”

“No.”

“This is not an exception.”

“Did you recognize Carter?”

“Yes; by the other one.”

“What do you mean?”

“I knew Chick once, and I had not forgotten his face. When he removed his disguise, I recognized him instantly.”

“And—”

“Why, simply if he is Chick, Nick Carter's assistant, the other one must be Nick Carter himself. I have a faculty for never forgetting faces; I knew the young cub the moment I saw him without a disguise.”

“What's to be done?”

“Kill them.”

“When?”

“As soon as Chick returns.”

“Why did you let him go?”

“For several reasons. They were both armed to the teeth, and would have made a hot fight of it, if I had sprung the information suddenly.”

“Sure!”

“Besides, you fellows would have been so taken aback, that three or four of you would have been killed before it occurred to you to fight.”

“Maybe so, but—”

“But what?”

“This detective will bring back a lot of cops, and take us all in. You should not have let him go.”

“Bah!”

“Well, what then?”

“The detectives won't attempt to make trouble until they have plenty of evidence to convict us all, and they haven't got that yet. A good detective always works on the principle that he must obtain evidence which will convince twelve disinterested men besides himself; that is one of Nick Carter's hobbies, and that is why he never fails.”