Nick Carter at Headquarters;
or,
Work of the Inspector's Scrap Book
CHAPTER I.
An Intricate Case.
A gentle tap sounded at the door of the inspector's private office in police headquarters in the city of New York.
“Come!” exclaimed the inspector.
The door opened and a sergeant entered. “Someone to see you, chief,” announced the sergeant.
“Who?”
“Says his name is Jingle. He's a countryman.”
“Show him in.”
The sergeant departed; but two minutes later he returned accompanied by an unmistakable specimen of the Connecticut farmer.
“Take a seat, sir,” said the inspector.
Then, as soon as the sergeant had withdrawn, he added:
“Now, what can I do for you?”
“The question is, what can I do for you,” was the reply, in the unmistakable tones of Nick Carter, the great detective.
The inspector's face changed. He smiled broadly.
“Bless me!” he exclaimed. “Why did you assume a disguise in order to come here, Nick?”
“Oh, I happened to be rigged out when I received your message, so I came along just as I was.”
“Then you are busy now?”
“Yes.”
“I'm sorry that you are not free.”
“Why?”
“Well, I had a matter on hand that I wished you to take in charge. Is this case, upon which you are already engaged, important?”
“It seems to be.”
“What is it?”
“A disappearance. A beautiful girl, just of age, rich, accomplished, about to be married to the man she loved, is missing from Philadelphia.”
“Who engaged you in the matter?”
“The man she was to marry.”
“How long has the young lady been among the missing?”
“About a month.”
“And they have just begun the search?”
“So it seems. I gather from the facts as they were related to me, that not much importance was attached to her disappearance at first.
“She was or is a girl who was or is singularly independent in her actions, and—Well, the young man has finally made up his mind that there has been foul play, and engaged me to find out the truth.”
“Give me the story.”
“It is short. Sara Varney was left an orphan and an heiress at the age of sixteen. At twenty-one she came into full possession of her property, which was partly in real estate and the balance, about $58,000 in cash, in bank.
“She reached her majority six weeks to a day before her disappearance, and had drawn about four thousand dollars from the bank, by checking against her account.
“Since her disappearance three checks, which either bear her signature, or are very expertly forged, have appeared. Each is for fifteen thousand dollars. The first two were paid, and the third, by my advice, was pronounced a forgery and held.
“She disappeared just a week before her prospective wedding day.
“A messenger came to the house where she lived on Chestnut street, soon after dark. She read the message, and ordered her carriage at once.
“She was driven to the Pennsylvania depot. There she told her coachman to return home, and added that she would not be back until the following day, or perhaps even later. She has not been seen since.”
“Looks as though she went away of her own accord, does it not?”
“That was my first idea.”
“And you have since changed your opinion?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Well, I began just as she did.”
“Eh? What do you mean?”
“Why, I started from her house in the same carriage that she used, and was driven to the Pennsylvania depot.”
“But my dear Carter why—”
“One moment. I have found that the best way in which to think out a difficulty is to begin at the beginning and follow the footsteps of the person in whom I am interested just as far as I can. While I am on what I call 'certain footing,' I have a good chance to think.
“I stood in her room, where, with the help of Sara Varney's friends, I had already made a thorough examination of her effects.
“I discovered, for one thing, that she had not taken her check-book—that is, the one which contained the stubs which represented the four thousand dollars already drawn from the bank.
“I found, in her escritoire, a letter proposing marriage to her. It was signed 'George Hatfield,' and was written in unmistakable terms of passion and fervor.
“I also found a letter that she had written in reply, but which she had evidently decided not to send, for it was torn into four parts. I put it together and read it through. I never saw such biting scorn embraced in a few words, as she managed to incorporate in that reply.
“The blotter that she had used was also in the writing desk, and by subjecting it to a very powerful magnifying glass I found not only the greater part of the letter I had already perused, but a sentence like this: ' Mr. George Hatfield: The proposal made by you is peremptorily declined with scorn. Sara Varney.' To the point, wasn't it?”
“I should say so.”
“I asked Grayling—”
“Who is he?”
“The man to whom she was engaged, Arthur Grayling. I asked him if he knew Hatfield. He replied that he had heard of him, but had never seen him.
“Then, to be consecutive in my account, I ordered the carriage. When it came to the door I entered it, and was driven to the station. On the way I began to think, of course.
“The first thing that occurred to me was that I would like to know what was contained in the message that called her away from home so suddenly.
“Women are proverbially careless with their letters. It occurred to me that she might have lost that particular one in the carriage.
“I found two tiny scraps that had been crowded down between the cushions, and each one bore a part of a word. On one I found the letters 'Ar——' and on the other 'rk.' ”
“Not much clew in that.”
“Considerable, I thought.”
“Why?”
“Well, for one thing, 'Ar——' are the first two letters of the name Arthur, and 'rk' are the last two letters of New York.
“The date of Sara Varney's reply to George Hatfield's proposal was two days before her disappearance.”
“Well, what had that to do with—”
“Excuse me. I returned at once to the house and found Grayling still there.
“'Mr. Grayling,' I said, 'where were you at the very hour when Miss Varney was last seen?'
“'In New York,' he replied. “I had expected the answer, and without questioning him farther I set about reading the character of George Hatfield.”
“But—” “My dear inspector, Hatfield wrote a letter asking for Miss Varney's hand in marriage; she declined with scorn; that was two days before she received a message which was the cause of her disappearance. Grayling, whom she loved, was in New York; he sent her no message at that time. Sara Varney drove to the depot just in time to catch an express train for New York. Since Grayling sent her no message, who did? Without knowing anything whatever concerning Hatfield, let us suppose him to be a villain. He knew that Sara loved Grayling; he knew that Grayling was in New York; he had received a note which made him furious; he acted upon impulse, perhaps, and sent word to Sara that Grayling had met with an accident; he asked her to come at once, and she started without a word. He, or someone who represented him, met her in Jersey City, and she was seen no more.”
“Quite a romance, Nick.”
“Wait. I thought this all out while in the carriage; believed that the theory was good, if Hatfield's character upheld it.”
“And you find—”
“Nothing to make me think that he is incapable of such a crime, and I must confess, nothing to convince me that he would commit it. Since that time I have made Hatfield's acquaintance, and I have found out nothing. There are a good many smaller details, such as tracing the checks, etc., but as the case stands, I believe that Sara Varney came to New York, and that Hatfield knows what became of her. Now, we will return to this subject later, if you like, but I would, in the meantime, be glad to hear why you sent for me. Perhaps, between Chick and me, we can manage both cases.”