Chapter XIII: A Necessary Cruelty

Nick was on his feet in front of the cowering man, pointing one finger at him.

Montgomery merely writhed in his seat, but did not say a word.

“But that is not the worst,” went on the detective, mercilessly. “You know that your nephew, John Lansing, started for Boston on Monday night, by the Fall River boat.”

Nick drew back to the library table and picked up a book that lay there.

“You told Yasmar--or Ramsay, to give him his real name--that John Lansing was going to Boston to talk with Cooper and Bingham in the attempt to dissuade them from making that investment in the Royal Ophir mine.

“He took the same boat that Lansing boarded.

“At midnight, out in the Sound, they had a talk, angry words were passed, Ramsay struck Lansing on the head in a moment of passion and flung him into the sea----”

“It’s a lie!” cried Montgomery, hoarsely.

“It’s the truth!”

“Are you man or devil?” whispered Montgomery. He made a sudden movement and jerked a revolver from a drawer in his desk. “But, man or devil, stop this bullet if you can!”

Chick made a motion as though he would grab Montgomery’s arm.

With a look Nick warned him not to interfere and threw the book to the floor.

Instantly the hall door opened.

“There,” cried Nick, whirling and pointing to the form of John Lansing standing in the door, “there stands your dead sister’s son, the boy you robbed, the boy you thought murdered!”

The revolver trembled in Montgomery’s hand.

He dropped it, sprang up and stood looking at his nephew as though confronted by a specter.

Suddenly he threw up his hand and fell backward into his seat.

“John!” he groaned; “John!”

Nick sprang to his side.

“Where were you to meet this man Ramsay or Yasmar to-night?” cried Nick. “I knew that you were to meet him and to take Bingham and Cooper with you. Where was it? Tell me, quick!”

Montgomery looked into Nick’s face with frenzied eyes.

It seemed hard for him to comprehend anything.

Nick repeated the question.

“Tell me, I tell you!” he finished. “You thought your nephew was killed, and you kept the matter a secret; and you tried to kill me and my assistant in Boucicault’s last night----”

“Before Heaven, Carter----” began Montgomery.

“Where were you to meet him to-night?” demanded Nick.

“The Obelisk, Central Park.”

“What time?”

“Eight-thirty.”

“Who were to be there?”

“Himself, Starlick, Gillman.”

“You were to exchange money for a deed?”

“Yes.”

“Not at the Obelisk?”

“No. We were to go to a room.”

Montgomery’s desk-chair was a massive piece of furniture, with high carved arms running from back to seat.

With a quick movement Nick slipped the man’s wrists together, one hand under the arm.

The next moment he had snapped on the handcuffs, securing Montgomery to the chair.

Owing to the height of the chair arms the position was not uncomfortable.

“Oh, Mr. Carter,” cried the voice of Louise Lansing from the door, “is it a necessary cruelty?”

“For a little while only,” answered Nick. “I have prevented the steal that your uncle, in connection with Ramsay--or Yasmar, as you have known him--and his accomplices, tried so hard to accomplish.

“Ramsay is wanted in Montana for another crime, but your uncle I shall leave in your hands.”

Nick turned to John Lansing.

“Here is a key to those handcuffs,” he said. “Do not release him until nine o’clock.”

John Lansing was very pale and was trembling visibly.

It was evident that his nerves were greatly shaken at the disclosure he had heard.

“I will do as you say, Mr. Carter,” said he.

“Chick,” went on Nick, facing his assistant, “Patsy is in the hall. Take him that outfit and have him make ready. There’s sharp work ahead.”

In five minutes Patsy was ready, and the detectives departed.