Chapter XXIII: Over the Bridge

Each man in the touring party carried a large satchel, and Nick noticed that he took very good care of the grip, never letting it get out of his hands for an instant.

The satchels appeared to be rather heavy, and once, when one of them dropped to the bottom of the auto, the detective heard a jingle as of coin.

The morning was bright, the air was fresh, and for five miles the Red Spider cut along at a smart clip.

“Show me how to operate the thing,” said Martin, and Nick instructed him in the art.

“How long have you had this machine, Mr. Martin?” Nick asked.

A silence followed the question, during which Martin exchanged looks with the men on the rear seat.

“Close onto two years,” said Martin, finally. “What do you want to know for?”

“It seems strange that you haven’t learned something about running the Red Spider in two years.”

Martin leaned forward and rapped Nick on the shoulder.

“Look here, Jones,” he growled, “don’t you get too blamed inquisitive. It’s liable to strike in and carry you off.”

After that Nick held his peace for a time, but there were a whole lot of things he wanted to know, and he wasn’t long in opening up again.

“Chicago is a great town,” he remarked.

“Bet your life!” exclaimed Martin.

“I used to do janitor work in the Guggenheimer Building,” confided Nick.

“Is that so?”

“Sure. You know anything about Chicago?”

“Well, rather. I’ve lived there about all my life.”

“Then you know the Guggenheimer Building, corner State and Madison Streets?”

“Like a book. Been in it more times than I can count.”

The detective wanted to laugh.

There was no such building in Chicago.

“Do you remember the orang-outang, carved out of marble, that they’ve got over the door of the Guggenheimer Building?” Nick went on.

“You bet. Seen it a hundred times.”

“Gosh!” exclaimed Nick. “It seems like meeting old friends to run across a man who remembers that orang-outang.”

At the end of the five miles there was a little town called Herkimer, and here the party stopped for breakfast.

When they got down from the machine and went into the hotel, they took their satchels with them.

Nick got outside of his meal and returned to the Red Spider several minutes before the rest of the party had finished and left the table.

The detective knew very well that Chick and Patsy wouldn’t bring their machine up to the place while the Red Spider was in evidence, but he wanted some assurance that his assistants were following.

He got what he wanted, for Patsy appeared in the road, back at a point where it made a turn in the woods, and gave his hat a wave.

Patsy then disappeared, and Nick felt much easier in his mind.

“It’s a cinch,” thought Nick, “that not one of this outfit of supposed Chicago men knows anything about Chicago.

“And another thing, Martin never had the Red Spider for two years, or he’d know how to run it.

“But what did the Chicago chief of police mean by that message he sent to the police department in Latimer?”

Nick was exceedingly thoughtful for a few moments.

“I’d like to pinch the entire outfit, and make them prove that they’re what they say they are,” he said to himself, finally, and gave a look down the road, as though he would summon Chick and Patsy.

But Chick and Patsy were not in sight.

If Nick could have known what Martin and his two friends were talking about in the hotel, however, it is safe to assume that he would have made the effort of his life to arrest the three men before they had gone another mile further.

“I don’t like the looks of that driver of yours, Clancy,” one of Martin’s pals was saying.

“He’s all right, I tell you, Spark,” averred Clancy. “Didn’t I spot him while trying to sneak a wallet in my room? I’ve got the fellow right under my thumb, and he knows it.”

“He looks to me as though he’s playing a part. Don’t you think so, Cricket?”

“He looks all right to me,” replied Cricket.

“We ought to get rid of him,” persisted Spark.

“What’s got you on the run, old man?” queried Clancy.

“Give it up; but I’ve got a feeling that there’s trouble ahead. And look here--I’ll bet I can prove to you that this Jones, as he calls himself, is crooked.”

“If you can do that, Spark,” said Clancy, “we’ll salt him too quick.”

“Can you run the Spider now, Clancy?”

“Well enough to take us where we want to go. But come on, if you’re through. It’s time we hit the trail.”

They got up, picked up their satchels from beside their chairs, and went out and got into the auto.

“Keep right on along the turnpike, Jones, just as we were going before we stopped,” said Martin.

Nick carried out his orders, and they were soon spinning along in a due north direction.

“Did you have any trouble in connecting with the twenty thousand, Clancy?” asked Cricket.

Clancy!

The word was out of Cricket’s mouth before he fairly realized that he had said it.

Savage looks were darted at him by Clancy and Spark, and then all three fixed their eyes upon Nick.

Apparently he had not heard the word.

“No trouble at all,” said Clancy.

“It was easy money,” went on Cricket, “and earned you a hundred per cent. overnight.”

Nick knew that Clancy and Cricket were talking about the demand certificate for twenty thousand dollars which the former had got from the People’s National Bank on Monday afternoon.

Here was proof that the money had been deposited, stolen back, and collected again on the demand certificate.

The detective was more than ready now to take chances in capturing the three scoundrels.

Some parts of the deal were still dark to him, but he was sure of his ground so far as Clancy and his two pals were concerned.

But how were the men to be captured?

With two at his back and one beside him, to attempt to make an arrest single-handed would have been the height of folly.

A startling expedient occurred to Nick.

Why not wreck the machine?

That would give Chick and Patsy a chance to come up and take a hand in the capture.

Nick looked ahead.

The turnpike wound around through the hills, and was bordered with large trees.

Some of these trees stood out close to the roadway, and it would be a comparatively easy matter to speed up the auto and smash against a tree.

The collision would certainly wreck the Red Spider, and it might also cause the gasoline tank to explode.

In the latter event it was a question whether any of the party would be left alive to tell the tale.

Nick had no desire to cut short his career on that lonely turnpike in northern Vermont, but still he realized that he would have to take chances, no matter what course he pursued.

In the distance he could see a plank bridge crossing a stream.

The edge of the bridge was guarded with a low wooden railing, and to run the Red Spider into the railing and off the bridge would not be a difficult task.

But that would be infinitely more dangerous than running the auto into a tree.

Nick, therefore, decided on a collision.

The approach to the bridge was slightly downhill, and he started the Spider at a tremendous clip.

“Slower, slower!” shouted Clancy. “Do you want to wreck us?”

“It’s out of control!” cried Nick. “I can’t do anything with it!”

The Spider was shooting toward a tree, a hundred feet ahead, and Nick seemed to be working frantically at the levers in an attempt to stop it.

Suddenly Spark, who sat directly behind Nick, thrust a hand in his pocket and slipped his fingers through a set of brass knuckles.

Bringing the hand out of his pocket, Spark half arose and dealt the detective a smashing blow on the back of the head.

Nick fell forward, stunned and helpless.

“He was shamming!” cried Spark; “quick, Clancy! Turn the machine, or we’re gone!”

Clancy flung himself on the steering lever and swerved the auto so that it missed the tree by a hair’s breadth.

A moment more and he had halted the ponderous machine.

“He was trying to do for us,” said Spark, excitedly.

“But why in the fiend’s name should he try to wreck us?” answered Clancy. “He would have done for himself as well.”

“He had some game, I tell you,” persisted Spark. “He must be one of Nick Carter’s men. He wants revenge for what you and I did to Carter, Clancy.”

“Bosh! Your nerves are running away with you, Spark.”

“Look here!”

Spark leaned over Nick and tore the false mustache from his lip.

“Now what do you think? This sneak thief of yours, Clancy, has been in disguise!”

Clancy voiced a lurid oath.

“I wish I knew Carter’s assistants,” he added, with a fierce growl; “but I don’t even know Carter himself, except from description.”

“Are you sure we got Carter at the hotel?” queried Cricket.

“Nicholas is the name he uses, now and then, and we know he took that bank robbery case. You followed him from the Holland Hotel to the Central House, Cricket, and ought to know him, if anybody does.”

“Nicholas was disguised,” said Cricket, “and I couldn’t tell what he looked like with the disguise off. But he didn’t look anything like this fellow.”

“This chap is trying to plug our game, anyhow,” said Clancy, a savage gleam in his eyes, “and right here is our chance to get rid of him. Bring out a couple of ropes, Cricket.”

Cricket fumbled around in the bottom of the auto, and finally found a piece of rope, which he cut in two.

Nick was still unconscious, and did not recover his wits until the tying operation had been completed.

When he opened his eyes, Clancy was going through his pockets.

“Guns, and handcuffs, and a pocket bull’s-eye,” muttered Clancy, producing the articles one by one and handing them over the back of the front seat to Spark and Cricket. “A nice equipment for a sneak thief to tote around with him. He’s Nick Carter’s assistant, all right.”

“He has two men assistants,” spoke up Spark--“Chick and Patsy.”

“I have heard of them,” said Clancy, with an oath. “Here, you!” he added, grabbing Nick by the shoulders and giving him a rough shake; “what sort of a deal were you trying to ring in on us?”

“Who hit me?” demanded Nick.

“I did,” asserted Spark. “What did you try to wreck the auto for?”

“I couldn’t manage it.”

“Bah!” snorted Clancy. “You’re one of Nick Carter’s men, we know that, and right here is where our trails divide. I’m from Montana, I am, and Ramsay, a man Nick Carter hounded into the penitentiary, was a pal of mine.

“I swore, when Ramsay got sent over the road, the other day, that I’d never rest until I had played even with Carter on Ramsay’s account.

“I have pretty near succeeded in doing that, I reckon. Cricket shadowed Carter from the Holland Hotel to the Central House and reported to Spark and me. Then I put up that job and called up Carter on the Central House phone. Spark was beside the glazed window in the court, and he fired the shot that put this crack detective of yours out of the chase after these bank robbers.

“I didn’t count on having such good luck as to connect with one of Carter’s assistants; and now that we’ve got you, Jones, or whatever your name is, we’ll see that you’re properly taken care of.”

“You may be able to take care of me,” said the detective, “but you’ll still have Nick Carter to settle with.”

“Carter!” sneered Clancy. “Why, he ain’t in it with me when it comes down to head work. I can think all around him any day in the week.”

“You’re thinking all around him now,” answered Nick, quietly.

“What do you mean by that?”

“You’ll know some time.”

“Quit this fooling!” cried Spark. “Let’s get rid of the fool and then push on toward the Canadian line. I won’t feel easy till we cross the border.”

That was Nick’s first clew to the intentions of Clancy and his pals.

They were working to get into Canada, where an American detective could not touch them without going through a lot of red-tape proceedings.

If these men were captured, it must be before they crossed the line.

“How’ll we fix him?” asked Clancy.

“A gun is good enough,” said Cricket.

“A knife is better,” supplemented Spark. “It makes less noise.”

“What do we care for noise?” asked Clancy, with a harsh laugh; “there is no one within a mile of us. But I know a trick worth two of either one of those.”

“What is it?” inquired Spark.

“We’ll give him a chance to swim without the use of his hands or feet.”

“That’s the talk!” declared Cricket.

“Make for the bridge,” added Spark, “and we’ll toss him over.”

Clancy ran the Red Spider to the foot of the hill and onto the bridge, halting close to the right-hand railing.

Then he and Spark stood up, Nick was caught by the feet and shoulders and swung back and forth.

“One, two, three,” counted Clancy; “now, then!”

The form of the detective was released and went whirling outward and downward.

“Help!” he cried, at the top of his voice; “the river!” Then he splashed into the water and went plunging away on the breast of the swift current.