Chapter X: “speaking of Sells.”

“You have taken him on all sides at once,” exclaimed the inspector.

“The trap has been sprung and Helstone is in it. Come, my man, what have you to say?”

These last words were addressed to Parks.

“I have this to say,” said he, boldly, “that this identification is meaningless. The detective has painted my face to represent a well-known criminal, and I am mistaken for him, that’s all.”

“Don’t be foolish, Doc,” said Miller. “We all know you. Now tell us why you sold us.”

“He didn’t sell you,” said the inspector. “This gentleman sold you”--pointing to Nick--“but it was a different kind of sell.

“And, speaking of sells. I have cells for every one of you. Shall we march them away, Nick?”

“As you please. Ah! Chick, what is that?

“A message from the hospital.”

“Let me see it.”

Nick tore the envelope, glanced at the contents, and then said:

“She is fully conscious. She knows everything.”

Morton Parks’ face became ashen. Then for an instant it cleared. If his wife was conscious he was not yet a murderer, at least he could save his life out of the ruin of his fortunes.

“Do you still deny your guilt?” Nick said, addressing Parks.

“It is fate,” the man muttered. “I have never for an instant expected to escape it.”

Doc Helstone and his friends were taken to police headquarters.

Reeves, the witness, was released.

“How did you get your clew to this riddle?” asked the inspector of Nick.

“I found it in the character of Mrs. Parks,” said Nick. “She could not be a thief or willingly the associate of thieves. She was not the sort of woman who leads a double life.

“Yet she was proved to have been in a resort of thieves. What motive could have carried her there?

“I answer, only love, or what was left of it after respect had been destroyed--the love of some man.

“What man? To know her character was to answer that question. It must be her husband.”

“But, how did you learn her character so quickly?”

“For that I must thank my assistant, Ida Jones. I sent her on that part of the case as soon as the identity of the woman was known. She reported to me from time to time. It was easy enough to trace her, she had so many friends among the poor. Ida had only to get a tip from Park’s coachman and the thing was done.”

“How did you persuade him to walk into your trap?”

“I told him I would show him the murderer of his wife. He could not refuse to come.

“Once here, I asked him if he dared to meet the Helstone gang. Could he say that he did not dare? That would have been confession.

“The disguise was merely a trick to make the recognition more sure.”

“But how about the diamonds, Nick?”

“Why, I take it that when Mrs. Parks tracked her husband to the resort of his gang and entered it after him there was wild confusion.

“Very little was said that anybody understood or remembered. There was a heap of plunder on the table for the gang was ready to move.

“Mrs. Parks snatched these diamonds as a corroboration of the story she intended to tell to the police. So tremendous was the excitement that nobody noticed her action.

“When Parks followed her out and murdered her, he dared not remove the diamonds for fear somebody would see him. The horror that comes on all murderers came on him.”

“But why did Parks tell that false story about a robbery at his house?”

“In order to get hold of the gems before the rightful owner could identify them and in order to make the police believe that Mrs. Parks was a thief and a companion of thieves. It gave him a chance to tell this lie about stock gambling.”

Mrs. Parks recovered, but she declined to appear against her husband.

“I never wish to look on his face again,” she said. “He is a bad man and deserves punishment, but you must deal with him on a charge of robbery, not on a charge of assault.”

And from this position she refused to be moved.

But Nick did not press the matter.

As the leader of a gang of burglars, Parks was put on trial and sentenced to ten years.

Nick thought he had seen the last of him when he saw him go on board the train in charge of Special Detective Jones, who was to convey the criminal to Sing Sing.

But Parks was not a man to take his punishment without an effort to escape it.

He had prepared for this trip to Sing Sing.

Docilely he took his seat alongside the plain-clothes man in the smoking car, which was then empty.

Jones took out a paper and settled himself back for the long ride; glancing once or twice at the placid face of the man beside him.

Truth to tell, he had an immense respect for this criminal leader, and he appreciated the responsibility of the task that had devolved upon him in lieu of the deputy sheriff who usually escorted prisoners to Sing Sing.

The car began to fill, but no one glanced at the detective and his prisoner, for Jones was in plain clothes, and his newspaper covered the handcuffs that linked Parks’ right hand with the left hand of the detective.

Parks ventured a word or two and presently led Detective Jones into a conversation. He was a highly educated man, and he had the gift of telling a story in an interesting fashion.

“By the way,” he said; “have you any objection to my smoking?”

“No; go ahead,” said Jones, pleasantly.

With his unfettered left hand Parks drew from his pocket a cigar case, fumbled with it a minute or two, and soon had a long, black weed between his teeth.

“Can I offer you a smoke?” he asked, hesitatingly.

The cigar case stopped on its way to his pocket, while he waited for the detective’s answer.

“Thanks. Don’t mind if I do.”

“Help yourself.”

There was a peculiar gleam in his eyes as the detective struck a match and lit up.

Parks talked on pleasantly for a little while, but soon relapsed into silence as the train rushed on, carrying him nearer and nearer to Sing Sing.

The car was uncomfortably warm. There was a drowsiness about the air that made it difficult to keep the eyes open.

At any rate, that was how Detective Jones felt.

He tried to fasten his attention on a particularly thrilling newspaper story, but the letters danced before his eyes; his eyes closed; he was asleep.

Parks emitted a grunt that might mean anything, then stretching out his legs and resting his head on the back of the seat, he followed his escort’s example and closed his eyes.

The train sped on. Passengers came and went, but Detective Jones still slept.

Mr. Parks seemed to be asleep, too, but there was no one more awake than he at that moment.

“The drugged cigar has done its work.”

This was the thought that surged in his brain. He mentally repeated the phrase over and over again, then cautiously he opened his eyes.

Just across the aisle were two Italian workmen, too much engrossed in reciting their individual woes to notice anything else.

Over his shoulder he got a glimpse of a commercial man, studying his notebook. There was no danger to be apprehended from this quarter.

Under cover of the newspaper he slid his left hand over to the detective’s waistcoat.

It was a moment of horrible anxiety as his fingers touched a key.

But Detective Jones was still dead to the world.

Next moment the key snapped in the lock and Parks was free.

A swift glance around assured him that his actions had not been observed.

Emboldened by his success, he rifled the pockets of the sleeping detective.

“I’ll need a few extra dollars,” he told himself, though he despised this petty theft.

At the next stop he left his seat, and, mingling with the other travelers, passed out.