Chapter XXI: A Man and His Double

“This is astonishing!” exclaimed the president, dismissing the cashier with a wave of his hand.

“It certainly is a remarkable coincidence,” said Nick Carter. “If your cashier is correct in what he has just told us, then the man who was mistaken by Miss Templin for her father was Mackenzie, late of Elmwood, Pennsylvania.”

“There doesn’t seem to be a doubt about that,” agreed the president.

“Then while I prosecute my inquiries for Miss Templin, I can at the same time probably serve your company,” said Nick, addressing the president of the Scotia.

“Not only my company, but the four other companies besides. I have seen the presidents or managers of the other four this forenoon, and they authorized me to take charge of the affair and secure an investigation.”

“When were your suspicions aroused that the Mackenzie affair might not be exactly all right?”

“Yesterday afternoon.”

“How?”

“By the receipt of a telegram from Elmwood, announcing the death of Mackenzie.”

“Who sent the telegram?”

“It was signed ‘John A. Abbott.’”

“Do you know him?”

“No; never heard of him.”

“You thought it strange that the death should thus be announced to your company?”

“Yes. It is quite unusual. But there are other strange features about the case. A similar telegram was received by each of the other four companies. What is more suspicious still, the premiums on three of the other policies would have been due to-day, and the remaining one next week. The first insurance was secured in our company. Nine days later he took out policies in three more companies, and a week later still, in the fifth.”

“This is all you have upon which to base your suspicions that something is wrong in the case?”

“No. After these telegrams were received yesterday, our general manager, during my absence from the city, secretly sent an agent of the company to Elmwood for a little private investigation. This morning we received a message from him. Here it is.”

The president handed a telegram to Nick, which the detective read:

“Better send a shrewd detective at once.”

“Anything more?”

“No.”

“I will go to Elmwood.”

“When?”

“This evening. I can get a train at five o’clock, which will set me down at Elmwood about eight.”

“Good. You will find our man, Foster, at the best hotel in the town.”

“No. I want you to recall your man immediately. He must not be there when I arrive.”

“But you’ll be gone before he can reach New York.”

“Yes. We’ll probably pass each other on the way.”

“Then how can you get the benefit of his investigation?”

“I don’t want it.”

“Why?”

“Maybe I should have said I do not need it. Surely I ought to be able to discover anything he has discovered. Then I don’t want his deductions. They might mislead me. A detective’s own theories are usually better and safer than those of an amateur.”

“Very well, Mr. Carter. We will recall Foster.”

“Before I go, will you give me what information you have of the history of Mackenzie? I mean as to his age, birthplace, family history and other things shown by his application for a policy.”

“Oh, I see. I’ll send and get the application from the files.”

When the insurance company’s application in the case of Miles Mackenzie was laid before Nick, he looked it rapidly over, and mentally noted such points as he thought might be of interest in his investigation.

The application was made two years before.

The applicant’s age was given as fifty-seven years; born in Scotland; only child of parents who were both dead; family history good; father and mother both died at a ripe old age; never had been seriously ill in his life; medical examination eminently satisfactory; married the second time; had one child--a son by first wife; his living wife was made the beneficiary under the policy.

“Seems to have been a good risk,” commented Nick, as he handed the application to the president.

“One of the best we ever had at that age,” was the reply.

“His premiums must have been very large?”

“They were. In the two years he has paid to the five companies more than sixty thousand dollars.”

Nick arose to go.

“You will hear from me, Mr. President, within a few days,” he said.

“Then you think there will be little trouble in showing fraud of some kind in this case?”

“Oh, I did not intend to convey that idea. If there be fraud, it ought to be proven in a very short time. If everything is legitimate, then the fact must also be readily established. Therefore, I anticipate a speedy report, but whether it will be favorable to your interests or not, I cannot promise until I have first gone to Elmwood.”

On their way uptown, Nick said to Miss Templin:

“Did this Dr. Greene own his sanitarium at Oakland when Mr. Templin was a patient at that place?”

“You mean the real estate?”

“Yes.”

“I think he did.”

“Then when he went to Australia, he sold out to some one?”

“That is what I understand--to the man who is now in possession.”

“Can you find out for me the amount realized by him in this conveyance?”

“Quite easily. An intimate friend in San Francisco, with whom I have constantly corresponded, can get the information, through her brother.”

“Then telegraph to her to send it to you without delay.”

“Mr. Carter, do you----”

“Now, Miss Templin, you must ask me no questions, but be ready to answer those I have to put to you at any time. You will stay here in New York a few days?”

“Oh, yes. I must remain at the St. James until Mr. Lonsdale arrives, and that will be nearly a week longer.”

“Then stay in your room as much as is altogether convenient, and hold yourself in readiness to come to me at Elmwood in an hour’s notice, should I send for you,” was Nick’s parting injunction, as Miss Templin got ready to leave the elevated train at Twenty-eighth Street.

Nick continued on uptown, and Miss Templin proceeded at once to the St. James.

Just as she was going into the hotel at the Twenty-eighth Street entrance, she was noticed by one of two men who happened to be passing on Broadway.

One was a man apparently about fifty years of age, of medium height and stockily built. He wore a closely cropped, full beard, of a sandy hue, and was clad in a business suit of light gray.

His companion was a much younger man, whose age could not have been more than thirty-five. He wore no beard at all, but his smooth, pale face showed the close-shaved stubble of a beard which would be intensely black were it allowed to grow, and his closely-cropped head of hair was of the same hue.

It was this younger one of the two who first saw Miss Templin. Instantly he grew excited and exclaimed, as he grasped his companion by the arm:

“Good heavens, Dent! Look there!”

“Look where? Why, what is the matter?”

“Did you see that woman go into the St. James just now?”

“No. Who was it?”

“Louise Templin.”

“Are you sure?”

“As sure as I am that you are you and I am I.”

“That’s bad--at this time.”

“I should say it was. I’m going to see what she is doing in New York. I had no idea she was back from Europe. Go on up to the Coleman House. I’ll join you there in the bar.”

The man addressed as Dent continued on up Broadway, and his companion entered the St. James Hotel from the Broadway side.

Miss Templin was standing in front of the telegraph booth, writing a message.

The stranger walked slowly past, behind her back, and managed to read at a glance what the young lady had written, and to which she was putting her signature.

The telegram read:

“Find out and telegraph me at once sum paid to Dr. Greene by present owner of Greene’s Sanitarium.”

The newcomer strolled on up to the office desk, and thence into the reading room, from which place he saw Miss Templin enter the elevator and go upstairs.

Then he left by the Twenty-eighth Street door, and soon joined his companion at the Coleman House.

“Dent,” he said, “it is worse than I feared. That woman is here for no good.”

“What have you discovered?”

“She just now sent a telegram to San Francisco, asking for information as to the price paid for Greene’s Sanitarium by the present owner.”

“Are you sure?”

“I read the telegram.”

“What will you do?”

“What will I do? That telegram sealed Louise Templin’s fate. She’ll never get an answer.”