Chapter V: Benton, the Englishman

After Nick’s cross-examination of the nurse he had an interview with Inspector McLaughlin.

He was still conversing with the inspector when Chick appeared.

“Benton is your man,” said Chick.

“Not Ellis Benton?” asked the inspector, quickly.

“That’s he.”

“Has that crook set up in business again?”

“No doubt of it. I have been in his place this afternoon,” said Chick.

Perhaps the reader does not know Ellis Benton so well as the three persons who were present on the occasion described.

Therefore, it may be necessary to explain that Benton is an Englishman, about fifty years old, who has been notorious at various times, as a receiver of stolen goods.

He is undoubtedly one of the sharpest rascals in his line of business, and has made a great deal of money dishonestly. It does not do him much good, however, for he plays faro and never wins.

His enormous losses at the game make him all the more daring and grasping. His success in disposing of stolen jewels is especially remarkable.

“I’ve been in his place,” said Chick, “and I’ve learned that he has important business for to-night.”

“How did you find that out?”

“I offered to bring him a lot of stuff at midnight. He wouldn’t hear of it. His answers to my questions made me sure that he has something big on hand.

“What do you suspect?” asked the inspector.

“I’ll tell you my opinion and my plan,” said Nick. “You know that Helstone’s gang holds its plunder till it shifts its quarters. Then it turns loose upon some ‘fence.’

“When the gang was driven out of East Tenth Street, you remember, its plunder was turned over to old man Abrahams.”

“Yes,” said the inspector, “my men got a tremendous lot of it.”

“The stuff, you will remember,” said Nick, “was all turned in the night before Abrahams’ place was raided.”

“True.”

“And Abrahams maintained that at least a dozen persons had brought it.”

“Yes.”

“Well, I conclude from that that Helstone’s gang does not intrust its plunder to any one person. When it is to be disposed of the whole gang is present.

“There’s no other way of understanding Abrahams’ story which was as near the truth as anything he ever said. It was all right except his descriptions of the men. They were drawn from his imagination.”

“Yes,” assented the inspector, “he was too shrewd to put his customers in quod. He may need them when he gets out himself.”

“Just so,” said Nick, “and now for my plan. I believe that Helstone’s gang is just on the point of disposing of its plunder.

“None of Lusker’s stuff has shown up anywhere yet, nor Alterberg’s either. The gang still holds it.

“But now that attention is directed to them they’ll want to turn their swag into cash. Greenbacks are the things to have if sudden flight is necessary. Yes; some ‘fence’ is going to get Helstone’s stuff very soon.

“Now, in my opinion, Benton is the man they’ll go to. He is just the man for them. I’ve had Chick look over the field, and he agrees with me that there are ten chances to one that Benton will get their plunder.

“What I propose to do, therefore, is to capture Benton’s place on the quiet. Not a whisper must be heard on the outside.

“When that is done I’ll wait in the old thief’s place. I’ll disguise myself as Benton, and receive his customers.”

“Very pretty,” said the inspector. “You’ll bag a lot of game.”

“We ought to get a good part of the gang.”

“I think so, but you won’t get Helstone himself.”

“Why not?”

“He’s too shrewd to put his head into the trap.”

“I don’t agree with you.”

“Well, Nick, I have perfect confidence in your skill. Go ahead. I hope Helstone will be among our mice, but I can’t think so.”

“Inspector,” said Nick, quietly, “when my trap is sprung, Doc Helstone’s neck will be pinched harder than that of any other mouse in it.”

“Good. Do you want any men?”

“No; Chick and I will do the job.”

“Where is Benton located?”

“At No.--Sixth Avenue.”

“In the rear?”

“Yes.”

“I know the building. It runs back so far that it cuts into the cross-town lots.”

“That’s it. There’s a little square yard just back of it. An alley runs from the yard to the street below, and there are other near entrances.”

“With a sentry guarding each.”

“No doubt of it.”

“And you’ve got to get in without alarming any one of them.”

Nick nodded.

“Well, if it was anybody but you, Nick, I’d say it couldn’t be done. Of course we have sprung traps of that kind, but not when men like Benton were inside. Take care of yourselves, and if there’s any cutting or shooting, let the other fellows get it. The community can spare Benton or any of his crew better than it can spare you two.”

With this piece of good advice, the inspector wished Nick and Chick success, and they left the office.

They walked along in the direction of the Bowery. Suddenly Chick said:

“We are followed.”

He spoke without moving his lips and his voice was like a ventriloquist’s. The whisper seemed to be at Nick’s ear, perfectly distinct. And yet a person on the other side of Chick could not have heard it.

“So I perceive,” responded Nick, in the same tone.

Neither gave the faintest sign of having discovered the pursuer.

He was an ordinary-looking young man whom neither of the detectives remembered.

“He does it pretty well,” said Chick, after an instant’s pause.

“Which of us is he after?” said Nick.

“We must find out.”

They paused on the corner of Houston Street and the Bowery and exchanged a few words.

Then Chick went up the stairs to the elevated station, and Nick walked along the Bowery, northward.

The shadow followed Nick.

The detective was dressed on this occasion in a dark blue sack suit. He wore a soft hat, and carried over his arm a light-brown fall overcoat.

Keeping fifty feet or more behind Nick, the shadow walked up the Bowery. Suddenly Nick turned sharply to the left and entered the swinging door of a saloon.

As it closed behind him, and before he passed the main door, he passed his hand over his soft hat, and it took a wholly different shape.

Then he turned the overcoat wrong side out, and slipped it on. Instead of a handsome brown overcoat on his arm he now had a shabby black one on his back.

This was done in less time than it takes to read about it, and without attracting the notice of the bartender or the two or three people in the saloon.

At the same time Nick’s shoulders seemed to grow narrower by about six inches. His figure changed utterly, lost its erectness, and its athletic appearance.

And his face---- Well, Nick Carter can do anything with his face.

When the shadow entered the saloon Nick was partaking of the free lunch. He seemed to stand in great need of it.

The shadow looked at each of the people in the saloon, and then hurried out by a side door.

The positions were now reversed. Nick followed the shadow.

On the street, the trailer tried desperately hard to get upon the scent again. Nick lounged on a corner and watched him.

The detective knew that for a little time the shadow would stick to the place where he had lost the trail.

When at last the hopelessness of it dawned upon the young man, he struck off at a rapid pace up the Bowery.

Nick kept him in sight. Thus the chase continued up to Eighth Street.

Here the shadow--now shadowed in his turn--walked up to a carriage that was standing beside the curb, and spoke a few words to somebody within.

Then the shadow passed along, and Nick followed for a little distance. As soon, however, as he could shield himself from the observation of the driver on that carriage, he dodged into a dark corner and came out transformed.

Nick wore now the semblance of the young man who had attempted to follow him. The likeness might not have deceived the young man’s mother, but in the evening and upon the street it seemed good enough to answer Nick’s purpose.

Thus disguised, Nick returned hurriedly to the carriage. He was determined to get a sight of the person within.

The coachman made no sign of suspecting anything was wrong. He sat like a statue on the box.

There was a deep shadow on the side of the carriage which Nick approached, for an electric lamp was on the opposite side of the street near the corner.

Nick went straight to the door and looked into the carriage. It was empty.

He put his head in to make sure.

As he withdrew it again, the driver, with a sudden movement, leaned over from the box and struck Nick a tremendous blow on top of the head with a blackjack.

The detective fell like a log, and the coachman, whipping up his horses, drove away rapidly.