Chapter V: A Terrible Poison

"Mr. Rogers," said Nick, when he was alone with that young gentleman, "can you come with me for about two hours?"

"Now?"

"Yes; at once."

"Where are you going?" asked the young man.

"To police headquarters."

"Police headquarters?" exclaimed Rogers, in dismay. "What on earth do you want me to go there for, Mr. Carter. You surely have not placed this matter in the hands of the police?"

"No, sir. The suspicion or fact that your father has been murdered is unknown to a single soul, outside you and me."

"But won’t my going to police headquarters attract attention?"

"I have arranged that no one shall know of your visit. If it was not of great importance, I should not ask you to leave the house at such a time."

"Very well, sir," said Rogers. "Let us go at once, as my uncle will be back at five o’clock for dinner. He goes away by the six-thirty train."

"Where is he now?" asked Nick.

"With the lawyer, in Boston. My father left him sole executor."

When they arrived at police headquarters, they were met by the chief, who ushered them into his private room.

"We wish to see the prisoner without being observed by him," said Nick. "Use the screen."

"All right," said the chief.

He requested his visitors to stand behind a large screen, in which there were several small holes.

A few minutes afterward Gonzales appeared, accompanied by Waldo. Nick now directed Rogers to look through one of the holes in the screen.

The young man did so, and immediately drew back with a visible shudder. He seemed to be extremely agitated upon recognizing the Cuban, and was about to say something to Nick, when that gentleman put his finger to his lips and signaled him to be silent.

At that moment the chief said to the prisoner:

"What is your name?"

"Manuel Gonzales."

"Write your name in this book."

This was in compliance with a request which Nick had made.

When the prisoner had been removed, Rogers turned quickly to Nick Carter and exclaimed:

"That was her brother. His name is Alvarez, not Gonzales."

"When did you see this man last?" asked Nick, when they got outside.

"Last winter. At Tampa, Florida."

"Are you quite certain you have not seen him since then?"

"Absolutely certain. But how on earth did you get hold of him, and for what?"

"You will know that later, Mr. Rogers."

They were now driving rapidly toward Dorchester, and Nick decided to discontinue his investigations until he was safely closeted with his companion in the latter’s home.

Having arrived there, Nick asked him abruptly:

"Was Dr. Lord at Tampa with you last winter?"

"Yes."

"Did he also meet this fellow Alvarez?"

"I am not certain; but I think he must have seen him, as he and I frequently went to the gambling rooms where Alvarez did business."

"Tell me," said Nick. "Would it not be to your interest if your sister did not marry Dr. Lord?"

This sudden question confused young Rogers.

"I do not know what you mean, Mr. Carter," he faltered.

"I will put it plainer. Do you wish your sister to marry Dr. Lord?"

"I do."

"Now, Mr. Rogers, I want you to answer me truthfully: Are you afraid of your wife?"

"I do not understand."

"Come, sir, are you not afraid that the price of her secrecy about your marriage will be a perpetual blackmail?"

The young man became very nervous; but he answered:

"Yes; I do fear that she will continue to blackmail me."

"For that reason," said Nick, "would you not like to have the one hundred and thirty thousand dollars which your sister would lose if she did not marry Dr. Lord?"

"I assure you, Mr. Carter, that, no matter what that woman--my wife--wishes, I sincerely hope to see my sister married to the doctor."

Nick noticed that he put particular emphasis upon the words, "no matter what that woman wishes," and he did not ask the young man another question.

Ten minutes later he rang the bell at Dr. Lord’s door and was admitted.

"Well, sir," said the doctor, who was visibly displeased when he saw Nick, "I thought I told you yesterday that I had no surgical instruments that wanted repairing."

"So you did, doctor; but I have made a discovery that may interest you."

"What is it?" asked the doctor. "I am in a hurry, for I have to visit a patient."

"It is this," said Nick, producing the hypodermic syringe case.

The doctor became interested.

"Oh, you have discovered something about that, have you?"

"Yes, doctor."

"Have you found the owner?"

"No," said Nick, intently watching his listener’s face. "I have not discovered the owner; but I have found the point that was broken off."

"Let me see it," said the doctor.

Nick handed it to him.

"Yes," said the medical man; "this is certainly the missing point. Where did you find it?"

"Ah, that’s a secret, doctor. But I believe you know the person to whom it belongs."

"Absurd! If I did, I should not have given it to you."

"It was well you did," said Nick, "or we might never have been able to locate where this point came from."

"It makes very little difference one way or the other," said the doctor, who was now beginning to feel bored.

"Don’t you remember," said Nick, "that I said it was of Spanish make?"

"Well, what of that?"

"Had you not a Spanish visitor the day before yesterday?"

The doctor started.

"What do you mean?" he cried.

"I was thinking that perhaps he might have left it behind. And if you gave me his address, doctor, I would call upon him and offer to mend it."

Dr. Lord laughed and said:

"Yes, I had a Spanish visitor the day before yesterday. But it wasn’t a man. It was a lady."

"I found a new kind of fluid in this little syringe, doctor," said Nick, adroitly changing the subject.

"Indeed?"

"Yes. You know that people who understand surgical instruments usually go in for a little chemistry, too. When I examined the cylinder of this syringe I noticed a small quantity of colorless liquid in it; so I took it out and analyzed it."

The doctor was now becoming interested again, and Nick continued:

"I found it was a terrible poison."

"What?" cried Dr. Lord.

"Yes, doctor. That little syringe contained enough poison to kill a dozen men."

"You astonish me!" said the doctor.

"I have a little vial of the same drug here," said Nick, producing the one which he had picked up in the snow.

Dr. Lord took it in his hand and examined it curiously.

"You are certain that this is the same fluid?" he said, looking inquiringly at Nick.

"Absolutely certain, doctor. And it strikes me that it is a rather dangerous one to give a hypodermic injection with."

"You forget," said the doctor, "that all drugs are greatly diluted before being used for injection purposes."

"That is true," said Nick, apologetically.

"However," said Dr. Lord, "I shall consider it a favor if you will allow me to examine this. I have never seen anything like it before."

"You may do so," said Nick, and he continued: "Perhaps you would like to know where I discovered the point of the syringe?"

"Yes. Where did you find it?"

"In a dead man’s wrist!"

"What?" cried the doctor.

"It is as I have said," calmly rejoined Nick. "And now, doctor, I shall not detain you any longer from your patient. I shall call for the vial to-morrow."