Chapter III: An Audacious Demand

Nick Carter would not have been recognized by his most intimate friend when, at nine o’clock the following morning, he entered the Broad Street building in which the banking and brokerage offices of Madden, Mellen & Mack were located.

Nick appeared, in fact, like an elderly investor in stocks and bonds, a sedate and deliberate old gentleman, modestly clad, and who hooked his cane over his arm while he produced and tendered a card to a clerk in the outer office, at the same time requesting an interview with the head of the firm.

Nick was immediately conducted to an interior room, in which all three members of the firm were seated. It contained three roll-top desks, a table laden with books, papers, and documents, and a partly screened stand in one corner, on which was a large typewriter.

Nick noticed that the machine was covered and that the stenographer had not yet arrived.

Mr. Mellen, the second member of the firm, was an energetic man of middle age, their operator on the floor of the Stock Exchange, which necessitated his absence from the office during most of the business hours. He arose to go, in fact, very soon after the detective entered.

The junior member was David Mack, who acted as cashier for the firm. He was much younger, still under forty, a well-built, clean-cut man, with a smoothly shaved face, quite dark and attractive. He was personally the most up-to-date and striking man of the three.

Mr. Madden, looking pale and anxious after a sleepless night, at once arose to receive the detective.

“I would never know you, Nick, had I forgotten your fictitious name,” he said, smiling gravely, while he shook hands with Nick. “I have confided in my partners, of course, from whom I have no secrets. Their discretion may be safely relied upon.”

Nick acknowledged the introductions that followed, shaking hands with both bankers and remarking agreeably:

“You have done quite right, Mr. Madden. These gentlemen will, I am sure, do what I advise in this matter.”

“Yes, yes, Mr. Carter, surely,” Mellen quickly asserted. “We feel nearly as anxious as Mr. Madden concerning his daughter, and fully as indignant over this outrage. We will do whatever you suggest.”

David Mack also nodded approvingly, saying familiarly, with an expressive gleam in his dark eyes:

“It’s more than an outrage, Carter. It’s deviltry, infernal deviltry, of the most satanic kind. Hanging is too good for such scoundrels.”

“I agree with you, Mr. Mack,” Nick replied.

“As for doing what you advise, Carter, it looks to me as if I might do very much more,” Mack forcibly added. “But I’m game--I’m game for it. I’ll show these knaves what kind of wood shingles are made of, providing I can trick them in some way and turn the tables on them.”

“That must be Greek to Mr. Carter,” said Mellen, rising to go. “He must see that letter in order to understand you.”

“Yes, yes, the letter will explain,” John Madden put in. “It came in our morning mail, as promised, and it fully confirms your theory. Hand it to him, David. Let him see for himself.”

“It’s a dastardly, devilish outrage,” Mack declared again, handing Nick the communication in question. “Such miscreants ought to be tarred and feathered and then burned at a stake. Read it, Carter, for yourself.”

Nick took the sheet of paper and examined it. He saw at a glance that it had been torn from a pad of perfectly plain paper, obviously to preclude tracing the writer by means of it.

Instead of having been written, however, the communication was neatly printed with a lead pencil, occasional erasures denoting that considerable care had been taken in forming the printed letters.

The communication read as follows:

“MR. JOHN MADDEN: The undersigned need money--of which you have a
thousand times more than you really need.

“In order to separate you from the amount we require, therefore, we
have begun with separating you from something more dear to you than
money--your child.

“The situation now is a simple one. It needs no elaboration. You
want your stolen child. We want half a million dollars.

“That is the price you must pay--or suffer an only alternative.

“If you submit and consent to pay this ransom, acting directly in
accord with instructions we shall give, your child will be quickly
and safely restored to you.

“If you refuse, or attempt to dicker over the payment, we will send
you the girl--laid out for burial. There is no middle course.

“Half a million ransom--or death.

“This is the only letter we shall send you. We refuse, furthermore,
to treat directly with you. You are too old a man to engage in
such business. Negotiations must be continued, therefore, and the
ransom finally paid, by a third party--some representative in whom
you have absolute confidence.

“Lest you resort to subterfuge, however, and appoint some one who
would make trouble for us, Nick Carter for example, instead of
rigidly following our instructions, which is imperative to the
safety of your daughter, we appoint a representative who should be
entirely satisfactory to you--Mr. David Mack, your junior partner.

“It is up to you, now, to command him to rigidly follow our
instructions. Any deviation from them will be fatal to your
hopes--and fatal to your child.

“David Mack will hear from us later. A personal interview with him
is necessary. He must do precisely what we direct. As long as he
does, he will be in no personal peril. If he attempts trickery,
however, he will meet the fate of a trickster. No more need be
said. There remains only to act. And upon how you act--all will
depend.

“David Mack must make no move, however, until he hears from me. He
will be given explicit instructions, which he must follow to the
letter. Beware of any deviation from them--and of the vengeance of

“RALPH REDLAW, Chief of the Needy Nine.”

Twice from beginning to end, without once looking up from the pencil-printed sheet, Nick Carter read this threatening communication, with its amazingly audacious demand. His face did not reflect his thoughts. If he read between the lines the answer to Chick Carter’s pertinent question, or even a hint at the answer, his serious, unchanging countenance did not reveal it.

John Madden watched him anxiously.

David Mack gazed at him with fixed and searching scrutiny.

Neither banker broke the silence until the detective looked up from the printed sheet.

“Well, what do you think of it?” Mack then asked bluntly. “Isn’t it the limit? Could you beat it?”

“How to beat the rascals is a more pertinent question,” Nick replied, with grim austerity.

“True. That goes without saying.”

“What are your views, Nick?” Mr. Madden asked, more gravely. “I am anxious for your opinion.”

“The scoundrels mean business, Mr. Madden,” Nick replied, glancing again at the letter. “I take no stock in this signature, Ralph Redlaw, Chief of the Needy Nine. The name is fictitious. Furthermore, I don’t believe that there are nine persons engaged in this felony. Crooks seldom take chances by trusting so many confederates unless the size of the conspiracy requires it. That is not essential in this case. Four or five, or even three, could have done the job as easily as nine. This entire signature is only a blind.”

“Surely,” Mack nodded. “That’s my opinion.”

“The letter was printed, instead of written, in order to preclude identification of the sender by means of his handwriting,” Nick continued. “Plain paper was used with a like purpose. As I have said, however, the scoundrels mean business. Furthermore, they are not ordinary criminals, not a gang of thugs and illiterate crooks. The letter plainly shows them to be persons of intelligence, as well as knavish determination. They certainly mean business.”

“Business be hanged!” Mack blurted. “So do we mean business, Carter, or should. Half a million ransom--why, that’s outrageous, absurd, utterly preposterous. I never would pay it. I would spend half a million, instead, in running down this gang of mercenaries and bringing them to justice.”

“How would you set about it?” Nick inquired tentatively.

“Well, I don’t know,” Mack admitted. “I cannot say offhand. I would find a way, nevertheless, if any way exists. Half a million--it’s devilish, nothing less. I never would pay it.”

“Don’t say that, Dave,” Mr. Madden gravely protested. “It is an outrageous demand, I admit, but the writer of that letter made one true statement, at least--that I have been separated from something more dear to me than money. I would pay the ransom within an hour, Dave, if convinced that my darling’s life depended upon it.”

“Well, that’s for you to decide,” David Mack rejoined. “I appreciate your feelings, of course, but I first would give these miscreants a desperate run for the money. I’ll do my part, Carter, you can bet on that. I’ll take any kind of a chance to get the best of them. They may find they have made a big mistake in appointing me to conduct their infernal negotiations. I’ll find some way to thwart them.”

David Mack looked quite capable of doing what he asserted, for he was a clean-cut, athletic man, whose indignation was evidently stirred to its depths. His bitter voice and flashing eyes, moreover, spoke volumes.

Nick gazed at him for a moment before replying, then said approvingly:

“Your remarks have the true ring, Mr. Mack, and I’m glad to note it. On the contrary, however, you must not undertake to thwart these scoundrels.”

“Not undertake it!” Dave gasped. “Good heavens! you don’t mean, Carter, that you advise paying this ransom?”

“No, I do not,” Nick assured him. “But the situation is one that requires skillful handling. A blunder of any kind might cost the child her life. I mean what I said in the beginning, Mr. Mack. You must be governed by my instructions. I am better able than you to devise a way to foil these knaves and recover the stolen child.”

“Very true,” Dave quickly admitted. “That will be agreeable to me, Carter, more than agreeable. I will do whatever you direct. Command me in any way. I’m game. I’ll take any kind of a chance. What are your plans?”