Chapter IV: A Scarlet Thread

It was eleven o’clock when Nick Carter and Patsy entered the extensive business establishment of the leading New York costumer, Monsieur Jules Perrot, in Fifth Avenue. Perrot himself, a suave and polished Frenchman, happened to be conspicuously in evidence and hastened to meet them, bowing and smiling and rubbing his hands.

Nick addressed him quietly and introduced himself, evoking ejaculations and a more intent and interested stare from Perrot, which turned to an expression of gravity when the detective stated his mission.

“I will aid you wiz pleasure, monsieur,” he said readily. “Walk into my office, please, both of you. Ze devil must have been abroad last night, ze wolf in ze lamb’s clothing. _Pardieu!_ your case is not all, Monsieur Carter. There is another.”

“Another, Mr. Perrot?” questioned Nick. “What do you mean?”

“Wait! I will bring my books,” said Perrot, turning to enter an outer office. “I will bring my books--and ze letter!”

“Gee! this looks like something more in the wind,” remarked Patsy.

“I am more inclined to think that all relates to one job,” Nick replied. “It would be strange, indeed, if there were two at just this time and place. We can presently tell.”

Perrot returned while Nick was speaking, bringing a book containing the daily record of his rented costumes, and over his arm--the costume of a Mexican toreador, seen by Nick the previous night, and worn by the man who had slipped the forged note into the hands of Mollie Waldmere.

“H’m! I thought so,” Nick quietly remarked to Patsy, at once recognizing the costume. “There is but one job, in which all of these costumes figure. I will stake my reputation on that.”

“Ziss was returned to me ziss morning by a messenger,” said Perrot, laying the costume on a table. “In ze pocket of ze blouse was found ziss sheet of paper, on which is written--but you shall see. You shall see for yourself, Monsieur Carter.”

He turned to an open roll-top desk, from which he took a somewhat crumpled scrap of paper, evidently torn from a notebook. Written on it with a lead pencil were the following lines:

“DEAR OLD PAL: I am waiting with the car where you directed. Bring
the gink out quickly, or a gun may move me on. Land him in the car,
pal, and I’ll do the rest. I’ve got the stuff to quiet him until we
can slip him the steel. I’ll pick you up as directed. Have the cat
land him and there’ll be nothing to it.

TOBY.”

Nick Carter frowned while he read this communication, so suggestive of sanguinary designs. Had it been written by the driver of the limousine in which Waldmere was seen to depart with an unknown woman? Was it she referred to as the cat? Had the note been sent in to the wearer of the toreador costume? Had he slipped it into the pocket and inadvertently left it there when returning the costume?

Naturally, of course, these questions at once arose in Nick’s mind, and they seemed to compel affirmative answers. He gave the note to Patsy to read, then turned to Perrot and inquired:

“When was this costume returned?”

“A messenger brought it about an hour ago,” said Perrot. “My girl Marie found the paper in the pocket and brought it to me. It was not there when the costume went out. We are sure of that, Monsieur Carter.”

“Who had the costume last night?”

“It was let to a man who gave the name of John Talbot, address Lexington Avenue. He paid in advance and sent for ze costume yesterday afternoon. I have sent my clerk to ze address, but no such a man is known there.”

“That does not surprise me,” said Nick. “Talbot was a stranger to you?”

“Yes, Monsieur Carter, a total stranger.”

“Do you recall him? Can you describe him?”

“Only that he is a man of good build, quite dark, and with a beard.”

“The beard cuts no ice,” said Nick, taking the note from Patsy. “If engaged in such deviltry as this suggests, he would have called here in disguise. I will keep this note, Mr. Perrot, and look into the matter.”

Perrot signified his consent with a bow, a smile, and numerous gestures.

“_Pardieu!_” he exclaimed. “As you will, Monsieur Carter. I wondered if I ought to give it to ze police.”

“You have done better,” Nick assured him. “Now, Mr. Perrot, about the costume hired by Mrs. Archie Waldmere.”

“Ha, I remember!” said Perrot. “Madame is one fine lady. It was ze lace costume of Night.”

“That’s the one,” bowed Nick. “Do you remember when she engaged it?”

“One week to-day, Monsieur Carter. Wait--I will be sure. I will show you ze entry.”

Perrot hastened to find it in the book, and the date confirmed his statement.

“Was the costume seen, or let to any other person, during the week?” Nick inquired.

“It was, monsieur,” Perrot said quickly. “It was let two days later to a young woman who--wait! I will show you. Ha, it is here! To Miss Belle Blair, Boston Road, Fordham. She paid in advance and returned it ze next day. It was in ze pairfect order. One would not think she had worn it.”

“Nor had she,” Nick said dryly.

“Hey! What is that? You think----”

“I think, Perrot, that you must say nothing of any of this to others,” Nick pointedly interrupted. “There is a crime involved, and I rely upon your discretion.”

“_Pardieu!_ You may safely do so.”

“The Night costume was hired only in order to make one so nearly resembling it as to defy ordinary inspection,” Nick added. “But the name of the woman is not Belle Blair, nor does she reside in Fordham. She is a crook, as well as the said Talbot.”

“That’s dead open and shut, chief,” remarked Patsy. “They worked along the same lines.”

“Exactly,” Nick nodded; then, to Perrot: “Have the costumes let to Mr. and Mrs. Waldmere been returned?”

“Not yet, Monsieur Carter, and there is no haste. I know them. That is enough.”

“And I think you can add nothing to the information you have given me,” said Nick, smiling. “I am obliged to you for it. Here is my card. If anything turns up later, perchance, telephone to me.”

Perrot promised to do so, and the detective departed.

“Gee! this certainly looks bad, chief, don’t it?” questioned Patsy, as they walked down the avenue.

“Superficially, Patsy, it certainly does,” Nick allowed.

“Was some one out to get Waldmere? Has he been turned down in cold blood?”

“I am not ready to say. I wish to dig a little deeper.”

One o’clock that afternoon brought additional evidence. It came through Monsieur Perrot, who was admitted to the detective’s residence in a state of suppressed excitement.

He brought in a paper wrapper--the cape of the Spanish cavalier costume worn by Archie Waldmere the previous night.

It was gashed in two places with a knife, as if the wearer had been stabbed, and the cloth was saturated with blood.

Perrot stated that it had been found by an East River boatman. It was caught on a spike in the river wall at which one of the crosstown streets end, directly over the swirling waters of the East River.

The boatman had given the cape to a policeman, who found Perrot’s name on it and began an investigation. When told that Nick already was at work on the case, the officer at once sent the costumer to the detective to exhibit the garment and state the circumstances mentioned.

Nick examined the cape carefully after Perrot had departed, and subjected the stains to a test.

“Human blood, Patsy,” he remarked. “There is no question about it.”

“Gee! the case looks worse and worse,” Patsy replied gravely. “It appears like dollars to fried holes that Waldmere was knifed to death. The collar is torn, as if he put up a struggle.”

“So I see,” Nick nodded, still inspecting the garment.

“And the two gashes are on the left side, as if thrusts were aimed at his heart. Gee whiz! it looks to me, chief, as if he was brutally killed and then chucked into the East River.”

“Go up to the street Bolton mentioned,” said Nick, referring to the policeman. “See whether there is any sign of blood on the river wall, or the near street. Question the people living close by and find out whether a motor car was heard to stop there during the night.”

“I’ve got you, chief,” said Patsy, hastening to make ready.

“Report as soon as possible.”

“Trust me for that.”

It was three o’clock when Patsy returned, and his report was still further convincing.

He had found marks of blood on the river wall and in the near street.

Two near residents, moreover, had heard a motor car stop there just before midnight, but had supposed only that some person was returning home.

Nick heard this report without any comments. It was not much different from what he was expecting.

Chick Carter had returned from Brooklyn, in the meantime, and was discussing his call on Mrs. Ringold when Patsy entered. He now resumed it with Nick, saying quite earnestly:

“They employ only four servants. One is a chauffeur, but he is married and has a home of his own.”

“He’s out of it, then,” said Nick. “Who are the others?”

“A housekeeper of nearly sixty, who has been there several years.”

“It’s safe to drop her, also.”

“That leaves only the cook, in whom Mrs. Ringold has absolute confidence, and a girl who serves as a maid, named Annette Levine. She has been there less than a year.”

“Did you see her?” Nick inquired.

“Rather!” said Chick expressively. “She was so much in evidence that I could not help suspecting her.”

“You mean?”

“Merely that she passed through the hall five times while I was talking with Mrs. Ringold in the library,” Chick explained. “I had cautioned Mrs. Ringold to speak low, so I know that the girl could not have overheard us. But I noticed that she glanced furtively into the room each time she passed the open door.”

“Gee! that girl needs looking after,” said Patsy, who had been listening.

“Describe her, Chick.”

“Oh, she’s a slender, thin-featured girl of about twenty, possibly a little older. She has gray, catty eyes and a foxy countenance. I agree with Patsy that she needs looking after.”

Nick turned abruptly to his junior assistant.

“Go over there, Patsy, and watch the house until you are sure Annette Levine is in bed for the night,” he directed.

“I told Mrs. Ringold to give the girl the evening, if she asked for it,” put in Chick.

“So much the better. You will know what to do, Patsy, in that case.”

“You bet I’ll know, chief,” cried Patsy, hurriedly departing.

“In the meantime, Chick, you had better see the policemen who were on duty in the street back of the Carrington place last night,” said Nick. “One of them may have noticed that particular limousine, or its driver. Find out who they were and what they can tell you.”