Chapter V: The Double Reflection

Nick Carter was alone in his library at five o’clock that afternoon. Both Chick and Patsy still were absent and at work on the mystifying case.

As he frequently did when wishing to concentrate his mind upon a difficult problem, Nick had stretched himself on the library couch, relaxing physically, as an aid to his mental operations.

The dusk of the January afternoon had deepened into darkness. Joseph, the detective’s butler, had switched on the lights in the hall, the business office, and library, and he then was in the rear of the house, directing preparations for dinner.

Nick was lying with his eyes closed, deep in thought, undisturbed by the faint sounds from the avenue outside, scarce breaking the stillness then in the hall and library.

Nick was thinking of the missing man, the titled Engglishman, of Lord Archie Waldmere, and of the two previous cases in which he had served him so successfully, and in both of which the now notorious crook and escaped convict, Stuart Floyd, had figured conspicuously.

Nick was reviewing these sensational cases, as well as that then engaging him. He was wondering whether, as Chick had suggested, revenge was the motive in the present strange affair and whether Stuart Floyd might, after all, be back of the whole business.

The couch on which Nick was lying was so placed that a person reclining on it faced a mirror on one of the walls, that opposite the open door leading into the hall.

In the hall and nearly opposite this door was a large coat-and-hat stand, backed with a plate mirror. It stood at such an angle that a person lying on the couch and looking into the library mirror, which hung at an angle from the wall, could see the mirror in the hatstand, and reflected in that a portion of the hall and the front door leading to the street.

In the front door was an oval plate-glass window, with filmy lace curtains draped daintily to each side. It was plainly visible from the library by means of the double reflection under the conditions described.

The French clock on the library mantel struck the half after five.

Nick Carter heard it. It recalled to his mind the single stroke of the clock in the hall of the Carrington mansion, the half after ten the night before, a fateful moment.

Sensitive in the superlative degree, particularly to outside influences, and still thinking of the knave by whom Waldmere twice had been victimized, Nick suddenly opened his eyes.

He started slightly. He thought for an instant that he beheld a ghost, an apparition, or some mental fantasy called up by the nature of his thoughts.

For his eyes were turned toward the mirror on the wall, and in double reflection he saw the brightly lighted front hall, the massive front door, the oval window; and he beheld between the parted lace draperies the face of a man peering into the hall--the face of Stuart Floyd.

It would have caused most men to leap up from the couch, but Nick Carter never lost command of himself. He knew on the instant that this was no mental fantasy, no optical illusion.

There was no mistaking that clean-cut, hard-featured face, with its gleaming, malignant eyes and drawn, sinister lips. Its expression was like that of a dog about to bite.

“Floyd himself, as sure as fate,” flashed through Nick’s mind. “He’s gazing in here with some object in view. Can he see me, I wonder, as plainly as I can see him? He will take to his heels, in that case, if I stir to undertake catching him. But how can I otherwise get him, or contrive----”

Nick’s train of thought ended abruptly.

The face at the window suddenly vanished. Nick now leaped up and rushed through the hall, hurriedly opening the front door and descending the steps to the sidewalk. He gazed quickly in all directions. There were pedestrians to be seen in all directions--but no sign of Stuart Floyd.

An approaching taxicab was swerving toward the curbing. The glare of its lamps dazzled Nick’s eyes and prevented his seeing distinctly. He turned sharp on his heel and entered the house, going into his library, which then was unoccupied.

“By Jove, that was strange,” he said to himself, taking the swivel chair at his desk. “That certainly was Stuart Floyd. But why was he gazing into my house? Has he vengeful designs upon me? Is he out to plant a bomb, or to turn some other cowardly trick? If he----”

The doorbell rang, ending Nick’s train of thought, and he heard his butler going through the hall to answer the summons. He sprang up and intercepted him, saying quickly:

“Go back, Joseph, to the kitchen. I will answer the bell. There may be something doing.”

Joseph looked surprised but Nick did not say what more he had in mind. It was not in his nature to let another face possible peril, instead of meeting it himself. He saw Joseph retreating, and he then strode to the door and opened it.

The taxicab mentioned had stopped in front of the house. Its passenger had alighted and was standing on the steps.

“I’m looking for Mr. Nick Carter,” said he. “My driver says this is where he resides.”

“That is correct,” said Nick.

“Is he at home? I have a letter of introduction to him from----”

“Come in, sir,” Nick interposed. “Walk into my library and take a chair. What can I do for you?”

“Ah!” exclaimed the stranger. “You are Mr. Carter, then?”

“Yes. Be seated.”

Nick had sized up his visitor while speaking. He was a tall man of powerful build and somewhat over fifty. He was smooth shaved, with strong features, quite an aggressive expression, and searching gray eyes. His mouth was broad, his lips thin, his chin square, and determined.

It was a face that did not impress Nick favorably. It evinced characteristics that were not pleasing to the keen insight of the detective. The stranger was well dressed, however, in a plaid suit and voluminous frieze overcoat, both of pronounced English cut and pattern.

“I am glad I find you at home, Mr. Carter,” he said, in sonorous tones, taking a chair near that of the detective and producing a letter from his breast pocket. “Here is the introduction I mentioned. You are acquainted with Captain Phil Grady, of Scotland Yard, who is also a personal friend of mine. He is the writer and he advised me to see you.”

Nick felt some of his misgivings beginning to melt away. He glanced through the letter, introducing one Sir Edward Chadwick, of London, and he then smiled and shook hands with the Englishman.

“I know Grady very well, Mr. Chadwick,” he replied. “I am pleased to know you, also. How is my old friend, and when did you last see him?”

“Quite recently, Mr. Carter, and I left him well,” rejoined Chadwick, with a smile softening the stern line of his thin lips. “I arrived in Boston this morning and came to New York by rail. I am here on important business and need your advice, and possibly your aid. I am stopping at the New Oriental.”

“I will be glad to be of any service to you,” said Nick. “What is the nature of your business?”

“I wish to find a young man who, I have reason to believe, is somewhere in the United States.”

“Ah, I see.”

“I am a stranger here, and appreciate, of course, the difficulties of my undertaking,” Chadwick continued, with a suavity that Nick did not quite fancy. “I am his uncle, however, and accepted the mission at the earnest solicitation of his father, my elder brother, who now is on his deathbed, if not already dead.”

“I understand,” bowed the detective. “What is your nephew’s name and when did you last hear from him?”

“Nearly three years ago.”

“Where was he at that time?”

“He then was in London,” said Chadwick, spreading his large hands on his knees. “He defied his father and was disinherited and cast out by his entire family, myself included. He became infatuated with a chorus girl in an American opera company, and married her in spite of his father’s bitter opposition, the Honorable Earl of Eggleston. He fled with her from England, and----”

“One moment,” Nick interposed. “The young man is Lord Archie Waldmere, I think, a son of the Earl of Eggleston by his second wife, now deceased.”

Sir Edward Chadwick stared with manifest amazement.

“Goodness!” he exclaimed. “Is it possible, Mr. Carter, that you know him?”

“I am quite well acquainted with him.”

“And you know where he may be found?”

“Well, not at just this moment,” Nick said, a bit dryly. “He has been living in New York, however, for the past two years.”

“Well, well, that is most surprising. This is great and glorious news,” cried Chadwick, vigorously rubbing his hands. “Captain Grady was right. He said that I would get next to the right man, Mr. Carter, if I called upon you. Really, I am overjoyed.”

Nick somehow felt that the speaker’s joy was not so deep as he asserted. His voice had a twang that grated on the detective’s ears. His narrow eyes gleamed and glittered in a way, moreover, that Nick did not fancy. With no show of these distrustful feelings, however, he said agreeably:

“It certainly appears that you have come to the right man, Mr. Chadwick. So the Earl of Eggleston is on his deathbed, is he?”

“Alas, yes!”

“Is that why he is seeking his son?”

“Exactly,” bowed Sir Edward. “His only other son, who would have been the heir to his title and his estate, died seven months ago. The earl has no direct male successor except Lord Waldmere. He desires a reconciliation, therefore, and is anxious to forgive the recreant son and reinstate him as heir to his title and property. That is as it should be, Mr. Carter, and I have done all in my power to bring it about.”

“No doubt,” said Nick, gazing steadily at his visitor. “This will be good news for Waldmere, providing he can be found.”

“Found?” echoed the Englishman inquiringly. “What do you mean by found? I thought you knew where he was living.”

“So I do,” said Nick. “Where he now is living, or whether he is living, at present, are open questions.”

“What do you mean?” questioned Chadwick, with a gasp. “I don’t understand you.”

“I will make it plain with a very few words,” Nick replied.

He swung round a little in his chair while speaking, and he then proceeded to tell his visitor of the disappearance of Waldmere, and of the circumstances and apprehensions concerning him.

The Englishman listened, with occasional interruptions and questions, and with almost constant wringing of his hands.

“Well, well, this is terrible, terrible,” he declared, after Nick had concluded. “This news will kill his father, if not already dead. You say you are at work on the case, Mr. Carter. Have you no clew, no encouragement to give me?”

Nick already had decided that he would not disclose any of his suspicions. He shook his head and replied gravely:

“I can say nothing favorable at present. I don’t know what my further investigations may bring to light.”

“But will you confer with me?” Sir Edward questioned. “Will you let me aid you? Will you keep me informed----”

“Yes, certainly,” Nick interposed. “I will inform you promptly when I have discovered anything definite. I will at once telephone to you, Mr. Chadwick, if you intend remaining at the Oriental.”

“That is my intention, of course, now that I have learned so much from you, and depend upon you so completely.”

“You shall hear from me, then, sooner or later,” Nick earnestly assured him. “Frankly, I am all at sea at present.”

“Well, well, I am sorry, sorry enough to hear that,” declared Sir Edward, unconscious of the sharper gleam in his narrow eyes, but which was instantly noticed by the detective.

“If you would like to meet Mrs. Waldmere, however,” said Nick, “I will call on her with you and----”

“No, no, I do not wish to meet her, Mr. Carter, at present,” protested the Englishman, with a half-subdued growl. “She was the apple of discord. I suppose we will have to put up with her. I will meet her after Lord Waldmere has been found and--but that is enough for the present, enough for the present,” he abruptly broke off, rising to go. “Let me hear from you, Mr. Carter. Telephone to me, or call to see me. I shall be on nettles until you find Lord Waldmere safe and sound.”

“Unless I am much mistaken and less discerning than you think me, you soon will be on nettles for an entirely different reason,” Nick said to himself, while he arose and accompanied Sir Edward Chadwick to the door.