Chapter II: The Glove on the Dead Girl’s Hand

Nick returned to the rear room. His first act was probably a surprise to both the men whom he had found there when he first entered.

In short, he requested the two men to step into the outer office.

They complied rather hesitatingly.

He followed them, and closed the communicating door.

Then he coolly took a seat near by, and waited for the coroner.

Fifteen minutes after Brown started to bring the coroner, he returned in company with that official.

Nick met the coroner quietly, and lost no time in making himself known to him.

Then he requested Brown to send the crowd on the outside about their business, and again cautioned McCarthy to let no one of those in the large office go out.

This done, he preceded the coroner into the rear office, and closed the door behind them.

The coroner took a quick inventory of the surroundings, and then turned to Nick for information.

The detective related everything just as it occurred to him, except that he made no mention of the type-written note which had brought him to the scene at such a strange time.

“And what have you learned of the case from those two men, Mr. Carter?” inquired the coroner.

“Nothing. I have asked not a single question, preferring to wait till you got here to receive the story of the case as these people can or will give it.”

“That is quite complimentary, I am sure, Mr. Carter. Whom shall we question first?”

“Before we question anybody let me tell you about a few things I have noted in this office.”

“All right--go on.”

“The victim was shot in the right temple.”

“I see.”

“From the position of the body the shot must have been fired by some one standing in front of that window, or the shot must have come from across the street and through the open window.”

The coroner noticed that the desk on which the dead woman had fallen was almost exactly in front of an open window and about twelve feet from it.

He glanced across the street and discovered that a window in an opposite building was directly in line with the office window and the desk.

“You think the shot was fired by some one standing in that window over there?”

“I did not say so. On the contrary, I found this pistol lying directly under the victim’s dependent hand.”

“Suicide?”

“I am expressing no opinion, just stating facts,” quietly remarked Nick, as the coroner took a pistol from him and examined it.

The weapon was of Smith & Wesson make, had six chambers, was peculiarly mounted, and on a silver plate inlaid in the handle were the initials “E. L.”

One of the chambers contained the empty shell of a cartridge. The other four were loaded.

The coroner stooped, and inspected the wound in the head of the victim.

“I see no powder marks on her face,” he said, looking up at Nick.

“There are none. Besides, I call your attention to the condition of the right hand.”

The coroner’s eyes turned quickly to the hand of the corpse, which hung at the side of the body.

“Ha! I see. She was putting on her glove, and couldn’t have handled the pistol herself.”

“Not unless she fired the shot with her left hand.”

“But the bullet entered the right temple?”

“I am not sure of it.”

“But see. Here is the wound,” cried the coroner, pointing to the little blue spot on the side of the girl’s face, which was turned up to their gaze.

“Yes, that is a wound. But the bullet might have come out at that place instead of going in.”

“Oh! Then there is a wound on the other side of the head; the side which lies upon the desk.”

“I think there is.”

“You think. Don’t you know--have you not raised the head to see?”

“I have not raised the head to see, but I know there is.”

“Why, how do you know if you have not seen?”

“Because here is the fatal bullet, and it not only went into her head, but clean through it.”

“Where did you find it?”

“In that corner of the room back there.”

“Why, that is almost behind the body?”

“Yes. The bullet passed through her head, hit the steam coil on the other side of the desk, and carromed at an acute angle, fetching up in the corner where I found it.”

“It was surely not suicide,” mused the coroner.

“It may not have been,” responded Nick.

“She would certainly not have stopped while putting on her gloves to commit suicide?”

“You say gloves. There is but one glove,” remarked Nick, dryly.

“Only one in sight. We shall find the other, I presume, if we make search.”

“I doubt it.”

“Why?”

“Because the glove she partly put on that hand is not her own.”

“Not her own? Why, man, how do you know?”

“Because it is fully a size too small for her.”

“But----”

“You would say she has it partly on. That is true, but if you examine it carefully you will see that the fingers would not even go in as far as the ends. The glove could not have been forced on her hands.”

“Then whose is it?”

“I don’t know,” said Nick, who meanwhile had walked across the office and was examining a woman’s light sack which hung from a hook on the wall. “It certainly didn’t belong to her, for here is the pair she used.”

He held up a pair of gloves of an entirely different color, and probably several sizes larger than that which was partially on the hand of the corpse.

“Well, by Jove!” muttered the coroner.

Nick had reached down again into the pocket in which he found the gloves. This time he fished out a lady’s pocket-book. Without opening it, he carried it across the room and gently pulled the glove from the stiffening fingers of the dead girl.

Then he rolled the three gloves and the pocket-book up together, and put them all away in an inside pocket of his coat.

“With your permission, I’ll take charge of these important articles of evidence,” he said to the coroner.

The latter nodded assent, and asked:

“What is in the pocket-book?”

“We’ll find out later when I’ve time to examine it. Now, we must get together our facts by questioning those people out there one at a time.”

“A good idea.”

“But, before we begin, I want to make a request.”

“Name it.”

“That you postpone the inquest from day to day till I have a chance to get to the very bottom of the mystery.”

“Willingly, my boy, and meantime I’ll not bother my brains about it, because I know what Nick Carter cannot fathom in a case like this will never be found out.”

“Thank you. Now, we will call in and question our first witness.”

“Who will it be? the elder of the two men--the one who must have been here first after the tragedy or when it occurred?”

“No, I think I’ll first hear what the younger and more fashionably dressed one of the two has to tell. I’ll call him in.”

So saying, Nick went to the dividing door, opened it, and beckoned to the man who had preceded him up the stairs only a few seconds to the scene of the tragedy.

The young man entered the rear office, plainly laboring under great excitement. Nick closed and locked the door, invited his witness to take a seat, and lost no time in beginning his examination.