Chapter XVIII: The Rightful Heir

Nick Carter received a letter the following morning from Benjamin Oaks, the lawyer.

It stated briefly that Carleton Lynne had proven his claims so satisfactorily that there could not be the shadow of a doubt that he was the rightful heir. The letter came to a close, however, with this significant statement:

“I have deferred a definite acceptance of his claim until to-morrow, nevertheless, for the specific reason that I wish to consult with you about the matter before taking the necessary steps to put him in possession of the fortune. Therefore I will be glad if you will come to my office at ten in the morning. Carleton Lynne is to be here at eleven.”

The detective entered the office of the lawyer at precisely ten o’clock, and passed at once into the private room, where he found Oaks awaiting him.

“On time, I see,” said the lawyer, by way of greeting. “Here are the papers. Look them over and tell me what you think of them.”

“What are they?” the detective asked, taking them in his hand, but holding them so, unopened for the moment.

“The marriage certificate of his father and mother; photographs of his parents in which you can plainly see the Lynne physiognomy; his own birth certificate; photographs of himself taken from time to time from his childhood to the last one, which he says was made only a few months ago--the resemblance is borne out in all of them; newspaper clippings covering a number of years, referring to incidents in his career, and to the career of his father, who was also called Carleton Lynne--and so forth. Look at them for yourself.”

“What sort of a story does the man tell about himself?” asked the detective.

“A straight one. It seems to bear out everything that he claims. I don’t think there is any doubt about his claim, Carter.”

“How does he impress you personally?”

“Very favorably.”

“Was that your first impression of him?”

“Yes. I think so.”

“Don’t you know whether it was favorable or not?”

“Why, yes, of course. He told me one lie, though.”

“Oh, he did, eh? What was it?”

“Perhaps it was unimportant. I made no mention of the fact that I had noticed it.”

“What was it?”

“He began by informing me that he arrived in the city only last evening at five o’clock. He said that he came to this office at half-past five, or near that time, and finding the office closed, sought a hotel. He went to the Mammoth.”

“Well?”

“I asked him how he passed the evening, and he replied that he went to the theater. I asked him what he saw, and he replied that it was the ‘The Chocolate Soldier.’”

“Well, what of that?”

“Nothing--only it happens that the last performance of ‘The Chocolate Soldier’ was given the night before last. I happen to know that, because I was there, and what is more, Carter, I saw this same young man there. He occupied a seat directly in front of me.”

The detective uttered a low whistle.

“Why should he lie about so trivial a thing as that?” the lawyer asked.

“The lie is evidently about the time of his arrival in the city,” replied the detective. “For some reason he prefers to have you believe that he got here last night, while, as a matter of fact, he had already been here at least twenty-four hours.”

“That is certain.”

“And twenty-four days, for all we know.”

“Umph! I had not thought of that possibility. But, even so, what has all that got to do with the case, since his credentials are satisfactory?”

“It merely suggests that they should be examined with all the more care. Why didn’t you ask him about the discrepancy of his statement?”

“I thought I would leave that to you.”

The detective was about to reply when the door opened and the clerk from the outer office announced that Mr. Carleton Lynne had arrived.

“Let him come in,” said the lawyer.

The man who entered, and who was the same one that Nick had seen in the elevator the preceding day, was an inch more than six feet in height, well proportioned, an athlete in appearance, with his skin tanned by the sun and winds of the open country of the West.

One might have called him handsome without a stretch of the imagination. His features were regular and well chiseled, and he carried himself with a certain air of distinction, as if he were to the manner born.

His eyes were set wide apart and the line of concentration between them was well marked, and as the detective glanced at him a second time he determined that the eyes were the only feature about the man that he did not exactly like.

They were neither gray nor brown, but of that nondescript color which is sometimes described as green, although that is not precisely the shade.

But they were steady eyes for all that. They did not shift when they dwelt upon you, but rather were cold, keenly observant, and compelling.

Unquestionably they were the eyes of a man who did not know fear, and who would be a dangerous antagonist at any sort of game, from cards to a rough-and-tumble fight.

“Sit down, Mr. Lynne,” said the detective, as soon as the introduction was made. “I suppose that Mr. Oaks has led you to expect to meet me here. You know who I am, and why I am here, do you not?”

“Perfectly well, Mr. Carter.”

“You have presented a claim to a very large and rich estate, Mr. Lynne?”

“Pardon me. I have merely answered an advertisement, and have established my identity. It will be time enough to enter a claim after my credentials have been accepted.”

“Precisely. Will you tell me when you arrived in the city?”

“Wednesday afternoon, at five o’clock.”

“To-day is Saturday, Mr. Lynne. I saw you in this office yesterday. After I had gone, you talked with Mr. Oaks, and you told him that you----”

“I told him that I had arrived here the preceding day. I know. It was a lie--and an unnecessary one.”

“Mr. Oaks knew that it was an untruth. He saw you at the theater Wednesday night.”

“I know. I saw him there, too. I remembered it after I had gone. I did not know whether he had seen me there or not, but acting upon the idea that he had done so and would remember me, I decided to admit the truth to-day.”

“Just why did you deceive him about it in the beginning?”

Lynne shrugged his shoulders and uttered a low chuckle before he replied. Then he replied:

“Well, there was no good reason for it. I had not been in New York since I was a kid, and I am twenty-six years old now. After the theater was out, I determined to see some of the sights, and I saw rather more of them than I had bargained for. I got into bad company and drank too much. I was also robbed of all the cash I had about me--and, as a matter of fact, very nearly all that I had in the world. I wasn’t proud of the circumstance, and so--I lied about it.”

“Would you mind telling me where you went that night?”

“Yes, I would mind. I’d rather forget it.”

“Possibly we might recover the money you lost.”

“I’d rather lose it than to go back to those places after it.”

“Still, if it was practically all you had----”

“And, anyhow, my recollection of the night is very vague. I don’t know half the places I did go to.”

“Did you go alone to the theater?”

“No; I went with an acquaintance I picked up at the hotel. He was my guide that night, and I reckon is the one who got my dough.”

“Possibly. By the way, have you ever made the acquaintance of a Mrs. Babbington?”

Nick asked the question casually. Without appearing to do so he watched the face of Carleton narrowly when he did ask it, but there was not the flicker of an eyelid nor the suggestion of wavering in those steady eyes when the man replied:

“Can’t say that I have, unless she happened to be---- Oh! I see. You are referring to that woman who was tried for the murder of my cousin whom I never saw?”

“Yes. I was referring to her.”

“No. I never met her. Why did you suppose I might have done so?”

“I did not suppose it. I asked only to know if you had made her acquaintance at any time in the past.”

“No; never heard of her until I saw her name in the papers, about the murder case.”

“She intends to marry you,” said Nick quietly.

“What! Say! What are you giving me? A joke?”

“It sounds like one, doesn’t it? Nevertheless, at my house last evening, she assured me that as soon as you had established your identity and had possessed yourself of the Lynne millions, she intended to marry you and to possess herself of them.”

“Well, I’ll be--blessed!”

“Damned would be a more appropriate word if such a thing should happen. She boasted to me of her intention. I thought it best to tell you about her. Did you come directly----”

“Wait a moment. The woman is said to be very beautiful, isn’t she?”

“Yes; she has that reputation.”

“All right. Fetch her along. I’ll give her a run for her money.”

“For your money, you mean--when you get it?”

“You speak, Mr. Carter, as if there was a doubt that I would get it. Is there?”

“No doubt at all, after you have thoroughly established your claim--that is, your identity.”

“Haven’t I sufficiently established that?”

Nick waved his hand toward the lawyer.

“That is a question for Mr. Oaks to answer,” he said. “When he is satisfied, he will proceed at once to satisfy the court, and will apply for letters of administration for you.”

“Then I am to understand that you, personally, have nothing to do with the legal end of it?”

“Nothing whatever.”

“Might I ask, without offense, in that case, what the devil you’re butting in for?”

The question was an insolent one only in the words that Lynne used; not at all in the manner or the tone of using them; and he smiled engagingly while he asked the question.

But he might far better not have asked it, for there was something hidden behind the words which instantly put the detective on his guard, and which as suddenly determined him upon the course he would pursue thereafter.

Instead of resenting the words, he smiled back at Lynne, and replied:

“I came here at the request of Mr. Oaks, and in the interest of J. Cephas Lynne, who is dead, and who, if he could give directions now, would like to see justice done.” Nick turned then to the lawyer, and added:

“Perhaps you had better apply at once for letters of administration, Oaks.”