Chapter V: Tragic News

The officer who came from the local police near Pleasantglades was of that stolid order which, while they can perform a duty perfectly, and carry out orders to the letter, have little originality, and no initiative.

If this man had possessed either he would have noticed the great excitement under which Mr. J. Cephas Lynne seemed to be laboring, and which he was apparently trying hard to suppress; but, seemingly, he did not see either, but, the moment he entered the room, began:

“I have come, sir, to report to you that Miss Lynne was found dead in the parlor of her own rooms at Pleasantglades shortly after four o’clock this morning.”

It was evident that he was awed to be in the presence of the “great man,” the millionaire of the neighborhood, where he had been born and had lived all his life, which had not been so many years at that.

This time Mr. Lynne did not go to pieces as he had done before; there were no more dramatics; no more theatricals--for Nick could not but regard them so, although he tried to tell himself that he must be mistaken.

But there was no doubt of the fact that Lynne’s hands were shaking, and that he found it difficult to steady himself properly. He motioned toward a chair--which, as it happened, stood with its back toward the detective, and so it was that the messenger had no idea of the presence of Nick Carter in the room.

“Sit down,” said the millionaire. “Now, tell me all you know.”

“Yes, sir. It was this way. At four o’clock this morning word was brought to the station house that tracks had been discovered in the snow, showing that some person, or persons, had passed through the gate at Pleasantglades. Our captain was immediately called from----”

“Oh, never mind that. What did you find?” interrupted the stricken father.

“We found, sir, the tracks where four men had gone into the place and come out again.”

“Four?”

“Yes, sir. It had been snowing, so we could tell that one of them had gone in and come out again, before the visit of the other three.” (That meant Nick’s first entrance.)

“Well, go on.”

“It wasn’t very long after the first one came out, to judge by the tracks, before the other three came along, and maybe they only found the gate open--we can’t say as to that. But they went inside, and into the house, too.”

“How did they get into the house? Quick. Tell me what you found inside the house.”

“They picked the lock, sir. They had all been to the room where we discovered the dead body of Miss Lynne.”

This time Lynne bowed his head upon his hand, where his arm rested upon the table, and the detective felt a qualm of pity for him then, for the first time, for he could see that the man was trembling violently, and he wondered if it had been acting after all, and if the grief of the man had not been real.

“Tell me about that,” said Lynne. “You can give me the other particulars later.”

“Yes, sir. Our chief thinks it likely that she killed herself, sir; he told me to say to you that he would suppose there was no doubt of it at all, if it were not for the tracks in the snow.”

“What have they to do with his opinion?” demanded Lynne.

“Well, sir, the chief doesn’t think that they would likely have anything at all to do with it, if it were not for those other tracks--of the man who went there first, and who came away before the other three got there.”

Nick saw Lynne clutch the table, then rise to his feet and cross the room, where he opened a cabinet, and helped himself to a glass of brandy; and the policeman from the outlying district went stolidly on:

“Our chief thinks, sir, that the other three were probably tramps who happened along, and, finding the gate open, went inside; that they followed the tracks to the door, and found, perhaps, that the door was left open, too, and so they went on in. At least, that is his opinion, sir.”

“I understand. Well, what more?”

“The chief wanted me to tell you, sir, that, while everything there gives the appearance of suicide, there is still a large chance that it may be a case of murder.”

“Murder? Murder? No, no, not that. Not murder.”

“Yes, sir, that is what our chief told me to tell you; but he wanted me also to ask you what you thought about it. If you think it was suicide, why, then, it is suicide. That is what he said, and I was to take back your say so as to that.”

“My say so? What do you mean?”

“Well, sir, the chief thought that perhaps you might know something to lead you to express an opinion one way or the other, and that he would be glad to follow your opinion, no matter what it is.”

“You--you haven’t--told me yet what was found in the room. Was there evidence of a struggle?”

“No, sir; nothing at all of that sort. Everything was as orderly as possible, and we could not find that a single thing had been stolen or disturbed. There was only the young lady upon the couch with the little bottle under her right hand on the floor, and she was as peaceful and still as if she was asleep.”

“Was nothing else found there?”

“No, sir; and that is what puzzles the chief. He thinks that if the young lady went there to kill herself, she would have left a letter or something of the sort. But there was nothing of that kind, at all. She was just there; that’s all.”

“But who could have murdered my daughter?” It was almost a cry, and yet Nick Carter could not rid himself of the idea that the emotion of it was not entirely real.

“The chief thinks, sir, that if it was a murder--and he is inclined to think it was--the man did it who went there with her.”

Nick could have smiled under less tragic circumstances, so pleased was he by the turn that the talk had taken.

“By the man who went there with her? What----” began Lynne.

“Yes, sir. There weren’t any tracks of hers to be found, of course, but we figured it out that her feet are so small and she is so light in weight, that the snow would have hidden her tracks so that we were unable to find them, while the tracks of the man, when he went to the house, can still be seen.”

The reader will understand that this man was referring to the tracks that Nick Carter had made when he first entered the house, and to the tracks that he made again when he came away from it and went after his two assistants to take them back there with him. The tracks that Nick had found, that took him into the house, could no longer be discovered, of course.

“Does the chief think that some person, a man, went to that house with---- What are you talking about, man?”

“That is what the chief thinks. That somebody went there with her--or took her there by force.”

“By force?”

“Yes, sir.”

“But that is preposterous.”

“Drugged her, sir, maybe, and carried her there; or carried her there without drugging.”

“It is outrageous!”

“Yes, sir. You see, sir, she wouldn’t go there alone, at that time of the night, unless she did it with the intention of killing herself--and to tell you the honest truth, sir, the chief doesn’t think she did kill herself--unless you prefer that he should think so, Mr. Lynne.”

“Do you mean----”

“Wait a minute, sir. I’ll try to explain.”

“Do so, then.”

“Down on the corner we found the tracks of an automobile, where it had been standing a long while. There were tracks of men’s feet around it, where they had stood beside it, and smoked and talked while they were waiting for somebody. Whether that has any connection with the case, or not, the chief does not know, but he suggests that the men there, waiting, were confederates of the one who went into the house with Miss Lynne, or who carried her there, and that they took her there for the purpose of robbing the house.”

“This is a fine case that you and your chief have built up over the body of my poor daughter, isn’t it? You may return to your chief and say to him that no man went to that house with my daughter, unless she was dead before they went there--and in such a case it would hardly be necessary that she should be taken there. I do not know of any reason why she should have killed herself, but I presume a letter will be found somewhere which will tell me about it, if such was her intention.”

“Yes, sir; I suppose so, sir.”

“Thank the chief for his courtesy. Ask him, also, to guard the place thoroughly. I shall start at once, and possibly will arrive there before you do--and here is something to pay you for your trouble in coming here.”

“Oh, sir, I assure you----”

“That will do for the present.”

The policeman from the country district backed himself out of the room with a twenty-dollar bill in his hand, and so he did not see Nick Carter; and Nick was glad that he had not been seen, for he had already surmised that Lynne supposed Nick to have been present when all that the policeman told him had taken place.

In fact, the very first words uttered by Lynne, when they were again alone, proved that.

“Why could you not have told me all this at once?” he demanded; and then, without waiting for a reply, he sprang to his feet and dashed from the room.

Nick Carter followed him slowly, anticipating where he had gone, and, true enough, found him at the telephone impatiently awaiting an answer to the call he had given.

But it was evident that Lynne had in part recovered himself, even in that short time, for, half turning, with the receiver at his ear, he placed one hand over the transmitter, and motioned to the detective.

“Please don’t go, Mr. Carter,” he said. “Wait until I have finished here at the phone.”

“Very well,” said the detective, and was turning away when Lynne spoke again.

“You must pardon me,” he said, “if anything that I have said or done this morning has given you offense. I don’t think I have been quite myself. Will you wait until I am done at the phone, so that I may talk with you a few minutes before starting?”

“Certainly, Mr. Lynne.”

“This is all so horrible, so unreal, so incomprehensible. I want to know all the particulars as you know them, and something tells me that you know more than that officer told. At all events you are an experienced man, and you can---- Hello!” He turned to the phone.

“This is Mr. Lynne,” Nick heard him say. “Is that the police station?”

Evidently assured that it was, he went on:

“The officer you sent to me has just been here and gone. I have called you up to let you know that I am starting at once, in my car, for Pleasantglades, but before I start I desire to be assured that nothing whatever will be done there until I arrive. Thank you. Say to Doctor Kuhn, the coroner, that I will be grateful if he will defer all investigation in this matter until I get there. He has already decided to do so? Thank him for me. Say that I will not forget his consideration. Say to your chief that I am bringing Nick Carter, the detective, out there with me, and for that reason, if for no other, I deem it wise.”