Chapter X: The Victim of a Nemesis

Mercedes started to her feet with a cry of amazed delight, nor was Reginald’s joy less deep, although he remained quite still in his place on the bench. It was Mercedes who spoke first after the announcement made by the detective.

“Then who was it whom I saw and believed to be my brother?” she demanded.

“Ah!” said the detective, “that is another matter. I think, however, that we will experience very little difficulty in determining that question, when once I have had access to the lares and penates in the room of Ramon Orizaba. However, I see Doctor Pollock returning, and so I will leave you two together, with the injunction that you had better go to your mother as soon as convenient. And, Danton, within a few hours it must be generally known that your guest was murdered, so I would suggest that you prepare your mother for the intelligence. In fact, I wish you would tell her at once, for it is more than likely that I will find it necessary to talk the matter over with her soon. Now, just one more suggestion. I think you owe it to your sister to tell her everything that has occurred, just as you told it to me, and to add to the telling all that has taken place since you entered my house this morning. You may also tell her who I am, and why I am here.”

The detective left them then and hurried across the lawn to meet the doctor who had returned according to his promise, and together they repaired at once to the room where the body of Ramon Orizaba had been taken--to the rooms he had occupied always when he was a guest at Linden Fells.

“Doctor,” said Nick, when they were alone together in the room and had closed and locked the door behind them, “I have asked this favor of you for two reasons. One is because I want a good, reliable witness to all that happens and to support every discovery I may make, and the other is because I require your professional services as an expert. The undertakers will be here shortly, and we will then have to turn the body over to them, but, in the meantime, we can easily complete such researches as it is necessary to make.

“You will find, to begin with, that this man was killed by a needle which was thrust into the back of his neck. Come; we will turn the body over and search for it, and I will ask you to withdraw it for use as evidence. There is the only mark left by the wound. It is scarcely perceptible, is it?”

“No. I should not have seen it at all if you had not drawn my attention to it.”

“Will you extract the needle? The broken end must be quite close to the surface of the skin.”

“Are you sure it is there?”

“Positive.”

“Just beneath the skin?”

“Yes; but be careful; it is of glass and will break easily.”

There was a moment of silence, and then the doctor, who stood with his back to the detective, spoke.

“You say the needle is of glass?”

“I have reason to believe it is.”

“Well, you are mistaken. It is of steel.”

“Steel? Let me see it.”

The doctor passed the tiny weapon to the detective, who examined it critically, and then, after carefully wrapping it in paper, deposited it inside his own card-case. But he did not hesitate to express his surprise to the physician at the discovery, for the needle extracted from the neck of the murdered man was in reality a needle--a three-sided, sharp-pointed needle such as is used by furriers; in fact--to give it its true colloquial name--a fur needle.

“A dangerous weapon,” said the doctor.

“Dangerous, indeed,” assented Nick. “Now, doctor, if you will proceed with your examination from the professional standpoint, so that you will be prepared to give your testimony in detail at the proper time and place, I will give my attention to the other things in the room.”

From that time on the two men worked together in silence, only occasionally calling the attention of each other to some discovery that was pertinent to the occasion.

And Nick’s investigation of the desk and its contents, of the bureau and of every nook and cranny of the room itself, was eminently satisfactory--so satisfactory, in fact, that when at last he had completed his researches, and discovered that the doctor was also done with his part of the work, he said to him:

“Here, doctor, is quite a remarkable circumstance--one, in fact, that is entirely unique in my experience, for I find by this correspondence that I have examined that this dead man has been, during his life, in constant correspondence with a person whom he believed would some day murder him--as he has done--and more than that, that he has even lived in close juxtaposition with the would-be murderer, for a period which, according to the letters, covers almost ten years. But the remarkable part of it is, that, although he has lived close to his Nemesis, and, although he has corresponded constantly with him, he has, in all that time had no idea of the identity of his enemy.”

“Do you mean that the murderer lives here in this house?” asked the doctor.

“I mean that the murderer lived here in this house; but, unless I am greatly mistaken, the murderer has fled before this.”

“You know, then, who is the murderer?”

“Yes. I know exactly. Have you finished with your work?”

“Yes.”

“Come, then. Let us go. I will ask you to join me in a family gathering for a little while; after that, we will each turn our testimony over to the proper officials, and I think there will be little or no trouble in apprehending the assassin.”

Ten minutes later, in the library of the house, behind closed doors, Nick Carter stood in the center of the room facing Mercedes, Reginald, and their mother. Beside him was seated the doctor, and upon the table before him were placed the articles he had collected during his morning’s work--the things he had taken from the pockets of the dead man, and the effects and letters he had discovered in Orizaba’s room.

“Mrs. Danton,” he began, “I feel that I should address my remarks to you. You have been told, have you not, of the terrible thing that has happened in your home?”

She bowed her head in the affirmative. She felt too much emotion to trust herself to speak.

“Reginald,” continued Nick, “I have occupied the few moments while I waited for you to bring your mother and sister to this room in telephoning to New York, for I find that your valet, Rogers, has started for the city without your leave. Ladies, and you, Reginald, the valet whom you have known as Paul Rogers, is the murderer of Ramon Orizaba--at least, I am sufficiently satisfied of the correctness of that statement to have telephoned to police headquarters for his arrest. Presumably he will be met at the station when he arrives in the city, but if he is not, I think I shall have no difficulty in finding him later.”

“Rogers! My man, Rogers?” exclaimed Reginald.

“Yes. Had it ever occurred to you that Rogers was above his station?”

“Often. He was remarkably well educated for a man in such a position.”

“He occupied several positions; among them, he represented himself as an agent for an enemy of Orizaba’s. Rogers was evidently clever at disguises, for in his room, which I found time to visit for a moment, there was, in addition to a half-filled bottle of chloroform, a very good supply of wigs, pigments and other necessaries for manufacturing disguises. Do you remember when Rogers came to you this morning in the rose-garden and told you that Orizaba was dead?”

“Perfectly.”

“I noticed then that the soles of his boots were stained with clay--a kind of blue clay unlike anything I saw during our walk together from the station this morning--which you assured me was the route by which you returned to the house from the banquet.”

“It was the same.”

“Do you remember that I asked you if there had been a shower here in the afternoon of yesterday? I wished to know if the clay had been softened sufficiently to make those stains. In discovering the stains upon the boots of Rogers I paid no attention to them, more than to observe that they were there; but when I saw stains exactly like them on the boots of the murdered man I was interested. Also, the discovery of the burrs upon his clothing, to which I called your attention, brought to mind the fact that I had seen, also without heeding them at the time, marks of the same sort of burrs on the trousers of your valet when he came to you in the garden, so when I sent you to your mother, and before going in search of your sister myself, I found Rogers’ room and looked through it.

“I was already satisfied that Rogers was the murderer when I talked with you and your sister in the arbor, but I chose to say nothing of the fact at that time. Now I have additional proof. You will remember that I asked you if you used purple ink on your desk?”

“Yes.”

“There were stains of purple ink in the thumb and finger of Orizaba’s right hand. I asked you if he wrote with his left hand and you replied that he used both. Let me tell you now that he has used his left hand to rob you, systematically, for a long time. You have been careless with your check-book and with your balances, so you have not discovered the fact, but here is a check he drew on your desk last night--a check for a much larger amount than he has ever dared to take before, doubtless, since the drawing of it made his hand tremble so that he spoiled the signature and was obliged to draw a second one. The second one is perfect. I found it in your valet’s room, where he dropped it by mistake, showing that it was given to him, that both were drawn for him, that he was in the room with Orizaba at the time they were drawn--in short, that he was the third person whom your sister saw and believed to be you. Moreover, he is of your height and build, and in one of the drawers of his bureau there is a false mustache exactly like yours, which is still soft from recent use; so that it is not strange that your sister believed she saw you in the dim light. The lights, by the way, he turned off for the purpose of his work, and then turned on again when that work was done and he was ready to depart, in order that you might not see the difference and wonder at it. Also, while upon this subject, a trivial matter, but one of interest, in connection with the checks, is the fact that the ink inside Orizaba’s fountain pen is black. Also, Orizaba carried a key which fits your desk and another which fits the casket.

“Also, like all expert forgers, he carried his own blotter with him. Fortunately in this case it was one that he had not used before, and bears a very good impression of the two signatures he signed last night.

“Now, in Orizaba’s room I found many letters which partially explain these mysteries; but only partially. We will have to conjecture for the rest. At sometime in the career of Orizaba he had married and deserted a woman who died in misery and want, and since that time he has been pursued by a Nemesis in the shape of her brother who has taken a vengeance that is truly Satanic, for he has held over Orizaba’s head all these years--ten of them--the threat of imminent death, and, what is still more remarkable, he has during that time managed to extort money from his victim, while he has himself remained so darkly in the background that Orizaba has never once guessed his identity.

“Of the occurrences of last night--or, rather of early this morning, I can only surmise, but either by appointment, or because the man was awaiting him, he encountered the man who he believed to be the agent of his Nemesis between the station and this house. They walked away in another direction, and so got the clay on their shoes. That agent was Rogers, but so cleverly disguised that Orizaba did not recognize him--probably the agent was so familiar to him that he never thought of connecting him with Rogers, having known him a much longer time.

“When they met last night Rogers was insistent for a larger amount of money than usual, and finally accompanied Orizaba to your rooms. Orizaba was at your desk preparing to draw the check when you entered the room. Rogers was here also, for they believed you were asleep in a chair on the piazza. When you entered Rogers concealed himself, and he remained concealed until you had composed yourself to sleep on the couch. Then he chloroformed you, and the proceedings continued. Rogers then took his check and went out, and Orizaba, overcome by all that had happened, dropped asleep in the chair.

“Presently, for some reason, Rogers returned. Doubtless he had intended to kill Orizaba last night, since the encounter on the road. He administered more chloroform to you on the couch, and then performed the remainder of the ceremony as your sister has described it to us, for she saw it.

“And now, Reginald, there is just one point about which I am at fault, but which I think this letter will possibly explain. I found it in Rogers’ room, addressed to you, and I have not yet broken the seal. Before I do so I will explain the point to which I referred.

“Your Cadillac needle was not the instrument which killed Orizaba. He was killed with a steel needle--a furrier’s needle--but the cork handle of your glass needle was used to press it into the flesh. The glass needle was removed and the steel one substituted for it, but why I do not know. Let us see now if this letter will inform us. Listen.”

Nick broke the seal, spread the letter open before him and read aloud:

“MR. DANTON: Although I have killed Ramon Orizaba, deliberately,
and after waiting ten years, and in the meanwhile gloating over the
prospect of doing so, I am not sufficiently a scoundrel to leave
you to pay the penalty of my crime. I have thought of many ways of
putting him out of the way, and your Cadillac needle has suggested
the best one. But I am afraid that the glass is not strong enough,
so I have substituted one of steel. At first I thought it might not
be discovered that he was killed and that his death would be
attributed to natural causes, but I will not take that chance with
your life and reputation in the balance, so I write this.

“Why I have killed him does not matter to you. I will say nothing
which will lead to my apprehension, and all the detectives in the
world cannot find me or take me.

“I was obliged to use the cork handle of your needle in order to be
successful--in order to push the weapon into his neck. You will
find the glass one under the vase on the mantle in my room.

ROGERS.”

“Brief and to the point,” said Nick, putting down the letter; and as he did so Mercedes rose in her place and crossed the room to him, extending both hands.

“You have been our savior,” she said; “my savior as well as Reginald’s. God bless you!”