Chapter XI: The Disappearance of Mercedes

When Nick left Linden Fells he carried with him not only the heartfelt thanks of the Danton family, but also the sincere friendship of Reginald. Clever detective though he was, he could not quite define the queer little tingling feeling in the region of his heart when the picture of Mercedes Danton, as he had first seen her in the rose-garden, recurred to him.

In one thing his calculations had failed. The headquarters detectives did not succeed in arresting Rogers. Although they promptly responded to Nick’s telegram, and the best men on the force were detailed to take the self-confessed murderer into custody, he succeeded in eluding them, as he said in his letter to Reginald Danton he would do.

Had they succeeded much trouble might have been spared the house of Danton, over which dark clouds were even then gathering, and plots dark and threatening that involved death and disaster were hatching. For days, aided by the counsel and experience of Nick, the detectives sought high and low for the missing valet. But without success. With the man still at large Nick could not overcome a feeling that the family at Linden Fells was in danger. What that danger might be, or what form it might take, he could not conjecture. But, unlike most criminal cases which he had successfully unraveled, this one of the murder of Ramon Orizaba was not easily dismissed from his mind. It was, perhaps, the rose-garden picture that fixed in his mind all the ramifications of the murder of Orizaba.

Nick had just left the Waldorf-Astoria by way of the main entrance on Thirty-fourth Street. He walked slowly toward Fifth Avenue and was in the act of turning the corner toward the southward when a carriage halted at the curb at a point about midway of the block.

The door of the carriage swung open and a woman appeared for one instant at the opening. At the same instant two men, who were passing and who happened to be directly abreast of the point where the carriage had halted, came to a sudden stop. One of them uttered an exclamation of mingled astonishment and anger and darted forward away from his companion and toward the woman, who had not yet wholly emerged into view, and whose identity the detective could not determine.

It was evident that she discovered the man almost as soon as he saw her, for she uttered a little startled cry of consternation and leaped back into the carriage again.

At the same instant the driver, as if warned by her cry, and also as if prepared for just such an attack, brought the butt of his whip down with a sharp blow against the aggressor’s head, and so jammed his hat over his eyes and almost felled him to the pavement. Then, reversing the whip, and using it to good advantage upon the horses, the vehicle was hurried away at a furious pace, and was soon out of sight around the corner of Thirty-third Street.

Nick witnessed the whole thing, which did not occupy more than three or four seconds of time; but during those few seconds he was steadily approaching nearer to the spot where it happened, so that by the time he reached it the man with his hat over his eyes had succeeded in removing it. But he was standing with his back toward the detective, shaking his fist in the direction the carriage had gone and was swearing softly to himself.

Nick, however, recognized him at once, and he came to a halt, smiling, while he waited for the angry man to turn in his direction--which, after a moment of contemplative profanity, he did.

“Thank God!” he exclaimed instantly and impulsively, for he also recognized the detective; and he grasped Nick Carter’s extended hand with a fervor which was as genuine as his rage had been a moment before.

“I say, Nick, old chap, did you see that?” he asked, rubbing his head ruefully.

“Yes,” replied Nick, still smiling. “Nothing serious, I hope. Only one of your many adventures, eh, Danton? Really, I supposed you were serious when you told me not two weeks ago that you had turned over a new leaf. Or, is this a left-over affair?”

“Left-over affair! Didn’t you see her?”

“No. I merely saw a woman--that is, I merely saw the costume of a woman, not the woman herself.”

“Then you didn’t recognize her?”

“Certainly not. Do I know her?”

“Know her! Say, will you wait here a second until I excuse myself to my companion who was with me? I want to talk to you.”

“Yes; I will wait.”

Danton hurried away, made his excuses to the man who had halted a few feet distant and was awaiting him, and then returned to Nick Carter.

“Shall we go into the hotel, shall we walk, or shall we--what shall we do, Carter? I want dreadfully to talk with you.”

“Let’s walk. We can go in the direction of my house. That is where I was headed for when your episode of the carriage arrested my attention. Now, what is the matter, Danton?”

“Everything is the matter.”

“Your reply is neither lucid nor comprehensive.”

“No, I suppose not. I wish you had seen who it was who started to descend from the carriage.”

“In that case, and as I did not see, or recognize the person, suppose you tell me who the lady was.”

“It was my sister, Mercedes.”

“Ah!” said Nick, and stopped. He was greatly astonished, but not a sign of his feelings appeared in his voice. He uttered the exclamation in exactly the same tone he would have used if Danton had said that the woman was the Queen of Sheba, or the High Duchess of Benkakakiak.

“Ever since the murder of Ramon Orizaba about two weeks ago--it will be two weeks to-morrow, will it not?--one trouble has followed another until it seems almost as if the family and the home at Linden Fells is accursed. My mother was taken ill the day of the funeral. Her illness came on so suddenly that I cannot get it out of my head that she was poisoned. However, we sent her away at once, and she is better now. She is at Newport.”

“Well?” said Nick.

“Well, Mercedes was preparing for an extended trip abroad, even before this misfortune came to the house. After the murder she was more determined than ever to go, and sought to hurry the preparations of her friends who were to accompany her on the trip; but they did not hurry fast enough, so she resolved to start on alone with only her two maids. In the meantime, Nick, she did not act at all like herself. I saw very little of her, and even that little was most unsatisfactory. She was strangely unlike herself.”

“Did you not talk with her about it?”

“I tried to, but she wouldn’t talk.”

“But I supposed there was the utmost confidence and sympathy between you and your sister.”

“So there always has been until now. The fact is, a week ago last night we quarreled.”

“Not seriously, I hope?”

“N-no. That is, I did not regard it as serious at the time, for we have had worse spats than that one, many a time. However, she disappeared the following day.”

“What is that?” asked Nick, stopping abruptly in their walk. “Disappeared, you say?”

“Yes, that is what I said. We quarreled a week ago last night--Saturday night. Sunday morning I slept late, breakfasted alone, and came into the city almost immediately after. I did not return to the Fells until toward evening. When I arrived there she had gone.”

“Gone where?”

“How do I know where? If I had known, I wouldn’t have cared. I have neither seen nor heard a sign of her from that time till just now when that carriage drove up against the curb and she started to alight from it. Naturally, when the carriage stopped almost in front of me, I looked toward it. You can imagine my astonishment when I saw and recognized Mercedes. You saw what happened then.”

“Yes. I saw what happened then. Are you sure that the lady was Mercedes?”

“Am I certain that you are you? I saw her as plainly as I see you now.”

“Did you also recognize the coachman who struck you?”

“No.”

“Did you see him at all, so that you would have recognized him if you had seen him?”

“Sure, I saw him--quite well enough to know him again, the next time I see him.”

“And he was a stranger to you?”

“I do not remember that I ever saw him before.”

“Did she--did the woman, whom you believed to be Mercedes, say anything to him when you started toward the carriage?”

“Not a word.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am positive. Why?”

“Well, it seems strange that a coachman whom you do not know, and who, therefore, would not have been likely to have struck you without instructions, should do that very thing without orders. Now, please be particular, Danton. Is it not possible that you may be mistaken and that the woman in the carriage was not Mercedes?”

“No; it is not possible. I saw her plainly.”

“In that case, I do not see just why you wish to talk to me about the story.”

“Good heavens, Carter! Don’t you suppose I want to find my sister?”

“I don’t know, I am sure. But if that was your sister, it is quite evident that she does not want to find you, or care to have you find her. If the occupant of that carriage was Mercedes Danton, she had mighty good reasons for acting as she did, and I will tell you very frankly, Reginald, as between you and Mercedes, I will take her side of the question every time.”

Reginald Danton took a quick step forward and turned, thus placing himself directly in front of the detective, so that both were obliged to come to a stop. Then he held out his hand and smiled.

“Shake,” he said.

“Why?” asked Nick.

“On that last proposition--that, as between Mercedes and me, you will take her side of the question every time. That is what I want you to do. In other words, I don’t care a fig whose side of the question you take as long as it benefits her in the end. I love my sister better than anybody else in the world--better than everybody else in the world put together. She’s in trouble of some kind, and I haven’t any more idea what it is than the man in the moon; neither can I find out what it is any more than the same mythical personage. Mercedes left the house without a written word to anybody. She took one of her maids with her--a new one, who has been in her employ only a month or so, and she left word with the other one that she would write.

“She did not write. I supposed, of course, she had gone to Newport, where mother is, and on Wednesday I ran over there. She was not there, and had not been there. Mother did not even know that she was not at home, and I didn’t enlighten her; and there you are. Mercedes went out of the house last Sunday, a week ago to-day, and----”

Danton stopped and brushed his eyes quickly. Then, with his tones filled with emotion, he said:

“The fact is, Nick, I’ve got a ‘hunch,’ as the racetrack people say. It never occurred to me till this very moment, but as sure as fate I believe that there is foul play somewhere. What you said about the coachman suggests it. Good God, Carter! do you suppose it could be possible that Mercedes did not leave home of her own free will?”