Chapter XX: The Plotters Brought to Bay

It was past one o’clock when the detective had finished his story, and, as he brought it to an end, he glanced at his watch, then shut it to with a snap, and announced that it was time to act.

“I know the plan of the interior of this house quite well,” he said, to Danton, “and it will be comparatively easy for me to unlock the door so that you can gain admittance to those rooms. There are five rooms in the suite, and I merely wish you to satisfy yourself that Mercedes is there, or is not there, and then to return to me to report. I will do the rest.”

“But, suppose they should hear me?”

“Then the only thing for you to do is to make your escape and to dart into this room as quickly as you can. Come; are you ready? Here; let me adjust this wig and beard, so that if you should be seen you will not be known. So. Come on.”

Nick opened the door, and, after directing Danton to remain where he was until he was ready for him to proceed, crossed the hall and applied his marvelous pick-lock to the door.

It was a matter of only a moment for him to spring back the lock, and gently to push the door ajar, in the meantime, having assured himself by a quick glance up and down the hall that there was no immediate fear of interruption.

As the door upon which he was working swung open not more than half an inch, he could hear voices proceeding from the room which adjoined that one, and he could see, also, by the light which reflected into the room before him, that it was itself unoccupied.

The voice that had arrested his attention was a man’s voice, and, turning, he made a hasty gesture toward Danton to remain where he was, and then stepped boldly through, closing the door behind him. The presence of a man in the room and the instant recognition of the tones of that man’s voice had driven all thought of the delicacy of his undertaking from his mind at once.

For Nick Carter to hear a voice once was always to remember it, and the instant those tones fell upon his ear he knew that he was in the presence of the master conspirator, in short, that the man, Rogers, was at that very moment at his mercy.

Having closed the door gently, he dropped upon the floor and crawled forward until he could peer through a crack between the folding-doors which connected the two rooms, and he almost exclaimed aloud when his eyes lighted upon the scene thus unfolded to his view.

At the first glance it seemed almost as if Mercedes herself was seated there, conversing with Rogers, so exact a copy had she managed to produce of the young woman she had plotted to impersonate. But even as Nick took in the details of her appearance, she spoke, and she did so with the voice of Isabel Benton.

“Oh, no,” she was saying. “I will experience no difficulty in getting her away from this hotel. Give yourself no uneasiness on that score. I have already made every arrangement. The doctor has given his opinion, the management of the hotel is ready to assist me in taking her out as quietly as possible. They are no more anxious to make an exhibition of a sick guest than I am of a sick maid; and Paul, her own brother would not know her, she is so wasted and changed. I don’t know what the drug is that you gave me to administer to her, but, whatever it is, it has done its work well. Mercedes Danton, the real, goes out of existence to-morrow when we ship her off to Canada. After that, you can put her out of existence in fact, at your own sweet pleasure. I wash my hands of it.”

“And your part here? What will you do?”

“Oh, I’ll play my part, all right. Don’t worry about me. You say the servant whom you have ‘fixed’ at the house in Newport, where the old lady is staying, will do her work this week, and that Mrs. Danton is too ill to travel here now. Well, that means that I have nothing to fear from that source; and Danton père--if your plans do not fail in regard to him----”

“They cannot fail. He will die on shipboard on the way over, of apoplexy, or of something that will look much like it. They haven’t time to hold autopsies on ocean steamers. I’ll take care of that. The steward who is to put him out of the way has worked for me before; he will not fail. But what of the son?”

“You leave the son to me. He has just twenty-four hours more to live and then, pouf! He goes out of existence. Thus all the obstacles are removed. Thus we will come into the millions.”

“You are a great actress, Isabel. You play the part superbly. Even now--here--to me--you look it thoroughly.”

“Play the part? It is thrice easier than it was to play the maid. That was hard. But, come. You must be going.”

Nick waited to hear no more after that, but he turned and glided back to the door, and in another moment was again in the hall, with it closed and locked behind him.

With a hasty word of warning and instruction to Danton, who retreated within the room, Nick sauntered down the corridor a few steps, waiting till the door of the suite supposed to be occupied by Mercedes Danton and her maids should open to permit the departure of Paul Rogers--and he had not long to wait.

When the man came out into the hall, and closed the door behind him, Nick was not ten feet away from him, and, as Rogers, after one sharp glance in his direction, turned to hasten in the opposite direction, Nick quickened his step so that in a moment he was close beside the conspirator and murderer.

He seemed to be in the act of passing Rogers, when suddenly he turned in his track.

His arms shot out and the fingers of one hand seized upon Rogers’ throat, effectually shutting off all hope of his crying out or otherwise giving an alarm. With the other hand, the detective seized him around the body, and then, with a leap, he hurried him toward the open door of his own room where Danton was standing in the doorway awaiting him.

The whole thing occurred so quickly that five seconds had not elapsed from the instant when Rogers came out of the room opposite before he was safely behind closed doors in Nick Carter’s room, with irons upon his wrists and ankles and a gag thrust into his mouth.

“This is the luckiest night’s work I ever did in my life,” said Nick, looking down upon his captive, who was glaring up at him with fierce eyes, but who was utterly helpless nevertheless.

“I see that you do not know me, Paul Rogers,” he said. “Perhaps, however, you will know this gentleman;” and he brought Danton forward where the prisoner could see him.

“The game is up, Rogers,” continued Nick. “I think I can assure you that Mr. Danton’s father will not die of apoplexy on board the ship which is to bring him over here; also that his mother in Newport will not be poisoned this week, and also that Reginald will live somewhat more than twenty-four hours more. Neither do I think that Mercedes Danton, the real, as your wife correctly calls her, will take that little trip to Canada.”

“What the devil does it all mean?” asked Danton, almost beside himself with curiosity.

“It means,” replied Nick, “that when I opened the door opposite, I heard Rogers’ voice inside the room, so I thought that instead of sending you there to reconnoiter, I would do the thing myself. I happened, fortunately, to surprise a heart-to-heart talk between this chap and Isabel, in which, in a very few words, they betrayed the whole plot, almost exactly as I outlined it to you. And, by the way, Reginald, I don’t blame you for supposing that Isabel was your sister when you saw her in front of the hotel in the carriage. I would have believed the same had I seen her instead of you. Now, I want you to sit here with our gentle acquaintance while I go down and interview the management of the hotel. This is one of the circumstances which they like to manage in their own way, and when I tell them that it need not be known that anything has occurred in the hotel, there will be no difficulty in getting our prisoners to police headquarters without delay.”

“But where is Mercedes? Where is my sister? Has anything happened to her? You have not told me that yet, Nick?”

“To be sure I haven’t; but do you suppose that if anything had happened to her, I would be almost joking with this brute here on the floor? Wait, Danton. She is under the influence of drugs, and is, doubtless, quite ill; but I think we will soon bring her out of that.”

* * * * *

Half an hour later there was a sharp summons upon the door of the suite opposite the room where Nick Carter had related the story to Reginald Danton.

Presently, after the summons had been repeated a second and a third time, there came a voice from the other side, inquiring who was there.

“A telegram,” replied the hotel detective, whereupon he was told to wait a moment, and presently the door was partly opened and the face of Isabel--it was uncannily like the face of Mercedes--appeared in the opening.

But she had no time to ask questions, for the door being ajar thus far, was quickly pushed wide open by the men outside, and, almost before the woman was thoroughly awake, she found herself a prisoner.

It was broad daylight, in the same suite of rooms at the hotel.

Mercedes Danton, pale as a ghost, but seemingly more beautiful than ever, was lying on the couch near the window so that the cooling breeze of the June morning could fan her brow. Seated beside her and holding her hand in his was her brother, and, standing near them, looking down with untold pleasure and satisfaction in his eyes, was Nick Carter.

“How much we owe to you, Mr. Carter,” she said to him, lifting her matchless eyes until they rested upon his face with a glance that was almost a caress.

“To me?” he replied, smiling. “Say, rather, to yourself.”

“How to me?” she inquired.

Nick turned away without answering, and Reginald smiled upon both his sister and his friend.

“How to me?” she repeated, looking at her brother for a reply.

“Why,” he said, smiling, “because everybody who knows you, loves you, Mercedes. Even I, your brother, love you. Even----”

“Shut up, Danton,” ordered Nick. “Speak for yourself, and give the same privilege to others.”