Chapter XVI: “this Is Terrible, Terrible!”

There had been nothing at any time which Nick could properly seize upon as an excuse for action, much as he longed to end the terrible suspense.

Doctor Grantley had the whip hand throughout, and the isolation of the financier, alarming as it was under the circumstances, was nothing more than any surgeon might be expected to insist upon in such a case.

The only departure from that rule occurred on the fifth day, when J. Hackley Baldwin’s confidential secretary received a check, directing him to fill out a check for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, payable to Hiram A. Grantley, and send it to the latter’s house in the Bronx.

The secretary, who was necessarily in the secret, immediately telephoned to Nick. The detective responded at once and carefully examined the note. A microscopic comparison with various documents left no reasonable doubt that the message had actually been written and signed by the millionaire. Not only that, but the handwriting revealed no sign of tremulousness or any other indication that Baldwin had not been himself when he wrote it.

Forgery was plainly out of the question.

Nevertheless, both Nick and the secretary could not help feeling a profound disquiet. The affair struck them as decidedly irregular. It suggested an unseemly haste on Grantley’s part to collect the promised fee for the operation at a time when Baldwin was still in his power and no one on the outside was in possession of any real evidence that the conditions had been complied with--namely, that the operation had been a success.

Irrespective of his success or failure, however, if Grantley had in any manner influenced Baldwin to take this step, he had acted in a way that no reputable surgeon would have dreamed of doing.

On the other hand, it was quite possible, of course, that Baldwin had acted purely on his own initiative, in order to show, by his prompt payment, the gratitude he felt for his returning sight.

It was another delicate and trying situation.

In the end, Nick advised the secretary to make out the check and send it as requested. There were no obstacles in the way of this, for the millionaire, who had the utmost confidence in his secretary, had signed several checks in blank before entering the private hospital.

Nick reasoned, that, if all was straight, the secretary might get into serious trouble with his dictatorial employer if he failed to carry out the latter’s instructions to the letter. Besides, a quarter of a million was only a drop in the bucket compared with the immense bulk of Baldwin’s fortune. If the millionaire had come to any harm, the money loss would quickly pale into insignificance.

Lastly, the giving of a check and the payment of it are two very different things. Payment of it could be stopped, if necessary; or, on the other hand, the rapidity with which Grantley might try to realize on it, or the use to which he might put it, could be turned to advantage as an indication of the game being played.

It went against the grain, but the check was made out and sent without further delay.

That was on a Friday.

Nick at once set a watch over both Grantley’s bank and Baldwin’s, but they closed on Saturday, without any attempt having been made to catch or deposit the big check.

The delay gave the detective a more favorable impression than anything else had done, for it seemed to show that Grantley was in no hurry to take advantage of the payment, and that implied that the surgeon had no intention of trying to disappear.

But Nick soon changed his mind.

Early Sunday morning, just a week after the operation, Patsy Garvan was on duty as near the Grantley house as he dared to go.

He saw a taxi drive up. Almost immediately Doctor Grantley and his assistant, young Doctor Siebold, helped the millionaire out of the house and into the machine.

Baldwin seemed to be rather feeble or uncertain in his movements, and there were black patches over his eyes.

Patsy was not near enough to ascertain the number of the taxi, which at once started downtown at a rapid rate of speed. Unfortunately, too, there was no other vehicle at hand.

It was hopeless for Patsy to attempt to follow, and, consequently, he did the only thing that was left for him to do--he ran to the subway terminal, two or three blocks away, and took a downtown train.

Twenty-five minutes later he alighted at the station nearest to Baldwin’s house and started on a sprint toward Fifth Avenue.

He hoped that the millionaire had been taken home, and when he arrived at his destination, he learned, to his great relief, that such was the case.

But the next piece of information he obtained gave him a shock that he was never to forget.

He was given to understand that Mr. Baldwin had arrived in a most alarming condition--and all alone.

The financier had presented a startling appearance, and was obviously in a dazed condition. He had not recognized any one, and had had to be carried to his room. Doctor Vanderpool had been summoned at once, but had not yet arrived.

The taxi was still standing at the curb and the driver was inside, having been detained by Baldwin’s secretary.

Patsy gained admittance by using Nick’s name, and soon obtained an interview of a few moments with the distracted secretary, Frank Craven.

“Thank Heaven you’re here!” the latter exclaimed. “I’ve telephoned to Mr. Carter. This is terrible, Garvan, terrible! Mr. Baldwin doesn’t recognize me. He’s in a state of collapse and doesn’t seem to have a spark of intelligence. He’s whimpering like a baby up there. I made the driver wait so that Mr. Carter could see him. He says that two men, who answered the description of Grantley and that precious assistant of his, helped Mr. Baldwin into the cab.”

“Yes, I saw that,” Patsy interrupted. “But where did they leave it?”

“At Lenox Avenue and One Hundred and Twenty-fifth, according to the chauffeur. See what you can get out of the man. He’s downstairs with the servants. Heaven only knows what those fiends have done, Garvan, and they must be found, if the whole world has to be turned upside down to do it! Do what you can--everything you can. I must go back to poor Mr. Baldwin.”

With that Craven turned around and sprang up the stairs.

Patsy hunted up a telephone and called his chief’s number. Chick answered, after being called to the instrument by the detective’s butler.

Garvan explained the situation in a few words, and his fellow assistant promised to speed up to Grantley’s house at once, and try to intercept Hoff and the nurse if they had not already vanished.

It was also arranged that Ida Jones, Nick’s pretty woman assistant, should accompany Chick in the car as far as One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street, where she would drop off, in order to search for the trail there.

Patsy knew that minutes might be priceless things just then, and he felt sure that Nick would sanction the moves made.

As soon as he hung up the receiver he sought the basement, where he found the driver of the taxi surrounded by a knot of excited servants.