Chapter XXXIX: The Blind Beggar

Five minutes after Nick had driven away from the spot where the encounter had taken place, a dozen rough-looking men had come from the woods and were looking around to see if they could find any trace of the detectives.

They were piloted around by the chauffeur of the taxi, who declared that the two officers had been assaulted and thrown to the ground by Meloy and himself.

“You see,” said the fellow, as he stopped at the side of the road, “we had a desperate fight with the two cops, but we were more than a match for them.”

“But where are they?” asked one of the party.

“Right back of where you are standing,” the other answered.

The party looked back of the woods, but were not able to find any trace of the two detectives; they turned on the driver and were going to call him to account when they saw that he had been injured and that he was out of his mind.

The beating that Nick Carter had given him was too much for him, trained athlete that he was.

“Where is Meloy?” one of the men asked.

“I don’t know,” replied the chauffeur.

“I supposed that Meloy was a match for any detective on the force,” said one of the fellows when Meloy’s insensible body was found.

“He is a match for any ordinary man,” replied the other, “but you can’t expect him to whip a man like Nick Carter.”

“You don’t mean to say that Nick Carter is on the case that has so long baffled the police, do you?”

“Yes, the case has been turned over to him, and I tell you, boys, that we have got to be very careful, or we will find that we are up against a losing game,” said one of the older men.

“I think that the best thing that we can do,” spoke up the leader of the gang, “is to wait for this detective and blow out his brains. I tell you that he is a dangerous man, and the sooner we are rid of him the safer it will be for us.”

“You are right,” came a voice from out the darkness.

“Benny the Bum by all the imps in the place below,” said the leader.

“You are mistaken, Hall, it is not Benny the Bum, but Jack Weeden, at your service,” said the voice.

As he stepped out into the light of a lantern that the leader carried, Jack Weeden looked like the old tramp that had been on the side of the road when the fight began that afternoon.

His make-up was wonderful, and when he commenced to talk, as the tramp had done in the afternoon, the gang were more surprised than ever, as none of them had seen their leader in the disguise before, and, although they had had orders to obey the tramp, they did not know who he was until now.

Hall laughed at how his chief had fooled him, and the others could hardly restrain a cheer at the cleverness of the man who ruled them.

“What orders have you to give us now?” asked the leader.

“I want you to find Nick Carter, and when you do----”

“All right, sir, we will do the rest.”

“But where did he go?”

“He left in the motor car with the inspector, and he will probably go to some doctor’s.”

“Part of you fellows stay here and attend to the men who are hurt, and the rest of you go to where Nick Carter has taken the inspector, which you will probably find is the first doctor on the road as you enter Brooklyn.”

“All right, sir, we are off.”

Jack Weeden watched them as they went off up the road; a satisfied smile was on his lips; he knew that if these men ever got Nick Carter in their clutches, the detective’s life was to be the forfeit for the manner in which he had injured their comrades.