Chapter LIV: The Third Degree

At nine o’clock next morning Nick Carter was at Center Street police headquarters. After the men had been routed the night before, Nick had returned to his bed, and had had several hours of good sleep.

He took a cold plunge and a brisk rubdown with a Turkish towel. When he appeared at the office of the inspector, that official was more than astonished to see him.

He had hardly supposed that Nick would be up and ready for work so early after the hard work he had done the day before.

“Have you read the papers this morning?” the inspector asked, a moment later.

“No, I have not,” responded the detective. “What is in them?”

“It is an account which makes you a great hero.”

“Oh, I guess it’s a young fellow’s story of a little scrimmage I had near my house last night. I hope he said nothing about the case I have been working on.”

“No, he has not printed a word about it.”

“Well, then, when I clear the Astoria mystery I shall take good care that he has the story first.”

“By the way,” asked the inspector, “do you know that a man named Hall was brought here this morning?”

“No, I did not, but I am very glad to hear it. He was one of the men who tried to kill me last night.

“I must see both Hall and Meloy,” continued Nick.

“Do you think that Meloy will talk?”

“The chances are that he will, now that Billy Young is dead. He feared him more than he did a dozen policemen.”

“I think, then, that I will go down to the cells and see these men.”

“Very well; I’ll go down with you,” said the inspector.

A couple of minutes later, and they were in Meloy’s cell.

The prisoner had had a good breakfast, and was inclined to be funny. They cut him short and came down to business.

“Meloy,” said Nick, “you appear to be in a much better frame of mind than you were last night?”

“I am,” the man replied. “I’ve had a good night’s sleep and an excellent breakfast, and what more does a man want?”

“Liberty,” laconically replied Nick.

“Yes, liberty’s a good thing, but if a fellow hasn’t got money and grub, liberty don’t amount to much.”

“You can have both liberty and money if you answer certain questions truthfully.”

“What questions are they--the same as you asked me last night?”

“Yes.”

“Suppose I refuse to answer them?”

“Then you will be deprived of your liberty and brought up on the old indictment.”

“And get twenty years, hey?”

“More likely you’ll get thirty or thirty-five,” Nick answered coldly.

“What is the additional time for?” he asked, in a surprised tone.

“We have some other counts to try you on.”

“Well, I think you are a pretty square cop, and if you give me your word I feel sure that you will keep it. Now, what do you want me to do?”

“I want you to tell the truth.”

“Well, where am I to begin?”

“Where you left off last night. Let me tell you first that Billy Young is dead,” added the detective.

“Well, what of it? That is no news to me. I have heard it before.”

“Is that so? From whom did you hear it?”

“One of the doormen told me, as he thought that it was a brilliant piece of news. I didn’t take much stock in it until I heard him tell another man, and then I felt sure that it was not a ‘plant’ on your part to get me to talk.”

“I will show that I am in earnest when I tell you that he is dead. I will do what will convince you, I think; I will send for Hall, the leader of your gang, and have him tell you about how he was killed.”

An officer was sent to fetch Hall from his cell.

He was handcuffed, and looked rather forlorn as he stood in front of Meloy’s cell.

“How did you get in here?” asked the latter.

“I suppose that it was in the same way that you got in.”

“Is it true that Young is dead?”

“Yes; he was shot by a newspaper man, who was a friend of Nick Carter’s, and he clubbed me with his stick until I am black and blue all over.”

“Well, I am glad that he was killed, as there was not a man in the gang that did not fear him. Hall, do you know that you and I are in a bad hole? I am good for thirty years, at least, and I think that they will send you up for a good, long term. I am going to talk to the inspector and Mr. Carter, and tell them what I know.”

“Then you are going to squeal?”

“Yes; because they will let up on me, and, besides, Weeden does not care for any of us. All he wants to do is to pose as a man of respectability one minute and the next he wants to go around looking like somebody else. I tell you that I am tired of the whole business. I have not had anything to do with the Astoria horror, but I am going to tell them all I know about the crimes.”

“I will talk to you about the terms before you begin, so that there will be no misunderstanding about the matter,” said the inspector.

“Well, inspector,” said Hall, “what we want is to walk out of this place free men.”

“You don’t ask much, do you?” said the inspector, amazed at the cheek of the fellow. “But I shall keep my word. Now, tell us about the murders.”

“The members of the gang were entirely ignorant of the way that they were committed, that is, with one exception; that was Billy Young. He knew everything that was either going on or that was to ‘come off.’”

“What you say may be true,” said the inspector, “but Young is dead, and so all power of corroborating what you say is gone.”

“Yes, and if it were not for the fact that he is dead you would not be listening to what you are being told now. There isn’t a man in the gang--and there are some very brave fellows among them--that would have the nerve to tell you anything about the workings of the gang if Billy Young was alive.”

“You are not afraid of Jack Weeden, then?”

“No; I would meet him anywhere or any place.”

“Will what you are going to tell me implicate Jack Weeden?”

“It will. He is really the mysterious assassin.”

“Who is the old blind beggar that hangs around the road near where the murders were committed?”

“That is Jack Weeden, the man that keeps the automobile repair shop; the two people are one and the same.”

“I was right,” said Nick. “Now, let me ask you another question. Who is this man Wright, the man that keeps a crockery store?”

The two criminals looked at Nick for a moment, and then laughed.

“I guess that you know who he is, Mr. Carter. You tried to arrest him that day the riots were going on in the street. He laughed about his narrow escape that day.”

“Well, what was his reason that day to try and have one of his own gang lynched?”

“He was sore on the fellow, as he thought that he was trying to spy on his business, and he saw a good chance to finish the fellow without its being traced to him, so he concluded that he would get him out of the way in that manner. He first sent a note to the woman, asking her to meet him, and addressed the letter to her in endearing terms, and then, before she had time to receive it, he sent word to the husband that his wife was receiving letters from different men. The husband, of course, found the letter, and accused his wife of being untrue to him, and he, in his jealous rage, shot her, which was exactly what Weeden wanted him to do. I tell you, of all the devilish men on earth, he is the very worst.”