Chapter IV: The Real Thing

After Nick had talked over the case with Chick and Ida, he had sent Chick to the house in Seventeenth Street to take stock of it and to make inquiries.

“Chick,” he had said, “I don’t think you will learn much, for I fancy the house has been abandoned by these people. However, you may learn something in looking it up.”

He then went to his house, to find a caller awaiting him. Nick looked at the card, but did not recognize the name. It was Richard F. Mountain.

He sent for the caller to come to his own room.

Mr. Mountain was one who showed in his movements that he was a man of business, and accustomed to affairs.

“Are we alone, Mr. Carter?” he added, on entering. “What I have to say is strictly confidential.”

“We cannot be overheard here,” replied Nick.

“Then the next question is, can I rely upon you to take my case?”

“I never decide to take a case until I hear the story,” said Nick, “but whatever confidence you give me will be respected.”

“It’s a case of attempted blackmail,” replied Mr. Mountain.

“The Brown Robin?” asked Nick.

Mr. Mountain stared a moment before he replied:

“Yes, that name has cropped up in the case.”

“Then I take your case,” said Nick, “for I am already engaged. Go on with the story.”

“I am an insurance agent and real estate broker,” said Mr. Mountain, plunging at once into his story, “and frequently have sums of money in my hands for investment belonging to other people. My reputation is good and my standing high.

“Some time ago I was caught in a speculation in which I had ventured rather recklessly. I reached a point where, unless I could put up a very considerable sum, I was likely to lose all I had ventured—lose everything.

“In this strait I used the money of an estate I was managing, and saved myself for that time. It was wrong and was something that people did not believe I would be guilty of.

“After I had passed this money out of my hands an accounting was suddenly and unexpectedly demanded of me. I was in a corner, likely to be exposed and ruined. The facts were not suspected, however, and a day or two intervened. I tried to extricate myself, but could not.

“In my distress I determined on suicide, and drew up a statement which was a confession, placing it in my desk, to be found when my death was announced.

“On the day I had fixed for my death—the day of accounting, I was given a respite by a postponement for one week.

“During that week the speculation I was engaged in was brought to an unexpected and successful conclusion and realization. I was in funds again—in fact, a rich man.

“During the few days left me before the accounting, I was so busy in preparing for it and buying back securities that I had used, that the confession passed from my mind.

“After I had passed through the accounting triumphantly, I looked for it. It was gone. I searched and inquired, but without success.

“For a long time it worried me greatly, but as time went on and nothing came of it, I began to think that I must have destroyed it and forgotten I had done so.

“But yesterday a copy of it was presented to me, and I was told that I could have the copy and the original for fifty thousand dollars.

“I temporized and put off further negotiations until to-morrow. Now, that is the whole story. And, Mr. Carter, I am here to say that I will not pay the sum. I will not be blackmailed. I don’t want to be exposed, either; I do not want the disgrace that would follow. My business would be ruined. That is a small matter in one way, for I am a wealthy man, but I do not want to lose the respect and confidence I enjoy.

“In my whole business life I have made this one false step. But, all the same, I will not be blackmailed.

“Now, with handing you this letter, received this morning, I have stated my case.”

He took a letter from his pocket and handed it to Nick. At a glance Nick recognized the paper and the handwriting. It read:

“Mr. Richard F. Mountain: Contrary to my custom, I gave you two days
to comply with my demands. Then I thought you asked for time to gather
the money required. Reviewing our talk, I see now that you made no
promise. I have been lax. I shall not be again. To-morrow you must be
prepared to comply. I shall call you to a place to pay the money. Be
prompt in your coming. But heed this. Do not call in the services of
Nick Carter. Do not talk to him at all.

“The Brown Robin.”

Holding the letter in his hand, Nick asked:

“How was this demand made?”

“By a young man who called on me at my office yesterday afternoon.”

“What name did he give?”

“None. He approached when I was engaged with some people I was doing business with, merely saying:

“This is a copy, but important enough to demand your immediate attention.”

“I read it, of course, and, getting up from my seat, took him aside, demanding to know what was wanted.

“His answer was that he was acting for another person, who wanted fifty thousand dollars for the original. Situated as I was, surrounded by people who were at the time placing financial trust in me, I could do nothing but fight for delay and postponement.”

“I see,” said Nick. “Now, have you any idea who this young man was?”

“No.”

“Nor who it is he says he represents?”

“No knowledge.”

“Do you suspect any one?”

“Well, I hardly know how to reply. I had a typewriter—a young woman in my employ, who left me suddenly just before I missed that paper. Time and time again my mind has gone back to her in suspicion with nothing to support it. Her name was Alberta Curtis.”

“Have you heard of her since she left you?”

“In a way, immediately after her disappearance. She was a Southern girl of a good but impoverished family. She eloped with a married man. That was the cause of her leaving me. I heard of it from her family, who cast her off for the act.”

“With whom did she elope?”

“I only know his name—Charles Stymer.”

Just then Patsy came in, and Nick sent for him.

“This is Patsy Murphy, Mr. Mountain,” said Nick. “One of my most trusted aids. I want to question him on some business he has on hand.”

Turning to Patsy, he asked:

“Did you follow your man?”

“Yes. He gave me a chase, too.”

“Did you get close to him—close enough to know what he looks like?”

“I had a talk with him.”

“Describe him to me?”

Patsy gave an elaborate description of the man that had figured before him both as George Vernon and Harold Stanton.

As Patsy talked, Nick, closely watching Mr. Mountain, saw him show signs of increasing excitement, until he finally burst out:

“Why, he is describing the very man who called on me yesterday.”

“Then,” said Nick, with a smile, “the Brown Robin is both a man and a woman.”

“I do not understand you,” said Mr. Mountain.

“Probably not,” said Nick. “I am not far enough in the case to understand it myself. We are already engaged on one case of blackmail in which the Brown Robin figures as a woman. Now you give us one in which it figures as a man.

“The Brown Robin has given a good deal of trouble in Chicago, Boston and Philadelphia without being detected.

“It has just begun operations in New York. I imagine your case is the first one of its operations, and the other we have the second.

“Whether it is a he or a she, or a gang, it is bold, audacious and skillful, working in a new way.”

“By the way, chief,” asked Patsy, “have you received another letter from the Brown Robin?”

“Yes; why do you ask?”

“Because this fellow I followed sent you one.”

Nick picked a letter from the table and handed it to Patsy. It read:

“My Dear Uncle: Really, you are much better than I supposed. It is
worth while working against you. You’re not easy, but keep me at work.
What a dance you gave me this morning. And your Patsy is a regular
laloo. He ran me down and cornered me this morning. If he had dared to
arrest me he would have done so, but he had no right to do that, so,
of course, he didn’t. I slipped away from him only by accident. The
above is only by the way. I write to say that you are not serving Papa
Cary well. Drop him for his own sake. Even if you do stop him from
giving me more, I’ll ruin him. That is my rule. His safety is in
submitting to me.

“The Brown Robin.”

Patsy folded the letter, and handed it back to Nick, saying:

“He wrote another to the other.”

“Who?”

Patsy wrote the name of Alpheus Cary on a slip of paper, handing it to Nick.

“Ah! I must know what it said,” said Nick, as he glanced at it.

Turning to Mr. Mountain, Nick said:

“One of the peculiar features of this affair is the frequent and impudent letters that are written to me.

“Until you came with your story, I was at a loss to understand the reason of them. I do now. Your case is the big one. While it is being worked the Brown Robin would have us think that the other case is the only one it is working on.

“It is quite ingenious and a new way of working. Leaving a trail open on the second, they will carefully make those to the first blind.

“Now, Mr. Mountain, return to your office. Another aid of mine will call on you as soon as he can. His sole business will be to study your appearance. Give him every opportunity.

“If you receive another letter, let him have it. If you receive a notice from the Brown Robin to go to any particular place, tell him of it. That I must know of at the earliest moment.

“Now, Patsy, Chick is over somewhere in Seventeenth Street. Find him and send him to Mr. Mountain’s office. Now get away, please, both of you, for I must go out.”

Mr. Mountain returned to his office, feeling a weight off his shoulders, since the celebrated Nick Carter had the case in hand.

Patsy hurried off to find Chick.

Nick himself made his way to the Zetler Bank to find Mr. Cary almost in a state of collapse.

A messenger had brought him a letter from the Brown Robin.

It read:

“Dear Papa Cary: Your little present of last night only went a little
way. I want more for some expenses I have. You must be at the corner
of Fourth Avenue and Twenty-eighth Street this afternoon at five
o’clock. Be prompt, now, because there will be some one there to bring
you to me. And bring some money. A nice good lot. Don’t fail, if you
do——

“The Brown Robin.”

When Nick had read this letter, Mr. Cary handed him a photograph which he said had been brought in but a short time before, carefully wrapped up.

Nick saw that it was one taken by flashlight. It showed a woman sitting on Mr. Cary’s knee, her arms about his neck, his face showing plainly.

Nick thought it was about as compromising a picture as a respectable elderly gentleman of family could be tortured with, and one of which clearly no explanation could be given to offset or contradict the story it told. He studied the woman’s face, or so much as she showed. There was art in the way it was shown, yet concealed.

“Tear it up and burn it,” he said. “You must not have it lying about your desk.”

And while Mr. Cary was engaged in the work of destroying the damaging photograph, Nick was busily thinking.

Finally he asked:

“Have you nerve enough to keep this engagement with the Brown Robin and carry her another hundred dollars?”

Against this Mr. Alpheus Cary protested warmly, declaring that he never again would voluntarily see the woman.

But Nick’s persuasive powers must have been great, for shortly after four o’clock Mr. Cary was seen to leave the bank, and had he been followed, it would have been seen that his way was up Fourth Avenue.