Nick Carter Stories No. 120, December 26, 1914: An uncanny revenge; or, Nick Carter and the mind murderer.Carter, Nicholas (House name)
General
Nick Carter Stories No. 120, December 26, 1914: An uncanny revenge; or, Nick Carter and the mind murderer.
Carter, Nicholas (House name)
Detective and mystery stories, American -- Periodicals; Popular literature -- Periodicals
“John Brandon!” exclaimed the prince. “Of course! We were great friends
during my university days, but I haven’t seen him in years. You see, Mr.
Lawrence, our family was exiled from Ostrau until the timely revolution
three years ago which restored my father to power. I was brought up in
England, and, as we were very poor, indeed, I went through Rugby and
Cambridge under the name of Nordstrom, which is one of our family names.
It would have been absurd for a poverty-stricken individual to be
strutting about as a prince. What times we had!” he sighed. “I think
they were the happiest days of my life--until now. But I am digressing.
Unfortunately for our plans, my wife was taken ill just as we were on
the point of leaving New York. I knew that the pursuit would be keen,
and, unless attention was diverted from us to another quarter, we would
be hunted out no matter how carefully we hid ourselves in New York.
Considering my wife’s health, I was most anxious to avoid anything of
that sort until she was recovered.
“I was at my wit’s end,” he continued, “and could think of nothing until
one day, while waiting with Watkins in the Pennsylvania Station for a
physician from Philadelphia, whom I knew well, and who had promised to
come on, I suddenly caught sight of you. I was simply stumped, of
course; then, like a flash, I realized that here was the way out, which
I had hitherto been searching for in vain. It took but a moment for me
to outline a plan to Watkins, arrange my bill case, and place the ring
in it. You see, that had been given me by the Rajah of Sind when I
toured India two years ago, and I had scarcely had it off my finger
since then. If an added mark of identification were needed, that would
amply suffice.
“The plan worked to a charm. When Hager, my father’s chief of police,
arrived, he was completely taken in. He kept on your trail day and
night, and my purpose was accomplished. We had taken rooms in what I
considered the most out-of-the-way locality in New York. When I went out
it was always after dark and wearing a semidisguise. In spite of every
care, however, fate seemed to be against me, and caused Hager to choose
this very house for the culmination of his little drama. My rooms are
just back of this. Through the door I heard all that passed; and, when I
found that my uncle was expected, I realized that the better way would
be to end everything at once and be free from further persecution. I can
only close, Mr. Lawrence, by offering my most sincere apologies for the
annoyance to which you have been subjected.”
“There is not the slightest need of that, your highness,” Barry returned
hastily. “I am more grateful to you than I can say, for without your aid
I should probably have missed--the greatest happiness of my life.”
“You are good to say that,” the prince said simply. “I am very happy.”
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Lawrence asked, as they arose.
The crown prince looked slightly puzzled. “I’m afraid I do not
understand.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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