Nick Carter Stories No. 121, January 2, 1915: The call of death; or, Nick Carter's clever assistantCarter, Nicholas (House name)
General
Nick Carter Stories No. 121, January 2, 1915: The call of death; or, Nick Carter's clever assistant
Carter, Nicholas (House name)
Detective and mystery stories, American -- Periodicals; Popular literature -- Periodicals
“Dear me!” Nick exclaimed, with affected astonishment. “Why so, Miss
Crandall? What is the meaning of this sudden change of mind?”
“I do not care to make any explanation,” she said sharply. “Attribute it
to a whim, to caprice, or anything else that suits you.”
“But you must have a reason, some cause for----”
“The work would be distasteful,” snapped Kate, wheeling sharply around
and facing him. “I shall not discuss the matter. That settles it.”
“On the contrary, Miss Crandall, it does nothing of the kind,” Nick now
said, quite sternly. “This matter will be settled only when it is
settled right. I know, without your informing me, the cause of the
attitude you now have taken.”
“And I know without your informing me, sir, that you are not what you
pretend you are,” Kate angrily retorted. “You are here with covert
designs. I have nothing more to say to you. Leave my office.”
“Not until you have told me what you know about the disappearance of the
Reverend Austin Maybrick,” Nick sternly rejoined.
“Disappearance of Mr. Maybrick?”
“That’s what I said.”
“He has disappeared, then?”
“You know that he has and that----”
The woman interrupted him with a derisive laugh.
“I know nothing of the kind,” she said curtly. “I neither know nor care
anything about it. I----”
“You know, at least, what occurred in the rectory last evening,” Nick
sharply interrupted. “You were spying outside of the library window at
the time. You know----?”
“See here, Mr. Whatever-your-name-may-be!” Kate cut in defiantly.
“Anything that I know I shall keep to myself. You are a
detective--that’s what you are. But I’ll put you wise to one thing right
off the reel. You haven’t got anything on me, nor can you get anything.
You cannot persuade, frighten, nor intimidate me. I will tell you
nothing, absolutely nothing, and you may go to thunder. Get out of my
office, now, or I will call a policeman and have you ejected. That’s
all. I’m done with you.”
Nick came to a quick decision. He saw plainly that the woman meant what
she said and could not be turned then and there. He abruptly changed his
course.
“Very well,” he replied. “It will not be necessary to call a policeman.”
Nick turned with the last and departed. He had directed Patsy to wait in
a doorway on the opposite side of the street, in case he might want to
signal him from Kate Crandall’s window.
Nick reasoned that she might watch from the window, and see him if he
rejoined his waiting assistant.
He wrote a few lines in his notebook while descending the stairs, then
tore out the leaf and folded it. As he walked briskly up the street a
moment later, he caught Patsy’s eye and dropped the wad of paper on the
sidewalk.
“Gee! there’s something doing,” thought Patsy. “He don’t want to be
seen again with me. He has dropped me written instructions.”
Sauntering across the street, Patsy picked up the paper and read what
Nick had written:
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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