Nick Carter Stories No. 157, September 11, 1915: A human counterfeit; or, Nick Carter and the crook's double.Carter, Nicholas (House name)
General
Nick Carter Stories No. 157, September 11, 1915: A human counterfeit; or, Nick Carter and the crook's double.
Carter, Nicholas (House name)
Detective and mystery stories, American -- Periodicals; Popular literature -- Periodicals
“No need to be afraid of that,” declared Parsons, with a laugh. “It
would take more than an automobile to faze Red Horgan. He’s a son-in-law
of one of the biggest politicians in the county, and has such a strong
pull that I guess he wouldn’t care if Chief Hodgins himself came into
the back room of the café and caught him playing cards when he ought to
be patrolling his beat. I’ve often heard him boast that there isn’t a
superior officer in the department that isn’t afraid to call him down,
no matter what he does--that if any of them dared to get gay with him,
he’d mighty soon show them where they got off at.”
“Must be a pleasant sort of chap,” said Hawley, with an ironical smile.
“It’ll be a genuine pleasure to publish his picture, eh, Fred?”
“But surely you’ve no intention of going into Dutch Louie’s place to get
it?” Carroll protested anxiously. “That’s out of the question.”
The Camera Chap looked astonished. “Why out of the question? Didn’t you
just hear Parsons say that anybody can get into the place?”
“Oh, yes, I haven’t any doubt that you could get in, all right; but if
you were rash enough to try to take a flash-light picture inside I
rather guess you’d have some difficulty in getting out. Dutch Louie’s
few patrons are a pretty tough bunch. They’d probably kick in a few of
your ribs before Officer Horgan placed you under arrest for taking
photographs without a license. Better pass this one up, old man, and
look for something a trifle easier.”
But Hawley had no intention of foregoing this opportunity to procure a
snapshot of Mr. Red Horgan in the rôle of a pinochle player. He realized
that there were difficulties in the way of his getting the picture, but
he was determined to make the attempt.
“It’ll be a gem!” he declared enthusiastically. “If I can get it and it
turns out all right, Fred, just imagine what a hit it will make with the
readers of the _Bulletin_. Stop the car, please, Parsons. Here we are at
the corner. I’m going to get out.”
Carroll clutched at his coat to restrain him, but the Camera Chap
laughingly shook off his hold, and got out of the automobile.
“You fellows wait here for me,” he said. “Keep the power turned on,
Parsons, and have the car all ready to start as soon as I come out.
It’s possible that we may have to make a hurried get-away, in which case
it would be inconvenient to have to wait until you cranked up.”
He was stepping to the sidewalk, when Carroll called to him:
“Hold on, there! If you’re such a stubborn idiot that you can’t be
dissuaded from doing this crazy thing, I’m going with you. Do you think
I’m going to stay quietly in this car while you’re inside that joint,
being killed? I guess not! The chances are a hundred to one that
there’ll be a rough-house as soon as you fire the flash,” he said. “I
don’t suppose that even with me to help you we’ll stand much chance
against that crowd; but, at all events, two’ll be better than one.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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