Nick Carter Stories No. 158, September 18, 1915: The blue veil; or, Nick Carter's torn trail.Carter, Nicholas (House name)
General
Nick Carter Stories No. 158, September 18, 1915: The blue veil; or, Nick Carter's torn trail.
Carter, Nicholas (House name)
Detective and mystery stories, American -- Periodicals; Popular literature -- Periodicals
“Very true,” Nick admitted. “But there were other facts which I did not
know, and which I had had no way of learning. That is why there was a
second reason for Margate’s escape. Any detective, even one as ‘keen
and discerning’ as myself, if I may quote you, would be deceived by a
seeming impossibility.”
“Impossibility?”
“Seeming impossibility,” corrected Nick.
“What do you mean?”
“Bear in mind, Mr. Langham, that Margate rushed from the house in which
we secured his confederates and ran to his suite in the Hotel Westgate,
of which Clayton still is manager.”
“I know about that.”
“I then did not know that a secret electric communication existed
between the very room in which we made the arrest and the apartments to
which Margate had gone, nor that a signal informing him of the arrest
and warning him to flee could be communicated to him by stepping on a
concealed button under the carpet. I since have learned all about that.
That was done by Scoville, one of the arrested crooks, unknown to me and
my assistants.”
“But, Mr. Carter----”
“One moment, please,” Nick now interrupted. “I want you to see how
impossible Margate’s exploit must have appeared.”
“Go on, then.”
“Only ten minutes elapsed from the time Margate left his confederates,
until I entered the Westgate in pursuit of him. The first person I saw
in the hotel office was, I supposed, Manager Clayton.”
“Well?”
“How could I believe anything else?” Nick went on more earnestly. “He
was in the office inclosure and wearing an entirely different suit from
what Margate was wearing ten minutes before. Ten minutes is an
incredibly short time in which to have covered the distance between the
two houses, to have gone to his suite and changed his outside garments
and got down to the hotel office.”
“I admit that, Carter, of course.”
“I called to the supposed Clayton, therefore, and we went up to
Margate’s suite, in company with my junior assistant, Patsy Garvan,”
continued Nick. “We found the supposed Margate unconscious on his bed,
clad in the same suit in which I had seen him, as I have said, only ten
minutes before. Who on earth would have suspected, despite the
extraordinary resemblance and all that previously had occurred, that
such a lightninglike change of character could be accomplished; that the
man on the bed was Clayton, and the man at my elbow was the crook
himself? It would have seemed incredible, utterly impossible. That is
why I did not give it a thought.”
“How was it accomplished, Mr. Carter?”
“I since have learned, of course,” said Nick. “Margate received the
warning signal the moment he entered his suite. He instantly telephoned
down to the hotel office and requested Clayton to come up there
immediately on important business.”
“He did so?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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