Nick Carter Stories No. 160, October 2, 1915: The Yellow Label; or, Nick Carter and the Society Looters.Carter, Nicholas (House name)
General
Nick Carter Stories No. 160, October 2, 1915: The Yellow Label; or, Nick Carter and the Society Looters.
Carter, Nicholas (House name)
Detective and mystery stories, American -- Periodicals; Popular literature -- Periodicals
“But he isn’t going to catch me, dear. I’ll admit that he hasn’t really
tried as yet, but I’m perfectly ready to have him do it. He’s certainly
a wonder, but I think I can tie him up in a knot, and I like to think of
him when I’m planning to turn a trick. It puts me on my mettle, and
makes me plan more carefully than I otherwise might. Therefore, I’m
really glad he’s on the job. You mustn’t have such fancies. They’re no
real part of you. You’re the pluckiest girl who ever bucked up against
the law, and you know you would tackle anything.”
Elaine’s smile was serious.
“I’ve proved that I’m not a coward, and I like excitement as well as you
do. I come nearer being afraid of Nick Carter, though, than of anybody
else. He’s been so successful. They say he never really went after a
crook, big or little, without getting him in the end, no matter how long
it took.”
Max reseated himself again.
“The longest string of victories is sometimes broken,” he said
confidently. “There’s no doubt that Carter has set a hot pace, but he
can’t keep it up. Somebody is going to spoil his record some of these
days--and why not yours truly?”
The girl shrugged her shoulders.
“I know there’s no use of arguing with you,” she said. “I wouldn’t have
you different, anyway. If you weren’t so sure of yourself, you couldn’t
have done half the things you’ve done, and very likely you wouldn’t have
won me, either. Tell me this, though: Supposing Mr. Atherton tries to
bluff you when you go to see him? Supposing he indignantly denies your
charge, and orders you to leave the house, and all that sort of thing,
what will you do? You see, you can’t prove that he and Mr. Frost are
leading this double life. You were alone when you listened to their talk
this evening, and if they both deny that they said what you say they
did, you have no witness to bring forward.”
“Don’t you fret. I’ve thought of that,” the man informed her. “Before I
pay that little call on Atherton, I’m going to have positive proof of
his guilt, and I’m going to know who his other accomplices are.”
“But how can you obtain such a proof?”
“By going to Freehold. It’s now ten minutes to twelve, and the job is
fixed for three o’clock in the morning. I have tuned up my motor bike,
and everything is ready. If I leave here about quarter after twelve, I
ought to reach Freehold easily by two o’clock.
“When I do so,” he continued, “I shall hide my machine, and keep watch
on the Meadowview house. When I have seen all I want to see, I’ll come
back here, and to-morrow I’ll interview Atherton. He’ll have to accept
my terms when he finds out what I know, and then----”
He refilled his glass, and surveyed it with the critical eye of a
connoisseur.
“Good-by to the Marmawell!” he said. “Good-by to the front row of the
chorus! Good-by to the simple life in a tenement house! Exit all the
things we hate, and enter all the things we love--ease and wealth and
luxury!”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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