Читать книгу A Stolen Name; Or, The Man Who Defied Nick Carter - Carter Nicholas - Страница 4

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“It was four years ago, wasn’t it, Chick, when Bare-Faced Jimmy kept us guessing? You remember Jimmy Duryea, don’t you?” asked Nick Carter of his first assistant, as he lighted a cigar immediately after breakfast, one Monday morning.

“Remember him? I should say I do!” replied Chick, as he selected a cigar from the box on the table. “Bare-Faced Jimmy! The mere mention of that name, Nick, calls up a great many recollections. And that reminds me; I wonder what has become of Nan Nightingale. I have not seen a line about her in any of the papers lately. Has she left the stage?”

“I saw her last evening, at church or, rather, just as we were coming out of church,” replied the detective. “That was why I asked the question.”

“You saw Nan?”

“Yes; and talked with her.”

“And her husband—Smathers was his name, wasn’t it—did you see him, too?”

“No. Smathers—The Man of Many Faces, as he called himself on the vaudeville stage—is dead. He died about a year and a half ago, Nan told me. Jimmy Duryea was her first husband, you know. She got a divorce from him when he was sent to prison, and afterward married Smathers. Smathers has been dead more than a year, and Nan thinks that Jimmy is still alive.”

“Jimmy Duryea alive? Impossible.”

“That is what I told her; but she insists that she saw him—or his ghost.”

“Then it must have been his ghost, Nick. Jimmy has been dead four years. He died soon after you took him off that island in the Sound, near South Norwalk, didn’t he?”

“That was the supposition. That has always been my belief. Do you remember that last stunt of his, Chick?”

“The time he passed himself off as Paran Maxwell, do you mean?”

“Yes.”

“I think we all have cause to remember that incident. Bare-Faced Jimmy was a remarkable chap, Nick, take it all in all.”

“He certainly was. There was a great deal of good in Jimmy. You remember there was a time when I thought he had entirely reformed. Then he made that disappearing act of his from the steamship, and bobbed up, long afterward, on that island. It would be strange if he should appear again, after four years, wouldn’t it?”

“It certainly would; but stranger things than that have happened in our experiences, Nick.”

“Yes. But, somehow, I can’t believe that Jimmy Duryea is alive, now; although Nan is positive about it.”

“Tell me what she said. Tell me about your talk with her. I always liked Nan; and it is a cinch that she could sing. You gave her the right name when you called her Nightingale.”

“Yes. Even Pettis said that.”

“Why did she give up the stage?”

“She didn’t tell me that. I was coming out of the church when some one touched me on the arm, and turning about I saw that it was Nan. Of course I was glad to see her, and I said so.”

“Naturally. She is a sort of protégée of yours, you know. It was through you, Nick, that she quit being a crook and became an honest woman.”

“Softly, Chick. Nan was never really a crook, you know. When she was Jimmy Duryea’s wife he did force her into assisting him in some of his crooked work; but she never had any heart in it. She hasn’t left the stage permanently—only temporarily. She said she desired a rest for a season, and that she had saved up enough money to take it. I guess that is her only reason for not being on the boards at present.”

“But what about Jimmy?”

“It is rather an odd sort of story, but I will tell it to you just as she told it to me and see what you think about it, Chick.”

“All right.”

“During her career on the stage these last four years, Nan has made some splendid acquaintances. I am not referring to people in the ‘profession’ so much as to society people. Nan has become a welcome guest at many an exclusive house, and among the members of the most conservative set.”

“I’m not surprised at that. She is a beautiful woman—there is not another one on the stage who can hold a candle to her, if it comes down to that.”

“You’re right. She is a lady, through and through—to the manner born, so to speak.”

“Sure. And by the way, isn’t that what Jimmy used to say to himself—that he was ‘born, bred, and raised a gentleman’?”

“Yes. And it was true, too.”

“Go ahead about Nan, Nick.”

“Well, it was at the solicitation of some of her society friends that she decided to take a rest for one season. She has saved up a lot of money, as nearly as I can make out, and was invited on a yachting cruise with some of her friends. After that she became the guest of Mrs. Theodore Remsen—and that is where she is staying now.”

“She did get into the ‘upper ten,’ didn’t she?”

“Sure. There isn’t a more exclusive house in the city, or at Newport or Lenox, than the Theodore Remsen’s.”

“I know. Well?”

“Perhaps you know that the Remsens also own a fine residence that fronts on the Hudson River, eh? Not far from Fishkill?”

“I didn’t know it; but that makes no difference. What about it?”

“That is where they are staying just now; and Nan is there with them. She is to be their guest until spring. I believe there is a whole season of pleasure mapped out for Nan, and she is to be made quite the lioness—and all that.”

“I understand. But what has all that got to do with——”

“I am coming to that, Chick. That is what brings me to the rather remarkable tale that Nan told me.”

“I see.”

“To let you in on the ground floor of the story at once, a burglar got into the house up the river, a few nights ago. Nan surprised the burglar at work, made him give up his booty, agreed to say nothing about it to the members of the household, and let him go. But, it appears, that instead of relinquishing his booty and going away empty handed, he only gave up what was in sight, and actually got away with a diamond necklace and some other jewels that belonged to Mrs. Remsen, and to some of her guests. Nan says that what was actually stolen represented close to forty thousand dollars.”

“Jimmy always was discriminating, when it came to a selection of jewels,” said Chick, with a slow smile.

“Right again. But because of the disappearance of those jewels, Nan finds herself in a perplexity. Now, I’ll tell you the story just as it is.”

“All right.”

“It happened last Thursday night. Nan had not been feeling up to the mark that day. She had kept herself rather to herself, since morning. During the day Mrs. Remsen told Nan that she was expecting another guest that evening—a gentleman from the South, named Dinwiddie; Ledger Dinwiddie, to be exact.”

“Rather a high-sounding title, that; eh?”

“Yes. Well, Nan didn’t go down to dinner that evening, so she did not meet the guest, when he arrived. She retired early—that is, she arranged herself in comfortable attire, and kept to her own room, where she passed the time in reading. About eleven o’clock, she tried to compose herself to sleep, but after an hour of vain effort in that line, she decided that it was of no use, and sought another book. There did not happen to be one handy which interested her, and so, garbed in a wrapper, she descended the stairs to the library.”

“It sounds like a chapter out of a book, Nick.”

“It does, for a fact; but you haven’t got the real thing, yet.”

“Go ahead, then.”

“She had bed slippers on her feet, which made no sound as she walked. She crossed the lower hall, after descending the stairs, and stepped into the library, reaching around the jamb of the doorway, as she did so, to switch on the electric lights—and she did it so quickly that she failed to notice that there was a single light already burning in the room.”

“More and more like a novel, Nick.”

“Yes. When she snapped on the lights, a man who had been seated at the table in the middle of the room sprang to his feet—and she found herself looking into the muzzle of a revolver.”

“Well, it wasn’t the first time that Nan has done that. It might have scared most women half to death; but Nan——”

“I rather think that she was more surprised and startled by the appearance of the man himself than by the weapon he held in his hand,” said the detective, interrupting. “The man was Jimmy Duryea; Bare-Faced Jimmy; at least she says it was—and is.”

“And—is?”

“Yes. I’m coming to that.”

“All right.”

“The room was, of course, in a blaze of light. In the man who confronted her, Nan saw the face and features of Jimmy Duryea. On the table where he had been seated was a confused heap of the spoil he had stolen, and was engaged in sorting when Nan interrupted him.”

“And she was looking into the muzzle of a gun,” commented Chick.

“Yes. But it wasn’t that which startled her. It was the face and appearance of the man; of a man whom she supposed to have been dead four years, at least; of the man whom she had once married, and whom she had tenderly loved, until she discovered that he was a crook, when she deserted him and got a divorce.”

“What did she do?”

“What would nine out of ten women do, under like circumstances?” retorted the detective.

“Let out a yell, I suppose.”

“Nan cried out his name. ‘Jimmy!’ she exclaimed; and he dropped the gun to the floor, and called back, ‘Nan!’”

“Tableau!” said Chick.

“Precisely,” said Nick Carter.