Читать книгу Snarled Identities; Or, A Desperate Tangle - Carter Nicholas - Страница 7

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“Shortly after ten o’clock last night fire was discovered in the laundry at Clinton Prison. The blaze spread with surprising rapidity, and as the laundry was in the basement of one of the main wings of three tiers of cells above it, the lives of many of the convicts were soon seen to be in danger.

“Under the circumstances, it is surprising that more lives were not lost, but the best information obtainable at the present time is that three of the inmates were fatally burned—including the clever and infamous Green-eye Gordon—that many were injured or temporarily overcome, and that one took advantage of the excitement to escape.

“As soon as it was seen that the fire was beyond control, so far as the prison’s fire-fighting facilities were concerned, and that there was danger of asphyxiation from the dense smoke, the cells of each tier in the threatened wing were unlocked simultaneously, and there was a general exodus of frightened prisoners. The scene defies description, for the delay in opening the cells had given the trapped men an opportunity to work themselves up into a frenzy, and, as a result, the guards were powerless to handle them.

“A general jail delivery might have followed if the convicts had realized their power, but fear had driven everything else out of their minds for the time being, and in consequence, only one man, Convict No. 9,371, made his escape. He is known to the world beyond the gray walls as “Shang” Libby, a yegg, who had made his headquarters at Buffalo. Libby must have followed one of the guards when the latter left the inclosure for help, and having waited until the door of freedom had been opened, he quietly struck the guard down and passed through. He was one of those who had hastily dressed himself in the prison uniform and unless he can manage to get other clothing there is no doubt that he will soon be rounded up.”

Then followed a long account of the fire, and references to those who had been killed or seriously injured. The article ended with the following:

“The death of Ernest Gordon, widely known as Green-eye Gordon, was the most ignominious one, and hardly in keeping with this notorious criminal’s career. There was nothing spectacular about it. Gordon might have been expected to play a conspicuous part at such a time—to rally the prisoners for a concerted attempt at escape, for instance—but he does not seem to have distinguished himself in any such way. Indeed, it would appear that his daring and initiative left him at the last, for there seems no very good reason for his death, when most of his fellow prisoners escaped.

“Of course, some accident must have happened to him, for he was found trodden to death by the others in their bestial rush. His face disfigured beyond recognition.

“Gordon hailed from New York, and those who know have long classed him as one of the cleverest and most dangerous criminals this country has ever produced. He came of a good family, and was well educated, but early showed a tendency to criminal pursuits. Apparently he reformed, however, and for several years was employed by one of the great detective agencies.

“In this capacity he showed himself to be very able and daring, so much so that he advanced rapidly, and long enjoyed the utmost confidence of his employers. In the end, however, it was learned that he had been using his position for his own ends, and had really never given up his career of crime. He must have known that a storm was brewing, for, as usual, he managed to get away a few jumps ahead.

“After that, thanks to the invaluable experience he had gained as a detective, he turned his attention to much more ambitious and lucrative pursuits, soon becoming one of the most troublesome thorns in the side of the police of this city and elsewhere. Gordon always was versatile, and handled many kinds of crime with remarkable success. Toward the last, however, he developed something approaching a specialty in the shape of blackmail on a large scale. He seemed to have an uncanny facility for learning the secrets of the wealthy and prominent, and using them for purposes of blackmail.

“Crimes of this sort are not easy to establish in a legal way, or to punish, for the victims seldom raise an outcry. Nevertheless, that lifelong foe of crime and criminals, Nicholas Carter, took up the trail, and finally brought Gordon to bay. The capture and trial of two years ago are doubtless fresh in the minds of many newspaper readers.

“Gordon acquired his nickname of Green Eye from the fact that he had a pair of peculiar, rather nondescript gray eyes, which were said to emit a green light when the man was angry or excited. In addition, his eyes showed an inclination to cross at such times, although perfectly normal at all others. In fact, it is claimed that these distinguishing characteristics more than once served to identify the clever rogue, whose remarkable histrionic ability and skill at make-up would otherwise have enabled him to defy detection.”

Of course, neither of the detectives read all of this. They did not need to, for they knew a great deal more about Ernest Gordon than any one else could have told them.

Chick followed his chief’s example in glancing through the article and getting the main points that were new to him. Then he looked up with an odd expression.

“Well, it certainly sounds final enough,” he remarked. “I find it hard to believe, though, that Green Eye is dead, and that he died in such a way.”

“It is somewhat difficult to credit it,” Nick agreed. “That’s the way things frequently happen, though. Fate isn’t always dramatic in its methods according to our theatrical standards. No, it seems safe enough to believe that Ernest Gordon won’t give us any more trouble, and I find a certain amount of relief in the thought. I’m willing to confess now that there were times when I doubted my ability to bring him to account. In other words, I felt myself nearer defeat at his hands than I had ever done in any other case.”

The detective pulled out his watch, glanced at it, and threw his napkin aside. “We must hustle if we are going to catch that train,” he announced.

Five minutes later he and Chick were whirled away to the station. Their well-earned vacation had begun, but they were far from carefree.

The thought of Ernest Gordon persisted in haunting their minds, and somehow it seemed to dull the edge of their anticipations.