Читать книгу The Photographer's Evidence; Or, Clever but Crooked - Carter Nicholas - Страница 7

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Nick had not taken time to tell Patsy very much about Snell.

“There’s something up,” he said to his assistant. “I have no idea what it is, but I want you to shadow this man and see what becomes of him.”

“Do you think he’s a crook?” asked the young man.

“Not yet. He may be. If so, it won’t be the first time that a crook has tried to throw me off the track by calling on me. I simply feel that there’s something queer in this, and I’d like to find out about it. So I shall ask this man to call again unless he makes up his mind to tell me all the facts.”

Snell refused to tell all the facts, and so Patsy slipped out after him.

He had not gone far from the house when the young detective became convinced that another man also was following Snell.

This made his work very difficult, for he had to look sharp against betraying himself not only to Snell, but the other man.

Snell went into a drug store and bought a cigar.

The man who seemed to be following him loafed on the opposite corner.

Patsy turned down a street, and dropped into a doorway, where he made a swift change in his appearance.

He was at Snell’s heels again when the man from Wenonah went on.

The other man seemed to have disappeared.

“I was mistaken,” thought Patsy, “or the second chap is a better shadow than I am.”

For some blocks he kept up his chase, never losing sight of Snell, and seeing nothing more of the other.

Meantime Snell was apparently wandering around aimlessly.

He would stop at a corner and wait a full minute before he made up his mind which way to go.

Often he changed his direction.

In this way he got into a neighborhood which was very quiet in the evening.

Part way down a block he stopped suddenly, stood still for a moment and then went close to a building.

He was then in such deep shadow that Patsy could not see him.

“Somebody spoke to him,” reasoned the detective.

He went cautiously closer, and before he could see anybody he heard the sounds of voices in conversation.

What they said it was impossible to make out.

The detective dared not get close enough than that for fear of attracting the attention of the men.

There seemed to be two of them.

Presently he heard one voice say:

“I won’t do it.”

One of the men started away.

“It will be the worse for you, then,” growled the other.

The first man hastened his steps.

As he came from the shadow, Patsy saw that it was Snell.

The other man was darting after him on tiptoe.

He had one arm drawn back.

“Great Scott!” thought Patsy, “he means murder!”

He gave up trying to conceal his actions then.

Running forward as fast as possible, he shouted:

“Look out!”

Snell turned quickly.

The other man was close to him, and let his hand fall.

With a great leap Patsy was up to him just in time to catch his arm.

But it was too late to stop the blow entirely.

A slungshot in the man’s hand slipped from it and struck Snell a glancing blow on the head.

“Ah!” he cried, and staggered.

Patsy dashed to assist him, and caught hold of him in time to prevent him from falling against an iron fence, which probably would have broken his head.

The would-be murderer was dashing down the street.

Patsy could not be in two places at once.

He wanted to chase the unknown criminal, but his first business was with Snell.

This was not only because Nick had sent him out to shadow Snell, but because the man seemed to be badly injured.

He was groaning and trembling so that he would have fallen if the detective had not held him up.

“Better sit down a minute,” Patsy suggested, “and let me see if there’s anything serious the matter.”

Snell sank to a doorstep, and Patsy made a quick examination of his head.

“That was a nasty blow,” he said, “but I think your skull is sound. Aren’t you feeling better?”

“Yes,” Snell replied, “I am. I was more frightened than hurt, perhaps. I am greatly obliged to you.”

“Don’t mention it. Let me help you to your house. Do you live near?”

Snell laughed a little.

“Near!” he repeated, “I should say not.”

“Will you have a cab called to take you home?” asked Patsy.

Again Snell laughed.

“It would be too long a journey,” he said. “I am a stranger in New York, and I am staying at the Fifth Avenue. That isn’t very far away, I believe.”

“No, and you can get a car at the next block, if you want to.”

“I’d rather walk.”

He got up, and Patsy held his arm till they came to the corner.

“I don’t suppose your friend will tackle you again,” said the detective, then: “but I haven’t anything to do, and if you like I’ll walk with you to the hotel.”

“You are very kind,” Snell responded; “suppose you do. I confess that I am very nervous.”

“He had it in for you, I suppose,” remarked Patsy.

“Yes.”

“Don’t you want to speak to this policeman about it?”

An officer was approaching.

“No! no!” exclaimed Snell, hastily; “I have my reasons for keeping the matter quiet. Don’t for Heaven’s sake, say a word.”

“All right. It’s no business of mine, but if any fellow had thumped me like that I should want him put where he couldn’t try it again.”

“I don’t think he will try it again; at least, not in New York. I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Just as you say, sir. Want to stop in at a drug store and get your head bathed with arnica?”

“That would be a good idea.”

They entered the next drug store they came to, where it proved that Snell had suffered nothing more than a painful bruise.

After that they went on to the Fifth Avenue Hotel.

“I am very much obliged to you,” said Snell, halting in the doorway.

“Don’t mention it,” Patsy responded.

“Will you come in and have something?”

He looked as if he hoped Patsy would say no, but the detective was glad of any excuse to stick to him.

“Yes,” said Patsy, “don’t care if I do.”

Snell nodded silently, and led the way into the hotel.

As they were passing the desk the clerk spoke to him.

“Mr. Snell,” he said, “there’s a telegram here for you.”

“Excuse me,” said Snell to Patsy, going quickly to the desk.

He took the envelope handed to him, and opened it with trembling fingers.

When he had read the message he crumpled the paper in his hand and frowned.

After a moment of thought, he turned to Patsy, saying, “Excuse me” again, and went with him to the barroom.

Snell poured himself a stiff drink of whiskey.

“Once more,” he said, raising his glass, “I thank you for coming to my rescue. Honestly, I believe I should be a dead man this minute if you hadn’t. Here’s your health.”

“Thanks,” responded Patsy.

“Now,” continued Snell, “I don’t like to leave a man who has saved my life, in this abrupt way, but I’ve got to. This telegram calls me out of town, and I must lose no time in getting ready. Won’t you leave me your name and address?”

“Why,” answered Patsy, “I’ll give you my name if you want it, and address, too, but it isn’t likely that we shall meet again if you don’t live in New York. My name is James Callahan,” and he gave an address that the detectives sometimes used.

It was a place where any letters that came to strange names were promptly taken to Nick’s house.

Snell made a note of the address.

“My name is Snell,” he said, “and I hope we shall meet again, Mr. Callahan. I must say good-by now.”

They shook hands and Snell went to the elevator.

“I wish he had dropped that telegram,” thought the detective.

He looked at the clock. It was an hour and a half to midnight. If Snell meant to leave town at once he could hardly hope to do so until midnight, for that was the hour at which through trains started from most stations.

There was time to make a report to Nick and get back again if that should be necessary.

Accordingly Patsy hurried to Nick’s house, and told his chief what had happened.

Nick looked very thoughtful.

“I had about decided that the man is crazy,” he said. “I sent a telegram to the chief of police at Manchester, asking if he knew of any robbery of jewels, State papers, or anything else of great importance within a month. I also asked if there had been a mysterious disappearance within the same time, and if he knew who George Snell was. Here’s his answer, received five minutes ago.”

He handed a telegram to Patsy.

It read:

“Nothing doing in crime here. Never heard of George Snell. No man of that name lives here.

“Dinsmore.”

“Dinsmore,” said Nick, “is the chief at Manchester now. He used to be on the New York force, and I know him well. Now, if there has been a serious crime at Manchester, two thousand miles away, isn’t it strange that I should hear of it in New York before it is known there?”

“It beats me,” said Patsy.

“And it looks as if Snell was the chief crook in the matter,” added Nick. “But, if he is, I can’t see what he’s driving at. After getting this telegram I thought he was crazy, that he imagined a crime had been committed, and I didn’t mean to have anything more to do with the matter.

“Now I am interested. What you have told me shows that there’s something up, something very mysterious.

“I think we’d better keep our eyes on it, Patsy.”

“Well?”

“Go back to the hotel and get on Snell’s track. Follow him across the continent if necessary, and keep me posted.”

“All right, boss.”

“Better take a cab. Leave your grip in it until you know what station Snell is going to. Then stick to him like a burr. There may be more attempts against his life.”

Patsy was gone in a minute.

When his cab halted at the Fifth Avenue he did not leave it, for he saw Snell coming out.

The man got into a hotel carriage, and told the driver to take him to the Pennsylvania Railroad station.

This was done, and, of course, Patsy followed.

Snell bought a ticket for Chicago, and Patsy, who stood close behind him at the window, did the same.

They were almost side by side as they went to the ferry-boat, Patsy, of course, so disguised that Snell did not recognize him.

Snell went to the forward end of the boat and stood near the rail.

The detective sat down in the men’s cabin.

Hardly had he taken his seat when a man came aboard whom he had seen before.

It was the one whom he had suspected as shadowing Snell from Nick Carter’s house.