Читать книгу Under the Tiger's Claws; Or, A Struggle for the Right - Carter Nicholas - Страница 3

Table of Contents

“Well, my dear Gilsey, I rather think I can land him for you,” declared Nick Carter, with an odd smile lurking in the corners of his keen, gray eyes.

“But that will not do, Nick,” protested Mr. Raymond Gilsey, with an immediate display of apprehension.

“Not do, sir?”

“It may not be what I want.”

“Not what you want?”

“Not exactly, Nick,” and Mr. Raymond Gilsey decisively shook his head.

He was a venerable banker, with a remarkably gentle and benevolent countenance. He was the president of the Milmore Trust Company, a banking-institution located in Forty-second Street, the patrons of which consisted chiefly of business firms in the immediate neighborhood, and of wealthy women, to whom the up-town location of the bank was a convenience.

It was in Mr. Gilsey’s handsome private office that Nick Carter was seated, one afternoon early in May, in response to a telephone request from the banker about an hour before. Between the two there existed a friendship of long standing, and the celebrated detective had hastened to respond. As yet, however, he had received but a hint at the business for which he had been called, and he wondered a little at the banker’s obvious misgivings, as appeared in his remarks noted above.

“Please explain, Mr. Gilsey,” said Nick. “Certainly, if there is a deficit in your cash, and you suspect—— Ah, but stop a moment. Perhaps it will be just as well, my dear Gilsey, if our interview——”

The last, spoken with lowered voice, was considered with a significant glance in the direction of Gilsey’s private stenographer, who sat busily engaged near one of the office windows, and Nick’s glance was equivalent to a suggestion that the presence of a third party might wisely be dispensed with.

This third party was a young woman named Belle Braddon, apparently about twenty-five years of age. Certain features about her, however, which Nick’s keen eyes were quick to notice, indicated that Miss Braddon was in divers ways experienced beyond her years.

She was that type of girl quite properly termed dashing. Her figure was striking, her face handsome, with mobile red lips, alluring blue eyes, and cheeks with a soft tinge of color not entirely their own. She had, too, an unusual abundance of wavy auburn hair, which was then arranged in picturesque disorder. Regarded from top to toe, she was decidedly noticeable, and the style of girl to which most men are quick to respond.

Nick Carter, however, did not quite fancy the general appearance of Miss Braddon, and he abruptly decided that her absence was desirable. In response to the cue so quietly given him, the banker glanced at the girl, and asked:

“What are you now at work on, Belle?”

Miss Braddon started slightly, much as if her ears had been deaf to any preceding remarks, then turned with a gracious smile to her employer.

“On the quarterly reports which you dictated this morning,” she replied, with a peculiarly clear and penetrating voice.

“You may drop that for the present, Belle, as I may change some of the concluding pages,” said Mr. Gilsey.

“Very well, sir.”

“Are my letters ready for signing?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You may leave them on your table. As I shall be engaged with this gentleman for some time, and will not require you later, I will excuse you for the rest of the day.”

“Ah, thank you very much, Mr. Gilsey,” cried Miss Braddon, beaming gratefully as she arose from her table. “That will be very nice, sir. I can do a little shopping.”

The banker nodded and smiled, then reverted to Nick, and conversed with him upon casual matters while the girl prepared to go. Apparently, Nick did not notice her, but he nevertheless saw all that was worth noting.

As Miss Braddon put on a broad picture hat and her light wrap, her expression became more grave and her cheeks lost some of their color.

Twice she glanced furtively at the detective, with a certain resentful gleam in her pretty eyes. That it did not entirely please her, despite her effusive thanks, was evinced in the slight curl of her red lips; yet she presently bowed politely and departed, gently closing the office door.

“An attractive girl, Gilsey, your stenographer,” remarked Nick carelessly.

“Miss Braddon?” queried the banker, smiling complacently. “So she is, Nick, and as capable and charming as she is showy.”

“I did not say showy,” laughed Nick dryly. “I said attractive.”

“Much the same, Nick, when applied to a woman.”

“Has she been long in your employ?”

“About four months.”

“Of course, she came well recommended?”

“Decidedly so,” bowed Gilsey; then he added, with a smile and headshake: “You professional detectives are habitually suspicious of everybody, I really believe. That girl is all right, Nick, take my word for it. Her uncle, with whom she lives, is one of our largest depositors.”

“Ah, I see,” smiled Nick, a bit oddly. “Now, my dear Gilsey, why have you sent for me? What can I do for you?”

The banker became grave in an instant.

“There are two reasons, Nick, why I have appealed to you,” said he. “First, because we are old friends, and I know that you will do just what I require upon this case, and no more than I require.”

“And your second reason?”

“Because I know I can safely trust you, Nick, and that you will give no publicity to the case after having dropped it, providing your investigations warrant dropping it. That is more than I could expect or hope for from men of the central office, and so I have appealed to you, relying upon our long friendship to influence you to aid me.”

Nick nodded gravely for a moment, noting the profound anxiety now reflected in the banker’s venerable face.

“I certainly will do what I can for you, Gilsey, and you may depend upon me to be discreet,” said he warmly. “Now, what is the trouble here? You intimated that a deficit exists in your cash.”

“So I did, Nick, yet I am not sure of it.”

“Not sure of it?”

“That seems strange to you,” replied Gilsey. “I can explain in a few words.”

“Well?”

“Mr. Cecil Kendall, one of my most trusty clerks, has been absent on a vacation for several days. During the illness of our cashier, Mr. Knights, for nearly three months, Kendall has been doing double his share of work. He has handled the cashier’s end of our business, as well as his own.”

“I follow you,” said Nick attentively.

“My own duties here are very arduous,” continued Gilsey, “yet, as far as possible, I always keep an eye upon the work of all of my clerks. Kendall, however, is a man of unusual ability, an expert accountant, and a man in whom I have had the greatest confidence. His work on the books has always been satisfactory, yet in doing double his ordinary duties it would not be strange if some of his work had fallen a little behind.”

“That is true,” admitted Nick. “Do you find that the books are not in proper shape up to date?”

“Unfortunately, I cannot tell,” was the reply. “Kendall went to Boston to attend the wedding of his brother last Tuesday. He was to have returned this morning, but has not yet appeared, nor sent me any word explaining his absence. I am unable to tell in just what condition he left his accounts. I know, however, that several large amounts were received here during Monday, and also that considerable was used for the payment of notes which came due that day.”

“I see, sir.”

“It was an exceedingly busy day for Mr. Kendall,” continued the banker, “and he worked here Monday until compelled to leave to catch a late train to Boston. I went home at my usual hour, about four o’clock, so did not see him after he wound up his Monday work. Whether he has left part of his work undone, depending upon memoranda of which I am ignorant, I cannot say. All I know, Nick, is that he has not returned to-day, as expected, and that there appears to be a serious deficit in the cash accounts.”

“How serious?”

“Nearly ninety thousand dollars.”

“Whew! Serious, indeed!” exclaimed the detective. “Have you no way of getting at the exact truth?”

“Oh, yes, it can be done,” replied Gilsey quickly. “But it would require time, and occasion a publicity which I wish to prevent, for a day or two, at least, in the hope that Kendall will return, or can be found, and show that matters here are all right. In fact, Nick, I am inclined to think they are, and that I am needlessly alarmed; yet, for the protection of our depositors, I feel that I must take some step at this time.”

“Quite properly, too.”

“I wish to locate Kendall as quickly as possible. I want him here, that an explanation may be made. In case I am entirely wrong, however, and no deficit really exists, I do not wish Kendall to learn of my misgivings, and that I have employed a detective, the injustice of which would seriously and needlessly wound him.”

“That is very true,” admitted Nick thoughtfully. “I now see about what you want of me, Gilsey. You wish me to locate Kendall as quickly as possible, and send or bring him here without disclosing your doubts and apprehensions.”

“Exactly.”

“If he is perfectly honest, as you are still inclined to think, it should be an easy matter to locate him before to-morrow.”

“Easy for one of your experience, Nick; and that is precisely why I have called upon you.”

“Do you know Kendall’s Boston address?”

“I have already wired to his Boston friends.”

“With what result?”

“A message in reply states that Kendall left for New York last night.”

“Does it state by what route?”

“It does not.”

“Ordinarily, he should have arrived here this morning,” remarked Nick, more gravely. “There is a bare possibility, Gilsey, that he is a victim of foul play.”

“I have thought of that, Nick, which also deters me from acting too hastily, or making any immediate charges.”

“Do you know whether Kendall had much money with him?”

“I do not.”

“If he had what you fear may be missing, Mr. Gilsey, he had a good, round sum,” observed Nick dryly.

The banker shook his head.

“I cannot yet believe it,” said he gravely. “There are, too, other parties whom I would spare the pain of knowing that I have unjustly suspected Kendall of embezzlement, and gone so far as to call in a detective.”

“What other parties, Gilsey?” inquired Nick, with brows lifting slightly.

“I refer to Doctor Leonard Royal, of Fordham, the Episcopal rector, and to his family,” explained the banker. “I infer from what I see of the couple that Kendall is engaged to marry the rector’s daughter, Medora Royal. He is, too, an intimate friend of young Harry Royal, the rector’s only son, who went to Boston with him. It happens, Nick, that Doctor Royal and I have been lifelong friends. I regard him as fondly as a brother. In case I am wrong, Nick, I would not for the world have them know that I suspect Kendall.”

“I see, my dear Gilsey.”

“In a nutshell, Nick, I wish you to locate him for me as quickly as possible.”

“But not arrest him?”

For an instant the banker hesitated, then said huskily:

“No, Nick, not that. Not—not unless——”

“Ah, well, if any ‘unless’ creeps in, I shall know what to do without instructions,” Nick bluntly interposed. “Now, Mr. Gilsey, give me Kendall’s city address.”

“He occupies bachelor’s apartments in Fifty-ninth Street. Here is the number. He has not been there to-day, however.”

“How long since you sent to inquire?”

“Less than an hour.”

“Is he a clubman?”

“I think not.”

Nick Carter replaced his note-book in his pocket, then arose and took his hat from the banker’s table.