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Photographer's Evidence

[132] <h2>CHAPTER XI. A SUSPECT AND AN ALIBI.</h2> They were not disappointed. Nick was on the train, and Patsy was with him. Nick greeted Folsom warmly when they met on the platform, and then he was introduced to Detective Kerr. “I’m glad to see you, Mr. Kerr,” said Nick. “I suppose there’s no mystery about this case?” “Well, I don’t know,” replied Kerr, doubtfully. “I think not.” “I thought it was all settled.” “Settled, Mr. Carter? What do you mean?” Nick smiled, and glanced at Folsom. “Usually,” he said, “my friends do not have a brass band to meet me when I begin to work.” Folsom started, and looked uncomfortable. He had heard it said that Nick Carter had a great objection to working on a case when it was known that he was at work. “I beg your pardon,” said Folsom, hastily; “I’ve been excited this afternoon, or I would have sent for you secretly,[133] but there’s no brass band about it. Mr. Kerr is the only one who knows that you are here.” “It’s all right, Folsom; don’t worry,” responded Nick, “but I’ll bet the cigars that more than Mr. Kerr know.” “You’d win,” said Kerr. “Mr. Folsom spoke of sending for you in the presence of fifty men.” “That’s so!” exclaimed Folsom, looking very awkward. Nick laughed. “Let it go,” he said, good-humoredly. “I don’t need to bother with the case if I don’t want to. I presume Mr. Kerr has the hang of it, anyway. So, unless there is real trouble, Patsy and I can take the night train for the East.” “I hope you won’t, Mr. Carter,” said Kerr, earnestly. “I do think that I can put my hand on the murderer, but I’d like very much to get your opinion if not your assistance.” “All right. There’ll be time enough for that while we get dinner somewhere. Can you take us to a quiet place?” “We were going to the hotel where the crime was committed. The Western Union manager is going to send[134] a boy there with a piece of evidence we need just as soon as the boy gets back from a long errand.” “Very well,” said Nick; “we’ll go to the hotel, but we won’t go together, if you please. You and Folsom go back together, and if anybody asks you about Nick Carter, give them any kind of an evasive answer you choose, as long as you make them understand that I’m not in town. Then engage a private room for dinner——” “We have done that already, Mr. Carter.” “Good! What’s the number?” “Fourteen, second floor.” “Patsy and I will join you there in half an hour unless there’s some hurry.” “No,” said Kerr, a little doubtfully, “I don’t believe there’s any hurry, for we can’t act till we get the messenger boy’s evidence.” “So long, then.” Kerr and Folsom left Nick and Patsy inside the station, where they had met. “You don’t really hope to conceal the fact that you’re in Denver, do you, Nick?” asked Patsy. The great detective smiled. [135] “When fifty men heard that I was sent for?” he returned, quietly; “not quite.” “Then, why do you make such a fuss about it? Why not go along to the hotel openly?” “Patsy,” said Nick, as he pretended to consult a pocket time-table, “if the guilty man was one of that fifty, don’t you think it likely that he would shadow Folsom and Kerr, and follow them to the station to see if I came?” “Yes! I hadn’t thought of that.” “And if he did so, of course, he’s seen me.” “Sure.” “And he wouldn’t follow the others out, but would wait to see what became of me.” “That’s it.” “Well, then——” “You needn’t say any more, Nick. I see now. I’ve spotted every man who had been in sight since we stepped off the train.” “About a dozen of them, eh?” “Fully that.” All through this talk each had been carefully looking around the station, though no one there could have suspected[136] that they were paying attention to anything but themselves. In fact, Nick had been taking in the situation from the moment he met Kerr and Folsom. “Let’s go into the waiting-room,” he said, as he put away his time-table, “and buy a cigar and a newspaper.” As they crossed the large room they watched very carefully to see if any man was observing their movements. The crime had happened too late in the afternoon for the regular editions of the evening papers, but extras were now out, and a big pile of them had just been brought to the newsstand. Several men were at the counter buying the papers. Patsy went to the cigar case, and Nick asked for a paper. The boy behind the counter was very busy just then. Nick had to wait his turn, which didn’t trouble him any. “Mr. Claymore!” the boy called, suddenly; “you forgot your change.” “Oh! did I?” said a man, who had bought several papers, and was hurrying away. [137] He came back and reached his hand across the counter. “Keep a nickel of it for your honesty,” he said. “Thankee, Mr. Claymore.” Nick bought his paper next, and Patsy joined him. They went slowly to a corner of the waiting-room, and sat down. “Well?” said Nick, as he unfolded the paper, and began to read about the death of the Rev. Mr. Judson. “Well,” repeated Patsy, “there’s nobody around now who was here when we came.” “I thought not.” Nick read for a moment, and then remarked: “That’s an honest newsboy.” “Yes,” returned Patsy, who had heard the talk about the forgotten change. “The man he spoke to was on the platform when we arrived.” “He was.” That was all they said about it. As a matter of fact, neither of them had the slightest suspicion of Claymore, any more than they had of any of the dozen others who had stayed in sight while Kerr and[138] Folsom were there; but they remembered his face and name. That was a matter of habit with them. “Look it over,” said Nick, passing the paper to Patsy. While the young man read, Nick thought. At last he said: “I think we’ll call at the undertaker’s.” The name of the undertaker who had taken charge of Judson’s body was printed in the paper, and Nick inquired the way to his place from the first policeman they met. There was a crowd of curious idlers at the door, and a man stood there, who at first was not going to let the detectives in. “We want to see the body of the clergyman who——” Nick began. “I know you do!” interrupted the man, crossly, “and so does everybody else, but you can’t see!” “Can’t see when I have eyes,” retorted Nick, with a queer smile, and he pushed by the man into the building. The man was astonished. He had not expected this stranger to defy him, and there was something so commanding in Nick’s quiet way[139] of doing things that he had let both detectives pass before he knew it. Then he followed them into the office, blustering: “What do you mean?” he demanded. “It’s my business to be here,” said Nick, coldly. “I am a detective, and my name is Nicholas Carter.” “Oh!” exclaimed the undertaker, and his eyes grew large. He did not seem to be able to take them off the famous man, of whom he had heard so much. “Oh!” he added, after a pause. “If that makes a difference,” said Nick, “you may show us the body.” “Certainly, anything you want, Mr. Carter. Only too proud.” He led the way to a back room, and for a minute or two Nick and Patsy stood there studying the still, cold form. “Can I do anything more for you?” asked the undertaker, as they turned away. “No, thank you.” “I suppose you’ll see the clergyman’s friend, won’t you?” “Do you mean Mr. Folsom?” [140] “Yes, sir. The hotel people, you see, Mr. Carter, told me to take charge of the body, and I supposed it would be a kind of charity case, as, of course, the hotel people had no interest in the unfortunate man. But if Mr. Folsom was his friend, perhaps he’d like to order a better casket, don’t you see. If——” “I’ll speak to Mr. Folsom about it.” “Thank you, sir. Perhaps you’d like to look at some of my caskets, and advise Mr. Folsom——” “I’ll leave that to him.” “Oh! very well, sir; but if you don’t mind speaking to him about the matter. It would be too bad to bury a clergyman in an ordinary——” By this time Nick and Patsy were out of hearing. When they were about halfway to the hotel, Nick remarked: “It wasn’t suicide.” “No,” responded Patsy. “I could see that. The thing that killed him was the breaking of the back of his skull on the sidewalk; but he had a black and blue mark over the right eye. That wasn’t made by his fall.” “Certainly not. It was made by the blow that sent him reeling through the window.” [141] “That information will make your friend Folsom feel better, won’t it?” “I judge so, as his telegram told me that he feared suicide, and hoped that it was murder. “But,” added Nick, “I don’t think I shall be in a hurry to ease Folsom’s mind. We’ll wait till we have heard the whole story before letting him know what we think. It may be handy to give out the report that we believe it a case of suicide.” “I’m on,” said Patsy. They found Kerr and Folsom waiting for them in room fourteen, and they sat down at once to dinner. While they were eating, Kerr told the whole story as far as he knew it. Naturally, he mentioned Claymore’s name as the witness to Hank Low’s threats. “Who is this Claymore?” asked Nick, as he lighted a cigar at the end of the meal. “He’s a Denver business man,” replied Kerr. “I have no acquaintance with him. I believe he hasn’t been here more than a year or so.” “Less than a year, I guess,” said Folsom. “Why, do you know him?” asked Nick. [142] “No,” replied Folsom, “except as I have talked with him this afternoon, but I remember now that his name is on the letters sent out by the oil company of which Judson was president. Claymore is the secretary of the concern, I believe.” “But you hadn’t met him before?” “No; and I didn’t hear his name till late in the day, and even then I didn’t connect him with the company, though I remember wondering a little how he knew so much about poor Judson. You see, I was terribly excited.” “No wonder.” “It worries me a great deal,” continued Folsom, “to think that my angry words might have led Judson to suicide. He meant well, I am sure of that, and he was deceived by the rascals as much as the rest of us.” “Hum!” murmured Nick; “seems to me that’s setting Claymore out in rather a black light.” “Yes, it is. I hadn’t given it much thought, for my attention was taken up with the death of Judson, but I have no doubt that Claymore is crooked. A dishonest promoter, you know. One of these fellows who knows[143] how to swindle and keep on the right side of the law. Don’t you think so?” “Maybe.” Folsom looked as if he wished that Nick would say more, but the detective was silent. Shortly after this, a waiter came to the room to say that a telegraph messenger wished to see Mr. Kerr. “Send him up at once!” exclaimed Kerr. The boy came in with his book. “Boss said you wanted to see it,” said he, laying it on the table, and going out again at once. Kerr opened the book with great eagerness. After looking down the columns of names and time marks until he came to the one he wanted, his eyes glowed with delight, and he passed the book to Nick, with his finger on a certain line where the hotel clerk’s name was written. “There!” he cried, triumphantly; “see that?” Nick looked. He saw the clerk’s name in one column, and against it in another column the figures, “3-31.” “You see!” added Kerr, too excited to wait for Nick’s opinion, “Hank Low did it.” [144] “I see,” responded Nick, slowly, “that Hank Low could have done it.” The reply disappointed Kerr. He began to argue, but Nick interrupted. “Excuse me a moment, gentlemen,” he said. He arose and looked at Patsy. They withdrew to a corner of the room, and whispered together a moment. Then Patsy went out. Nick returned to the table. “Excuse me,” said Nick, again. “I don’t mean to interfere with your handling of the case, Mr. Kerr——” “Oh! bless you!” exclaimed Kerr, “that’s what we all want. You do just what you think best, Mr. Carter.” “Thank you. I was going to say that I had forgotten something and sent my assistant out to look after it. Now, as to this time mark, it is very important. I can see that.” “Of course,” said Kerr, encouraged by the great detective’s tone. “The testimony of the clerk cannot be doubted. Here is the sure testimony that Hank Low started for Judson’s room four minutes before the man fell from his window. It is known that Low left the[145] hotel and drove away just before word was brought in that the man had fallen out. See?” “Yes.” “Then do you think we ought to lose any time before arresting Low?” “Do you say that he lives some eight miles from here?” “Yes—about eight.” “If he’s running away, he’s got a pretty good start.” “All the more reason why we should get after him at once. I declare, I wish I had run out there and hauled him in before you came.” “That might have been a good idea, but I don’t believe there’s any use in hurrying now.” Neither Kerr nor Folsom could understand Nick’s delay. The fact was he was waiting for Patsy. He kept them talking for several minutes, and then Patsy returned. “Speak out,” said Nick. “I want these gentlemen to hear what you have to report.” “Well,” said Patsy, “Claymore was in his office all the time from one o’clock to ten minutes of four, when a messenger came to tell him of Judson’s death.” <hr class="chap" /></div> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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