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Broken Bond (Version 2)

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<h2 id="XLVI">CHAPTER XLVI. THE BOND IS MENDED.</h2> Crisply, cuttingly, the words came from Nick Carter’s lips, and Follansbee wheeled on him in a flash. “It was no fault of Follansbee that you did not carry out the vile scheme his cunning brain had devised,” Nick went on. “I was fortunately able to thwart him and to thwart your irresponsible aims of the moment at the same time.” Then, in quiet tones, the detective told the whole story, which was listened to in a breathless silence by the others. [221] “At this moment,” the detective concluded, “Winthrop Crawford is perfectly well, and is looking forward eagerly to meeting his old friend again.” “You—you mean that he forgives me?” “I do,” was the reassuring answer. “He has forgiven you again and again because he knew you were not yourself, and because he’s one man in ten thousand.” Stephen Follansbee’s sharp voice cut in. “This is all very interesting,” he said sarcastically, “but you will oblige me, Carter, by unlocking that door and letting me go my way.” The two men measured glances for a moment. “Do you imagine that you have sufficient evidence against me?” Follansbee went on cynically. “If you do, you’re destined to meet with a shock. Don’t forget that you may have to bring both of these men into it along with me, especially Stone—for, by your own statement, it was he who attempted to kill his partner.” The detective turned to Stone. “A check signed by you for the sum of four hundred and fifty thousand dollars, payable to this man, was presented at the bank yesterday, and cashed. Do you know anything about it?” The miner lifted his head. “No, no! I made out a check, but it was only forty-five thousand. That was bad enough, but—what day is this?” “This is Sunday, the twenty-sixth,” Nick answered. “Then my check cannot have been cashed,” Stone said, with a great sigh of relief. “You must be mistaken,[222] for I distinctly remember that I dated it the twenty-seventh.” “In that case, Mr. Stone,” said Nick, “you have a chance of getting even with this fellow. I made no mistake in saying that he cashed a check for four hundred and fifty thousand dollars yesterday, but it was dated the twenty-fifth. Circumstances have conspired with his own cunning to save him from the charge of being an accessory to a murder, but he won’t find it so easy to avoid the consequences of this other crime. We can’t accuse him of forgery, because the signature is evidently yours, but we can make out a complete check-raising case against him without the slightest trouble. A peculiar kind of ‘disappearing ink’ was used. I’ve already brought out your original writing in one place, Stone, and I can bring out all of it by the same process. That will doubtless corroborate you as to the amount and date—and Stephen Follansbee will come off his perch.” The famous specialist gave a peculiar strangled sound in his throat and his hands dropped to his side. “You’ve won, Carter,” he said, his voice quavering. “I’ll return the money—every cent of it, if you will drop the case—and you will have to do that. The whole thing will come out if you try to press it, and Stone will be branded as a man who was once under treatment for insanity.” “You’re right, Follansbee, in part,” Nick told him quietly. “I’ve won, and the time has come for you to throw down your arms. Don’t be too sure about the rest, though. I don’t believe my friend Stone[223] here has any desire to let you go free, if he can be shown a way to prevent it. Isn’t that right, Stone?” “It certainly is,” was the emphatic response. “If it is a possible thing to make this infernal scamp pay for what he has done, I say go ahead, by all means; but I don’t see how——” “It’s my business to find a way,” Nick interrupted, “and I think I have.” “How?” Stone eagerly demanded. “By keeping this fact in mind,” the chief explained: “Follansbee isn’t going to bite off his nose to spite his face. He says that everything will come out, but that’s nonsense, and he knows it. We have a clear case against him, and we can press it without lugging in anything that we don’t want to be spread on the records. All the judge and jury need to know is that you went to Follansbee for professional advice and treatment—it doesn’t matter for what. His lawyers will know that the case is going against him, anyway, and all their energies will be directed toward obtaining as light a sentence as possible. That being so, they will be very careful to keep quiet about the nature of the trouble that brought you to him.” “I don’t see why,” confessed Stone. “It’s perfectly obvious,” Nick insisted. “Any decent lawyer would know that Follansbee would get a much more severe sentence if it came out that he had attempted to victimize an irresponsible man; to swindle one who was temporarily incompetent, and take away practically his entire fortune. That would be the last straw.” [224] “I see!” Stone cried excitedly. “It would be even more to the interest of the defense to keep dark on that subject than it would for the prosecution.” “Then you will get satisfaction, as well as your money back,” Nick told him confidently; and then added to the cowed wretch at his side: “The jig is up, Follansbee. I won’t lock you up until you turn over your loot; but you may as well write out your resignation as head of St. Swithin’s, and your millionaire patients will have to hunt for some one else to doctor them. You will find it inconvenient to discharge your professional duties in a cell.” Apparently the detective plucked a pair of handcuffs from the air, and, before Follansbee knew what was happening, they were snapped on his wrists. A few hours later—some time after midnight—two bronzed men met and clasped hands in Nick Carter’s study. They did not say much at first, but the detective’s heart swelled as he watched them. The partners had been reunited, and the broken bond had been welded anew. THE END. No. 1006 of the New Magnet Library, entitled “The Crime of the French Café,” by Nicholas Carter, is a rattling good story, full of thrills, in which Nick Carter shows again his extraordinary skill in ferreting out the deep schemes of the most wily plotters, and his cool courage in dealing with the most desperate criminals. <hr class="chap" /></div> [225] The Dealer who handles the STREET & SMITH NOVELS is a man worth patronizing. The fact that he does handle our books proves that he has considered the merits of paper-covered lines, and has decided that the STREET & SMITH NOVELS are superior to all others. He has looked into the question of the morality of the paper-covered book, for instance, and feels that he is perfectly safe in handing one of our novels to any one, because he has our assurance that nothing except clean, wholesome literature finds its way into our lines. Therefore, the STREET & SMITH NOVEL dealer is a careful and wise tradesman, and it is fair to assume selects the other articles he has for sale with the same degree of intelligence as he does his paper-covered books. Deal with the STREET & SMITH NOVEL dealer. STREET & SMITH CORPORATION 79 Seventh Avenue New York City <hr class="tn" /></div> </div> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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