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[53] <h2>CHAPTER XI. CRAY GETS HIS ORDERS.</h2> “Unfortunately, that’s only too true,” admitted the millionaire newspaper proprietor. “Secrecy is the prime requisite in this case, and that precludes the possibility of arrest. I want you to catch John Simpson, though, scare him as much as you can, and force him to disgorge. He’ll be dropped from my staff, of course, but, beyond that, we can do nothing.” “Compounding a felony—accessory after the fact!” Cray pronounced disapprovingly. “Bad business—very bad!” “I can’t help that,” Griswold persisted, “and I’m willing to take full responsibility. If any trouble threatens, I think I have enough influence to fix things up.” Green Eye’s face was grave and thoughtful, but inwardly he was fairly chuckling with glee. He could have asked nothing better than this extraordinary case, and his only regret was that the amount involved was not much larger. Everything seemed to play into his hands in the most unbelievable way. Here was a man, who, despite the surprising adroitness he had shown, was plainly a novice in crime—a novice with something like eighty thousand dollars[54] in gold in his possession. And here, on the other hand, was a man to whom eighty thousand dollars was only a drop in the bucket, a trifle hardly worth mentioning. The latter’s interest demanded secrecy, required that the whole thing should be conducted under cover, and unofficially. What an opportunity it was! If Simpson could be caught—and Green Eye had no doubt he could do it alone, or with Jack Cray’s unsuspecting assistance—it ought to be a very simple matter to relieve the thief of the coin in some way, and neglect to turn it over to Griswold. As for the latter, he could not take the matter into the courts without ventilating the whole affair from beginning to end. Surely, the situation seemed to have been made expressly for Green-eye Gordon’s benefit. If necessary, two or three thousand—or possibly five—could be left in Simpson’s possession, in order to buy his silence, or to induce him to give some misleading explanation of the disappearance of the loot. And here was Griswold, actually ready to pay handsomely for having the robber robbed. No wonder that Green Eye exclaimed inwardly, “Oh, joy! This is almost too good to be true!” As if influenced by his thought, the newspaper proprietor broke the brief silence by announcing: “There’s the whole story, so far as I know, gentlemen. I need only add, I think, that I’m prepared to pay you ten thousand dollars for your services. What do you say, Mr. Carter? Will you help us? Mr. Cray has already agreed to my proposition.” [55] Gordon did not answer at once, as Nick would have done, if too many cases were not already awaiting solution. He wished to impress the others with his importance and indifference to monetary considerations. “The affair has its points of interest,” he conceded at length. “I went up to the Adirondacks two or three days ago, intending to remain there for a couple of weeks, but I was called back on urgent business. That case, though important, is a comparatively simple one, and I can attend to it at intervals.” “Then you’ll undertake this?” Griswold asked eagerly. The impostor slowly nodded. “I’m glad of an opportunity to oblige you, Mr. Griswold,” he said. “And, of course, I’m always desirous of helping my friend Cray, here, if possible.” “Good!” ejaculated the millionaire. “I’m glad, indeed, to have you on the case, Mr. Carter. It’s no flattery to say that you’ve greatly impressed me this morning. That being settled so satisfactorily, however, I’ll leave you and Mr. Cray to decide upon your course of action.” “Yes, we need not detain you any longer, I think,” Green Eye assured him. Three minutes later Griswold was gone, after asking them to call him up either at the office or the house whenever they desired any further word from him, or had anything to report. As a mark of special respect, Gordon had accompanied his distinguished client to the door. Now,[56] with a smile on his face, he returned to Nick Carter’s study, where the ex-police detective was awaiting him impatiently. “Queer case, very!” Cray barked at him, as soon as he entered the doorway. “What’s your idea? How are we going to handle it?” Doubtless, he had his own ideas as to the proper methods of procedure, but he was revealing, as usual, deference where Nick was concerned. His manner of exaggerated respect made it difficult for the masquerader to keep his face straight. “I’m having the time of my life, without a doubt,” thought Gordon. “I wouldn’t have missed this for anything. Here I am in Nick Carter’s house, monarch of all I survey, with Cray fawning on me like a faithful dog, and a multimillionaire for a client already. Soft, soft!” The accomplished rascal had really given a very creditable performance while Lane A. Griswold was on the scene, but now, in spite of his contempt of Cray, he decided to give the latter his head for the time. It would be safer so, and, besides, Gordon was not one to exert himself unnecessarily. He helped himself to another of Nick’s cigars, and threw himself into a chair. “You have had more time to think about it than I have, Jack. Let’s hear how you would go about it.” Cray found this very flattering. “Well,” he said, with assumed modesty, “I had thought of one or two little things. Of course, there[57] are two ends to be picked up, two places to cover. One’s Hattontown—tracing the electric machine, and all that.” Green Eye made a gesture of indifference, as if he did not think much of that suggestion. “The other’s this end,” Cray went on, somewhat less confidently, meaning the fellow’s home. Gordon gave a slight nod. “That’s more likely to yield something, I should say,” he declared. “Of course, an electric car is comparatively uncommon, and might be traced without a great deal of trouble. Several days have passed, however, and that will make considerable difference. Suppose we consider the situation at New Pelham. Much depends on that. Of course, if Simpson is tired of his wife, and has decided to abandon her, we may not be able to get a single clew there.” He gave another glance at the photograph which Griswold had left on the desk. “The fellow’s face is against that supposition, however,” he went on; “I don’t believe he has spunk enough to cut himself off absolutely from his wife.” “Had spunk enough to swipe a fortune,” Cray pointed out skeptically. “I know, but there’s a difference. I don’t know where he got the nerve to do what he did, but I’d like to wager a tidy little sum that a man with that weak chin and mouth would be too much a slave to habit to cut his domestic bonds with one slash. He’s probably foolishly fond of that wife of his, no matter[58] how much of a fright she may be, and, if I’m right——” “He’ll write her sooner or later, or try to sneak an interview,” Cray burst out excitedly, with the air of one who had just arrived unaided at the most astounding conclusion. “Precisely,” agreed the masquerader. “That being so, I think you had better cover the New Pelham end of it. Go and see the man’s wife, tell her you are from the office, and find out all she knows. She may give you a clew right away, without knowing it—something that may mean nothing to her, but much to you.” “Get you,” Cray said eagerly. His distinguished friend, as he believed, had just said that the New Pelham end of it was the most important, so that here was another feather in his—Cray’s—cap. “I’ll work it for all I’m worth,” he added. “What line are you going to take, though?” <hr class="chap" /></div> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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