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Under the Tiger's Claws; or, A Struggle for the Right (Version 2)

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<h2>CHAPTER XV. SECRET WORK.</h2> “Well, sir, I’m here, as I agreed!” “That’s right, my good man, and I’m glad to see you. Take a chair.” The last speaker was Nick Carter. The first was the whilom cuekeeper in the gambling-house of Moses Flood—the latter’s humpback friend, John Green. The scene was Nick Carter’s office, on the Monday 171 afternoon following the interview between Godard and Belle Braddon, in which the latter had contracted to turn Nick Carter’s toes up. The interval was five days. In compliance with Nick’s genial invitation, the humpback took a seat near the detective’s desk. “Well,” said Nick, “what has become of Godard since he closed his up-town house?” Green laughed. “He’s down at a shore house which he owns. Here’s the address, sir, and the direction for getting there. I wrote it down, thinking you might want it.” Nick glanced at the scrawl on the slip of paper tendered him, and bowed approvingly. “Is he dealing a game down there?” he asked. “Yes, sir. A small one, though, only for a few friends.” “Are you still keeping cues for him?” “I am.” “And who is his assistant dealer?” “Tom Bruce, sir.” “Flood’s former man?” “The same, sir,” nodded Green. Then he added, sadly: “’Fore Heaven, sir, I’d give all my life is worth to know that Mr. Flood is all right, safe, and sound!” <div class="pagenum" id="Page_172">172</div> “I have already told you, John, that I will insure that, providing you follow my instructions to the letter.” “Oh, I’ll do that, Detective Carter, never doubt it!” cried Green eagerly. “I’d cut off both these hands for Mr. Flood!” “Now tell me,” said Nick, “what is the game doing?” “Losing, sir; losing to beat the band. Godard has dropped nearly a hundred thousand in the past month.” “Can he stand the pace long?” inquired Nick carelessly. “Sure, sir, I’d not have believed he could stand it till now!” Nick already knew where Godard had probably obtained the money mentioned. “Is he still drinking deeply?” “Like a fish, sir,” grinned the humpback; “and, holy smoke! he’s uglier than ten devils.” Nick laughed and nodded, evidently much pleased by the report. “Is he dealing a square game?” he next inquired. “Sure, sir!” cried Green. “I don’t believe Godard has got the tools for dealing a brace game.” “You think he would do it, John, if he had the tools and saw a good thing?” “Well, sir,” and Green grimly shook his ungainly 173 head, “I reckon Nate Godard would do anything for money.” “I guess that’s right,” said Nick. “Now, John, there’s one thing I wish you to do for me.” “Count on me, sir, for sure!” “If Godard was to deal a brace game he would have to tell you about it, wouldn’t he?” “Yes, sir; so I could keep the cues right. I’d have to mark up the cards he took crooked, you see, or there’d be a holler from the players at the end of the deal, when the cues showed wrong.” “I know all about it, John.” “Yes, sir.” “Now, hark you, my man! If Godard contemplates dealing a brace game he will first prepare the way by giving you his instructions and secret signs.” “No doubt of it, sir.” “Well, John, if he does that I want you to drop me a letter by the very next mail saying that the trick is to be turned. Do you understand?” “Sure I do!” exclaimed the humpback; “and I’ll send the letter the minute I know of it.” “Very good,” bowed Nick. “That’s all to-day, John. In leaving here be as cautious as usual. You must not be seen, you know!” <div class="pagenum" id="Page_174">174</div> “Trust me, sir,” smiled Green, with a shrug. “I will slip out and away like a shadow. You’re sure, sir, about poor Mr. Flood?” he added, as he lingered for a moment at the door. “Trust me for that, John, as I trust you,” replied Nick. And the detective bowed and smiled pleasantly, with a genuine appreciation of the warm and loyal heart that beat in the crooked breast of the departing man. This interview with the humpback plainly indicates the shrewd line of work which Nick was secretly doing in his attempt to verify the suspicious by which he was actuated. Green had been gone but a few minutes, moreover, when a second man familiarly entered. He was a stylishly clad, yellow-haired chap, with a sandy beard, parted down the middle. He carried a cane, sported a bright-red tie, and looked for all the world as if he had just stepped off a fashion-plate. It was the yellow-haired chap whom Belle Braddon had boasted of having caught on to at the Waldorf. Nick looked up and smiled when he entered. “Well, Chick,” said he, “what’s now in the wind?” Chick laughed and dropped into a chair. <div class="pagenum" id="Page_175">175</div> “Nothing special, Nick,” said he. “All is working well.” “She has no suspicions of you?” “Not the slightest, Nick.” “What do you make of her?” “Well,” replied Chick, with a grin, “she’s a royal spender, I’ll give her credit for that. She makes bank-notes fly like dead leaves in a September gale.” “Never mind,” laughed Nick. “Let ’em go. We’ll get them back from Gilsey. Besides, Chick, the situation will not last much longer. We are closing in on them.” “You have learned something?” “Green has just been here and reported,” nodded Nick. “Godard is located at his shore house. I know the place and how to get there. He is dealing a game there on the quiet, and I have several reasons for thinking that he is nearly on his last legs, financially.” “In which case, Nick, he will take any desperate chances to recover, eh?” “That’s the idea, Chick, and it’s what I have been working for. Have you said anything to his niece about the cattle-dealer?” “Sure thing,” nodded Chick. “I have laid that wire all right, you may wager. I showed her a telegram 176 yesterday, which I claimed to have received from my Dakota uncle, stating that he would join me here Tuesday.” “That’s to-morrow.” “I told her that he is coming on merely for pleasure, and have impressed her with the idea that he is the highest kind of a high-roller. She wanted to know if he ever played faro, and I told her he was a regular fiend at it, and that I had seen him sit to lose a hundred thousand at a crack.” “Very good,” laughed Nick. “That certainly ought to be strong enough. What did she say to that?” “She said she knew a house where he could make a play,” grinned Chick. “Oh, ho! that looks promising enough,” laughed Nick. “I told her that would suit him to the letter, and that he would be glad to give any square faro-game a play,” added Chick. “She said she would fix it for us after he arrived.” “And we will fix them, in return, I’m thinking,” said Nick grimly. “Green is going to notify me if a brace game is to be attempted. I’m dead sure it will be, too, with Godard so nearly on his uppers.” “No doubt of it.” “In which case, Chick, it’s a hundred to one that he 177 will use Flood’s brace deal box, and resort to the same deck of strippers that Flood gave Kendall with the money he had won. If we can catch Godard with that deck of strippers in his possession, Chick, it will prove conclusively that he murdered Kendall.” “Absolutely.” “He necessarily must take Green into his confidence about the brace game,” added Nick; “and he will get rid of Tom Bruce when attempting to turn the trick. We shall probably meet nobody there but Green and Godard, except that jade of a niece.” “She will probably take us out there, Nick.” “We’ll go with her, all right,” laughed Nick. “You had better fix it with her for to-morrow night, in order that we may wind up the case as soon as possible.” “That will be easy,” nodded Chick. “I shall find her ready.” “I will show up at the Waldorf to-morrow noon and join you there,” added Nick. “I will have a roll of money with me fit to choke a horse. Trust Godard to venture a most desperate chance to get it. I think, Chick, we now have the game well in hand.” “So do I, Nick,” replied Chick, rising. “I’m going to slip up-stairs and have a bath, then I must go back 178 to the Waldorf. I promised to dine with my friend with the red-brown hair at six.” Nick laughed, nodding approvingly, and Chick hastened from the office. It was then about three o’clock. At four Nick had business up-town, and he presently put on his street attire and left the house. A quarter of an hour later, as he was crossing Forty-second Street and Fifth Avenue, he was observed by a young woman on the opposite corner. The moment she saw him, moreover, a gleam of malicious satisfaction flashed in her evil eyes. She tripped quickly over the opposite crossing and intercepted Nick as he reached the Fifth Avenue sidewalk. The young woman was Belle Braddon, out for the great detective’s scalp. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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